《The Clockwork Sea》


 The Invited Journey

    On the month of the First Hour the Professor received a letter that promised a journey to other end of the world. Really, it demanded a journey.


    For the letter asked of him to visit his old companion, a veritable doctor others called mad. No luck on his part when he realised that same doctor lived on the furthest point of the world from where he was.


    No. That was too far, too much to be asked for in a letter.


    A bottle flew across an earthy hall and clanked against a wooden back frame. A man with copper plates for skin stood idly by where the bottle had landed. He had stayed impossibly quiet while his master, the ever drunken Professor, balled down the hall.


    ¡°I¡¯m not going!¡± echoed the Professor. ¡°Traveling that far to see my mad old friend is even madder than he.¡±


    ¡°Sir,¡± said the man nearest to the abused bottle. ¡°You must go, it is your duty.¡±


    ¡°It is falsehood is what it is, mate.¡±


    The attendant sighed, pressing his bushy brows and letting his dark blue coat sag. He had a blue hat that had a habit of tipping lower and lower as he continued the fruitless conversation, ¡°As your attendant, it is in these matters that I insist you listen to me.¡±


    ¡°Why can¡¯t you be useful in other matters?¡± clamored the Professor. ¡°Fetch me the finest drink, or recommend to me an easier profession.¡±


    Another bottle flung and the attendant deftly sidestepped it. ¡°All due respect, sir, but your profession isn¡¯t something you¡¯ve picked. And now you¡¯ve got a believer, why the letter--¡±


    Glass dinged on the floor across the hall and rolled loudly. Lazy steps followed and the shadow of a long muzzle underneath a pointed hat painted the nearby ground. Fabric scrunched against leather as the Professor dawned his favorite coat.


    ¡°A believer?¡± said the still out of sight Professor. ¡°Well I do like the sound of that.¡±


    ¡°And, if you help this one believer perhaps you¡¯ll get more.¡±


    ¡°And more means more funding. I¡¯m starting to see your point, Red.¡±


    Soon the Professor came into view and the Attendant smiled, cocking his head, ¡°I¡¯m elated you wish to go, sir, but I must advise you hide your appearance.¡± With that he snapped his fingers and the shadow of the Professor quickly assumed that of a man.


    That man had bronze skin, goggles for eyes and hair that spiked out and formed of coal.


    ¡°How do I look?¡± asked the now grinning Professor.


    ¡°Like any other full turn, sir.¡±


    The Professor turned in a circle and let the ends of his navy blue coat swish the maple floorboards, ¡°You¡¯ve out done yourself, Red.¡±This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ¡°Drink,¡± he added abruptly.


    ¡°Drink?¡±


    ¡°As this spell requires a fuel of some kind I thought it only fitting that it be the poison you ingest.¡±


    ¡°Mate, so you¡¯re saying I need be drunk at all times?¡±


    ¡°Not drunk, just--¡±


    ¡°Brilliant!¡± he said producing a bottle from his coat. He wrung it open and tranced down the hall, taking a swig after a whirl and another at the door by the end of his brief travel. ¡°And by what means am I travelling?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve arranged a clockship, sir.¡±


    ¡°Better and better.¡± He pushed open the door and lights of blue and yellow gushed in. He admired the sights as Red trudged towards him.


    They lived on small cottage that creaked above a bottomless cliff. A sky of swirling blues and yellows made the unnumbered clouds below golden, marvelous things. The mornings were always more yellow than blue. Nearby, he knew of a clockwork metropolis, loud and boisterous even as far up as they were by the cliff side.


    That was his city, the Longhand of Five. His home, his place, and now he¡¯d be leaving it.


    He skipped carelessly down the long winding ebony steps as black willows and golden cherry blossoms coveted his sides.


    Mechanical finches played their birds songs, clicking, whirling and fading to the cacophony of the nearby town. It smelled of rain and smog as black steps turned to cobblestone roads. A row of wrought iron houses with smoking factories in the background stretched a minute¡¯s path, maybe two, into a small clock ship dock where ships that flew on timelines rested with their crews.


    ¡°Which one¡¯s mine?¡± asked the Professor with a scan of the protruding masts.


    Red pointed to the smallest among them, ¡°Remember, sir, we need funding.¡±


    ¡°A momentary sacrifice. But didn¡¯t the Third--¡±


    ¡°Fourth sir.¡±


    ¡°Right, didn¡¯t that Fourth chap give us a loan last winter?¡±


    ¡°You spent it on drink, sir.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t remember that.¡±


    Red frowned, ¡°the receipts do.¡±


    They continued down the familiar streets, through scores of mechanized men and women dressed in swathes of buttoned silks and cottons. Red led him to the smallest ship on the harbor and stopped there.


    It was a steam sloop, low and cluttered with countless sails. While it was the smallest in the harbour, it was still a sizable ship, one capable of faring a world long journey.


    ¡°No luggage, no money, though I don¡¯t think you¡¯d need it,¡± said Red.


    ¡°So long as I have a bottle.¡±


    ¡°Yes yes, so long as you have liquor you¡¯d travel to the ends of the world.¡±


    ¡°Good thing I have liquor, eh?¡± the Professor stopped short before taking his inevitable swig, ¡°Say, Red. Suppose I were to meet this letter writer, yeah? What would I¡­ well what should I say to her?¡±


    ¡°What else?¡± said Red. ¡°Believe in me.¡±


    The Professor smiled to that. Those were the words he said to Red countless years ago. He rolled his head to the sloop tethered to the docks. A plank connected the two and he noted a dozen full turned dock workers tirelessly tapping the vessel, and getting it ready to sail.


    ¡°Excellent suggestion mate. I think¡­ I think I¡¯ll do that,¡± he said whilst crossing the plank. He raised his bottle at the last step, took a drink and peaked back at the man. ¡°Off I go, eh?¡±


    Red nodded, ¡°Off you go.¡±


    ¡­


    He lost his sloop on the third day out.


    It had been a month since then. The stores of drinks Red had supplied him with had inexplicably, unexplainably vanished and so, ever the good traveller, the Professor went about seeking more of the stuff.


    And find it he did, most often where others did not want him to. He drank and traveled and drank some more, forgetting much of anything save those he met. He crossed oceans, deserts, seen whales in the sky and despots on their seats. And now, alone on a dingy, he approached a city where rivers flowed and lights twinkled in the night.


    He sniffed liquor in the air and longed for it. He saw a ship on the harbor and realised his escape. But there was more there in the city that he had not known at the time. Another departure, another¡¯s journey.


    He remembered Red¡¯s words as he spied at the city through the distort of an empty bottle.


    ¡°Believe in me, huh?¡± he asked no one but gulls. ¡°You ask a lot of me, Red.¡±

 Colored Hats

    Two hundred years ago cemeteries became useless.


    Nobody truly died. Not anymore.


    They just turned into machines.


    Mechanical gulls shrieked in the distance. Waves crashed and clockships docked above and below. A boy sat on a ledge and his hand of wood and steel hovered over a nearby pier. Dusty light spilled past the hand¡¯s wooden fingers and streaked the back of it, admitting lines of yellow that intermingled with grey. A blue glimmer pulsated at the center of it, further muddling the aggregate. Steam escaped the knuckle gaps and the hand tensed.


    The fingers bent, the wrist turned and the dying light painted the boy behind it in fire. Evening rays shimmered off his brown rimmed goggles. His iron jaw appeared a greyish bronze in the light.


    The pier was for ships that sailed the sea naturally. The one above, far above, remained for the ships that could fly along timelines. Those were never meant for the likes of him.


    He touched the wooden planks. Wood against wood. Cold against unnatural warmth.


    ¡°One day,¡± He hushed, letting the voicebox buzz in his throat, ¡°I will escape.¡±


    Most had taken to the main streets further down by now, if not there, then the taverns. He could hear cups clanking in the distance. He could smell the sizzling fried fish both from the sea and the sky.


    Peg legs tapped behind him. He smiled. Only one woman had steel pegs for legs.


    ¡°Well you¡¯re not exactly trapped.¡±


    He saw her white witch hat first. ¡°Wilma,¡± he said as he faced her.


    ¡°¡®Ello Love. Whatcha doing out ¡®ere, eh?¡±


    ¡°Tonight¡¯s the festival, Wilma. Those ships will be empty, unguarded.¡±


    The woman lowered to a seat beside him. Her crimson corset blurred in his peripheral. The frills of her dress fluttered as she kicked the air mindlessly.


    She spoke after a breath, ¡°You should go.¡±


    ¡°Y-you knew?!¡±


    ¡°What? The thing you do every year? Your ever secretive plan of sneaking to the docks whilst swearing you¡¯d escape? No ¡®ow could I?¡± She gave him her ever famous Wilma grin, even ruffled the black hairs on his head. ¡°Tig, you naff, everyone knew. Though Hours forbid that would stop you from dreaming.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not a dream, Wil, It¡¯s¡­ my duty. I will see it to the end and then --¡±


    ¡°Find your family?¡± she finished.


    He smiled back at her. If only it was that. ¡°If anything they would want me to stay.¡±


    Wilma stood up and brushed her dress. Her red locks bounced and Tig focused on her one mechanical eye. It was completely black with a white splotch for an iris. Little bits of metal and wood encroached upon the edges of her face. She had half turned.


    ¡°Not right they abandoned a fourteen year old boy. Even if it¡¯s been a year at best. So go.¡± She implored him. ¡°I ¡®eard a couple sailors talking about ¡®ow they might look the other way this year. Not sure which ship, though I¡¯m sure should you pray to the Hour of Serendipity, you¡¯ll find your way.¡±


    He made a grin with his iron jaw, ¡°No one prays to that Hour, Wil. But¡ªif you¡¯re really ok with me going-- don¡¯t blame me if I¡¯m gone tomorrow.¡±


    Tig leapt to his boots and Wilma¡¯s eyes followed his ascent. He saw her frown for a moment. But only a moment. She was laughing the next.


    ¡°Right right,¡± she said, ¡°well I¡¯m off. The wards will be busy with all these drunks bumbling around. If it doesn¡¯t work ¡®cause of a certain someone, try not to dally too long for supper, eh?¡±


    ¡°No promises!¡±


    He ran after that, waving back at Wilma as widely as he could. His steps played hollow drumbeats, and the tails of his black coat ruffled behind him.


    The sun vanished in the sea and eager fireworks crackled in the sky behind him. It prompted a twist from the boy. Verace, the city of rivers stretched behind him. Lamps and fireworks became momentary artists upon canvases of inky river streets, splaying it in bursts of rippling reds and yellows. Well-lit shops, topped with green terraces, towered two to three storeys on either side of each river street. Other buildings, closer to the piers, were practically edifices that led out with stiff scaffolding to support the flying clockships. Vines snaked down upon the countless lime walls, and dipped into the flowing waters.


    His eyes followed one river back to the edges of the pier. A few strands of black hair cluttered his view.


    One after the other the pier¡¯s three lamps flickered awake and illuminated the two vessels docked there, one on either side.


    One was a clipper, a narrow yet heavily sailed thing. The other a caravel, large and plated in gold. He paused. The pier was empty. The sailors were most likely enjoying a drink in the tavern down the road. Perfect. He swiveled to the caravel. He saw his escape that he planned of a thousand fold. Today would be the day. He would walk on to an empty ship, hide in a barrel and none would be wiser. He would go and do what he intended for years. Even if it meant leaving Wilma and those of Verace behind. He would¡­He would¡­ He swallowed. He felt sick as he realised his duty. The true intention of his trip. His wooden fingers dug deep into his wrought iron palm.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    The Caravel balanced in his goggles.


    ¡°No time to doubt yourself, Tig.¡± He whispered to himself. ¡°One step. That¡¯s all.¡±


    Breathing hard, he took that step and stumbled. His foot froze. A book shut behind him.


    He turned and saw a man dressed in a violet hat and robes approaching him. A guise of invisibility crumbling off as he closed the distance. Tig sighed.


    ¡°Every year, Nister Trimbly. You do this every year.¡± Lipped the man now gesturing at Tig¡¯s foot. ¡°I¡¯ve placed a binding spell on your ankle. A bit of lesser invisibility on myself.¡±


    Tig knew him well. He rolled his eyes at Mr. Marici, ¡°Must you always explain it?¡±


    ¡°As your instructor, yes. The very fact you cannot detect me or think to place a detection spell proves you are unsuited to leave, Nr. Trimbly. Besides, I promised your brother I¡¯d watch over you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m terrible at written magic.¡±


    ¡°It is your first line of defence. ¡°


    ¡°I¡¯ve a plan!¡± insisted Tig, clawing at the invisible bind. ¡°Once I¡¯m at sea I¡¯ll find a job and I¡¯ll afford a pistol. Then I won¡¯t need any magic.¡±


    Marici shook his head. Unlike Wilma, his entire face was a patchwork of iron plates and his eyes were as black as ebony. He was a full turn.


    ¡°Listen, the sea is dangerous. I told you so everyday haven¡¯t I? Pirates, monsters, unstable lines not to mention how you¡¯ve yet to turn. Still you insist upon it and it worries me. Why is it you lack the same level of persistence when it comes to your studies?¡±


    ¡°There are things I need to do Mr. Marici, things I don¡¯t want to, but must. The sea! The sea will be my studies!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d rather it not be, Nr. Trimbly.¡± He snapped his silver fingers and the bind at Tig¡¯s ankle vanished. ¡°Wilma will have us supper in a few hours and I want you to be there. You¡¯ll feel better after some chowder.¡±


    Tig lowered his head. This happened every year and every year he let himself get caught. He realised how little had changed, how little would change. And he thought for a moment why he tried little to change.


    Tig nodded slowly. He hushed the words, a whisper then a breath, ¡°I suppose you¡¯re right. They are my family after all. And this ¡­ this is my home.¡±


    The bearings connecting in Tig¡¯s neck clicked up until he could see the main water road behind Mr. Marici. Unnumbered bridges spanned the river all the way to the city¡¯s midst until no amount of lights could illuminate the distance.


    Except for the wizard¡¯s tower of course. That was visible for hours away. The light of fireworks splotched it with color. It was a great spire overlooking it all, with little porches dotting its ascent. A pointed black hat rested at its top and it remained slightly crooked. He knew the academy and the dorms lay at the foot of that giant. That was where Marici would take him.


    More fireworks crackled, deafening the steps and voices of those in the distance.


    Mr. Marici practised a smile, ¡°Listen, Nister¡ª no, Tig. Do you remember the promise I--¡± Marici¡¯s eyes went wide then batted lethargically one after the other. He stuttered the words, ¡°I¡­ I¡­¡±


    ¡°Mr. Marici?¡±


    Marici stumbled from side to side. His eyes rolled. His legs buckled.


    ¡°Mr. Marici!¡± cried Tig to the resounding thud. He ran to his instructor, kneeled low and gave the man a jostle. Nothing. Tig¡¯s brow tightened.


    ¡°Mr. Marici, are you ok?¡±


    A wobbling shadow passed, and Tig snapped to where it came. A man with rum in his hands had swaggered steps ahead. He had a blue hat, the mark of a soldier.


    Tig¡¯s hands shook rabidly. He had to ask, ¡°Did you¡­? Is he?¡±


    The man sluggishly pivoted on his heel. He pointed at himself. Tig nodded.


    ¡°You think I killed him? Heavens!¡± harked the dizzying man with yet another swig. ¡°I¡¯m no shavage. I put him to sleep.¡±


    ¡°You used a spell?¡±


    The man glanced at his bottle then back at Tig. He smiled lazily, revealing his gold and silver dentures, ¡°Uh, spell? Yes a spell, exactly that! Can¡¯t have him seeing me.¡±


    ¡°Seeing you do what?¡± cried Tig.


    ¡°Stealing a ship of course.¡±


    ¡°Stealing? You can¡¯t do that.¡±


    ¡°Not stealing, mate. Repossessing. Did I say stealing? It was the other drunk I swear.¡± The man swaggered to the caravel then wandered back to the clipper and back again, ¡°I¡¯m not drunk by the way, just ¡­ hic¡­ can¡¯t decide.¡±


    ¡°P-police. I shall notify the police.¡±


    ¡°Oh? On me. Bet you won¡¯t¡­ hic.¡± He stopped before the caravel and nodded. ¡°Gold. I like gold. This one it is.¡±


    Tig swat his eyes from the ship back to Marici. His voice became scarce and troubled, ¡°You were supposed to stop me, Mr. Marici. Like you did every year. Stop me before I¡­ I¡­¡± He balled his hands and punched the deck.


    ¡°Oi.¡±


    Tig raised his head to the drunken man who had paused mid-way across the plank.


    ¡°Ain¡¯t you coming?¡±


    Tig blinked and pointed at himself, ¡°Me?¡±


    ¡°Eh? Yea you daff imp. I heard you talking to the pretty one back on the docks, says you wanted to leave didn¡¯t you? Then do it, mate.¡±


    ¡°With you?¡±


    ¡°Who else?¡±


    He was drunk, a stranger, and one dangerous enough to defeat Mr. Marici. If Wilma was there, she would have told him what he already knew. He glanced at Marici. Anyone would have. Five years. He had spent five years trying to leave and now he had the chance, however stupid it was.


    The buzz of the caravel¡¯s engine brought him back to reality. Billowing steam balanced in his sight.


    ¡°Not guarded.¡± Chimed the drunkard. ¡°Hours blessed it must be my day.¡±


    ¡°Stop!¡± echoed a man.


    Tig whirled and counted a dozen red cheeked sailors rushing towards him.


    He heard a splash. He spun. The plank to the caravel had been knocked off. The drunk man was by the edge of the ship and shrugging. ¡°Every man for himself, eh?¡±


    Tig stood up. The horde of angry sailor were seconds away. The ship creaked. He made his choice.


    Running, Tig shouted at the man, ¡°This is madness!¡±


    ¡°Oh you¡¯re coming now? Make up your mind, mate. Time¡¯s ticking.¡±


    Only steps parted him from the end of the pier.


    Tig took a breath and leapt. Time seemed to freeze. The flicker of lamps brushed his cheek. It was in moments like these, Tig thought of how short his life really was. Of how little he experienced. He would miss it all if he failed that jump. Was he doomed? Probably. The edge of the ship passed him by. Definitely.


    His body tugged before the expected splash. The black water rushed beneath him. He glanced up, a metal arm hand had grabbed his own, a blue hat tipped roughly above. Tig gagged. His savior stunk of a well-aged bourbon.


    Shouts of angry sailors echoed behind him.


    ¡°Cheat!¡±


    ¡°Scoundrel!¡±


    ¡°Pirate!¡±


    ¡°Pirate?¡± repeated Tig as the man hoisted him up.


    ¡°No. Professor.¡± Corrected the man. ¡°Though I did¡­ just steal a ship¡­ hic, so I suppose the term is quite, um, fitting.¡±


    Waves crashed around him. The sails fluttered above him. Steam plumed out the back and Tig realised what he had done.


    He ran up the stairs to the top deck and leaned off the prow, ¡°I did it.¡± He hushed. ¡°I- I escaped.¡±


    ¡°Not that you were trapped.¡± Hummed the man.


    Tig lowered his head, ¡°No, you¡¯re right. I never was.¡± He smiled, spinning back to the man now at the end of his bottle. ¡°Where to then?¡±


    ¡°Where else in the world mate?¡± hicc¡¯ed the stranger. ¡°To the ends of it.¡±

 The Drunk, the Fool, and the Layabout

    It was a stupid stupid choice. Any moment now they would catch him. Marici and Wilma would be trailing behind them on the fastest ship those two could muster and if not them, perhaps the marine time police. Perhaps even the navy.


    Yet, despite all of that, Tiguak Trimbly could hardly peel his eyes from the rising sun. This was it, his grand escape. His¡­ duty. His hands quivered at the railing. The dissipating embers of a letter spell rushed by him. At the very least Wilma would know.


    ¡°Hours,¡± cursed the stranger. ¡°Am I?¡± he sniffed. ¡°Sober? Gah!¡±


    Tig spied at him. His features were fully defined in the morning light. He was a full turn. Wedges of coal spiked out of the underside of his head as if it were hair. His skin was of bronze, rusted where he would have had light stubble. He had a long pointed nose and even longer face. His eyes were black rimmed white goggles long embedded into his countenance.


    ¡°You said you were a professor. What of?¡±


    The man had already popped a bottle and finished a swig, ¡°Oh you know, of this, that, and sometimes,¡± he shrugged, ¡°Even that.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not very specific,¡± laughed the boy. ¡°What do you mean by the ends of this world?¡±


    ¡°The end, mate. Over there. Squint really hard at the horizon and you might even spot it.¡±


    ¡°The sun?¡±


    The man sniffed and swaggered to the prow, ¡°Careful what you say around a professor of magics. You might even sound dumb saying it. I mean over there at the very end. Just so happens it¡¯s where I¡¯m to meet a friend, a man by the name of a mad tinker-what¡¯s-it.¡±


    Tig blinked. ¡°Mad Tinker? You don¡¯t mean¡­ no that can¡¯t be.¡±


    The Professor rose a finger as if to explain himself but before he could the sound of wood rattling came from the lower deck. Tig rushed to the railing to see what while the professor casually strolled, taking a long swig as he did.


    Tig took off his goggles and squinted as hard as the professor instructed him to. The barrel moved. Tig started. Barrels didn¡¯t move. He stormed down the stairs.


    ¡°Oi mate, be careful now, you might trip.¡±


    Tig leapt at the last step. The barrel sat ahead of him. It was accompanied by two other smaller equally brass rung companions, yet only this one moved. Tig reached for it and paused.


    The barrel rattled once again. Then thuds echoed behind him and he caught the Professor sprawled on the floor, rump presented to the heavens.


    He stood up dizzily and produced an easy smile, ¡°I, um, meant to do that.¡±


    There was a scrape, a creak and a pop.


    Tig gasped as he saw it, ¡°The barrel lid.¡±


    Now both the wayward travelers were locked upon it intently.


    Bright, golden eyes were the first they saw.


    Those eyes vanished a moment later. Silence.


    Tig swallowed, ¡°Hello?¡±


    ¡°I was never here,¡± spoke the barrel.


    Tig frowned. There was several issues to that statement, the least of which concerned how the Professor approached the wooden container. Tig¡¯s expression shifted. For a moment he had hope. He was certain that in all the Professor¡¯s fully turned years of experience he knew just how to approach a stowaway. At least more than himself.


    ¡°Barrel,¡± started the man, prodding about the barrel. ¡°Do you have any liquor in you?¡±


    Tig shook his head. Hopeless.


    ¡°What he means to say,¡± interjected Tig. ¡°Is that we¡¯ve captured this ship.¡±


    ¡°Obviously,¡± mumbled the barrel. ¡°You¡¯re not the crew.¡±A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Tig beamed, ¡°Hah, so you are here!¡±


    Golden eyes popped out of the barrel, ¡°That was my attempt at a joke. Barrels don¡¯t talk.¡±


    ¡°Do barrels carry liquor?¡±


    Barrel eyes swished to the man, ¡°Your companion is a drunk and you,¡± the eyes said swapping to the boy and narrowing, ¡°are an idiot.¡±


    The lid closed.


    Tig pointed at himself, ¡°I¡¯ve just been insulted by a barrel.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± corrected the Professor. ¡°You¡¯ve been insulted by the girl in the barrel.¡±


    The barrel popped open and the girl in question showed her face. She stared at him. She seemed curious by Tig¡¯s appearance as he was hers.


    Her face was entirely fleshy and tan save for her brows, which had become a dreary steel. Her hair, grey as well, was a mess of equally shaded steel that stemmed from her forehead, curved around her ears and stopped short of her neck. Tig focussed on her ears more than anything else. It was almost as if she had four of them, two on either side in the shape of half a butterfly, furry and pointed. One ear angled up while the other bent down.


    ¡°You¡¯re a sea wolf.¡± said Tig.


    ¡°And you¡¯re a chitik. We¡¯re both northerners.¡±


    ¡°You both know each other? Wonderful. Now the liquor.¡±


    The girl frowned and vanished into the barrel. Tig stepped forwards.


    ¡°Stay back,¡± warned her muffled voice. ¡°I have a gun.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll shoot.¡±


    Tig pressed his brows, ¡°Why would I believe you have a gun?¡±


    ¡°Why would you believe I haven¡¯t?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re my age, you couldn¡¯t afford one. Nor would any would anyone sell you one.¡±


    The Professor wiped his mouth, ¡°He has a point, mate.¡±


    The lid opened, ¡°Plan two,¡± declared barrel girl. This time she stood so much as to reveal her steel turned mechanical arms, bare passed her shoulders. They looked as if several silvers tubes had been tied together by brass rings. Something clacked as she lifted her right arm. She had a small square shaped device held between her thumb and her finger. It clicked and buzzed.


    Barrel girl cleared her throat, ¡°Ah. Aaaaah. Testing. Ok. I, Gemjo of the Yuka clan hereby declare my capture at the hand of the nefarious¡­ your names?¡± she asked Tig, holding the device close to the boy.


    ¡°Tiguak Trimbly?¡±


    She turned to the Professor. The man pointed at Tig, ¡°His but better.¡±


    Tig shook his head, ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    She clicked the device off, ¡°Recording. My proof you might say. I am no longer implicated for when you get captured.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s your plan?¡± scoffed Tig. ¡°Wait till we get captured?¡±


    Gemjo shrugged, ¡°Better than fighting an uphill battle.¡±


    ¡°Say mate, savy you tell us why you were here to begin with? And presumably without liquor?¡±


    Gemjo¡¯s eyes wandered, ¡°I may have been hired to watch the ship. Call for help if anything happened.¡±


    The Professor snickered as he made away, ¡°I¡¯m glad you were.¡±


    ¡°I miscalculated,¡± said Gemjo. ¡°Never expected thieves.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m no thief!¡± clamored Tig. ¡°I¡¯m an explorer.¡±


    ¡°This your boat?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Thief,¡± the lid shut.


    Tig frowned emphatically. He had little time to waste on barrels. Well little more than he already he had. As he turned, he saw the Professor at the foot of stairs and staring down his bottle.


    The morning light grazed the outline of the top deck and Tig remembered.


    ¡°The horizon,¡± he started. ¡°You said you meant to meet the Mad Tinker. Do you mean that Mad Tinker?¡±


    He heard the barrel lid slide open behind him. The professor lowered his bottle.


    ¡°Could be, mate,¡± mused the Professor. ¡°Though to say he¡¯s the same mad tinker as that mad tinker would imply your mad tinker is the same as mine.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re drunk. Already.¡± sighed Tig.


    ¡°No. you¡¯re drunk... hic!¡± The professor took a few steps and collapsed on the deck.


    ¡°Professor?¡± Tig said as he paced to the man. His steps slowed and his brows dropped.


    The professor had been coddling his bottle in his arms. His eyes were shut and the only conversation he offered happened in snores.


    ¡°You realise how far that is, chitik?¡±


    Tig rolled his eyes at the girl, ¡°I¡¯m honestly not sure how much I believe him.¡±


    ¡°So you followed him without knowing him?¡±


    The red in his face drowned. He clutched his temple with his wooden fingers.


    ¡°When you say it like that, it almost sounds absurd.¡±


    Barrel girl tugged her ears, ¡°Well, it¡¯s easy enough to turn back now. Save us both the trouble.¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t I implicated?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not.¡±


    ¡°You aren¡¯t very convincing.¡±


    ¡°That, fellow northerner, would take effort,¡± she said as she ventured back in her barrel.


    With the barrel girl gone, Tig stared at the now snoring man. He found himself tracing the lanky features of the so called Professor. He wore a dirty soldier¡¯s jacket, dark blue and gilded in a mucky silver. Heady leathers hugged his body underneath.


    ¡°What if he isn¡¯t lying?¡± suggested Tig after some time.


    Her was voice was muffled, ¡°Still keeps the fact that the Tinker is a long ways away. The longer you travel the more likely you are to be caught and the more difficult it be for me to return.¡±


    ¡°You want to? Return that is?¡±


    Gemjo popped out, ¡°All I want is an easy life, though that isn¡¯t an easy wish.¡±


    ¡°Well I want to go far,¡± snapped Tig, eyeing the Barrel girl. She seemed unimpressed, yawning even. He lowered his head. ¡°I have something to do.¡±


    ¡°Then do it Tiguak Trimbly.¡±


    ¡°Call me Tig, and I will,¡± he raised his head and dared into the horizon. ¡°Whether the Professor tells the truth or not.¡±


    ¡°¡­Mechini¡­zation¡­¡±


    Tig blinked. The Professor was speaking in his sleep.


    ¡°Mad Tinker¡­ Stop mechanization.¡±


    ¡°Mechanization,¡± hushed Tig as he rose a finger. ¡°By the Hours he did mean that Mad Tinker!¡±


    ¡°That sounds incredibly long and awfully taxing. When abouts is the next stop?¡±


    Tig¡¯s excitement seemed to evaporate as she said that. He didn¡¯t know. His throat clicked. His risen finger wilted.


    He took a gander, ¡°Um, tomorrow?¡±


    Barrel girl formed a line with her mouth, ¡°You don¡¯t have a navigator, do you?¡±

 The Rebellious Half Turn

    It was a brilliantly crafted golden precipice. It ticked as if any clock would. Yet she knew this was no ordinary clock.


    Clouds brushed just out the cockpit. The endless cacophony of metalwork proved ever present here and oddly charming.


    It was a wonder to any untrained mechanic as how anything so small could hoist an entire ship.


    ¡°First time seeing one, cadet?¡± Grumbled an old man.


    ¡°Yes sir.¡± Straightened the cadet.


    The old man was a walking iron ball. He had stubby legs and arms and the face of a rock toad. His blue hat was worn and adorned with four golden stars by the band. ¡°You¡¯re new here. Ricci¡¯s Daughter?¡±


    ¡°Y-yes sir.¡±


    ¡°Do not stutter around me, cadet.¡±


    ¡°Yes. Sir.¡±


    ¡°Hmpf. Well it is marvelous isn¡¯t it? This is the latest line of clock engines, the Minute Hand if you will. With it we can stay air born for thirty minutes. Forty if the timelines are stable enough. In my day that would have been the work of Hours.¡±


    ¡°Permission to speak, sir?¡±


    The man frowned, ¡°No.¡± he glanced over his shoulder. ¡°Sergeant Webly!¡±


    The girl whiffed the scent of cinnamon and lavender. A brass man with a pointed chin and blue hat appeared by the end of the hall. He saluted squarely at his rounder counterpart, ¡°Yes General.¡±


    ¡°What have you?¡±


    ¡°A bit of a ruckus, Sir. Multiple brawls, some wounded and a stolen ship.¡±


    ¡°Stolen ship?¡±


    ¡°Well yes. Two citizens, a half turn and full turn claimed there may have been a young boy implicated in it. A third member is suspected to be involved. It left two days ago. Reports also mention ¨C¡°


    ¡°By the Hours, Webly I don¡¯t need the details, just tell me if that man was on it.¡±


    ¡°Sir. As I was about to say, reports mention of a man dressed in uniform being the main perpetrator.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s all I needed to hear. Send this ship and the Sevens after him. I expect word from you in a week.¡±If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°Yes sir.¡±


    The old man grumbled and stomped out of the cockpit. The door then spun and clicked shut.


    Webly surrendered his posture the moment the main gear on the door stopped spinning, ¡°Curse that man a thousand fold. Damned bastard. You, Niss Remy Le Ricci was it?¡±


    ¡°Yes sir.¡±


    ¡°Prepare the engine for immediate travel.¡±


    ¡°But sir, we¡¯ve yet to gather the troops.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t need them. If we capture him with the few dozen we have the better. Merit¡¯s what ranks us soldiers higher, Niss Ricci. Perhaps you¡¯ll understand that when you¡¯re a full turn.¡±


    ¡°Yes sir.¡±


    Webly grumbled and took up the captain¡¯s seat. He ran his brass hand along the velvet arm cover and tensed.


    ¡°Why?¡± He asked after a moment¡¯s pause. ¡°Why is it that a rich merchant¡¯s daughter chose to undergo mechanic training?¡±


    Remy cleared her throat, ¡°I enjoy machines sir.¡±


    ¡°You could have gone to the best schools to learn of it.¡±


    ¡°With all due respect, Sir. My father would rather have me marry than pursue proper schooling.¡±


    ¡°Naturally. How would you produce an heir as a full turn?¡± The man waved his brass hand when Remy failed to respond. ¡°A rebellious stage I see. Pah, half turns. Well go on then, you have your orders.¡±


    Remy saluted and quickly left the cockpit.


    Her heart raced. The blood she aptly held back now rushed to her face. Finally. At long last, finally. She treaded the narrow clockship hall, her boots clanking on the metal frames. Upon the dirty glass that sided her, she noticed her own fleeting image.


    She had an unwavering look. Her black hair was tied back and her pale face, for once, looked almost joyous. It vanished when she saw her eyes, the only parts other than her hands that had gone mechanical. She snapped her black goggles over top of them and scrunched her nose. That man had the answer to everything, and now, after finally entering the navy she had the chance to pursue him.


    She slowed as a commotion stirred at the far end of the hall.


    The voice of a woman reverberated, ¡°Let me through!¡±


    The woman sounded urgent. Remy ran. The far door spun open.


    The owner of the voice wore a white hat, red hair bundled down.


    The woman spoke as Remy paused, ¡°Crickets. You¡¯re as old as ¡®im.¡±


    A man entered the hall with a disgruntled soldier holding him down by the arms. He wore a violet hat. A full turn.


    ¡°Wilma, this will get us nowhere, better we head back now--¡±


    ¡°No.¡± snapped Wilma, ¡°They ¡®ave to know, Martin.¡± She focussed on Remy who straightened her posture. ¡°Find the stolen ship, please, I beg you. I know for a fact he¡¯s on it, please.¡±


    ¡°Who?¡± asked Remy.


    ¡°Tiguak Trimbly. Old as you, love. I thought it be good for ¡®im to ¡®ead out, but not after this.¡± She searched in her robes and pulled out a letter.


    The man behind her shook off the soldiers grasp and crossed his arms, ¡°To think he should fail at a simple detection spell, but manage a letter spell so easily? That Tig will never seize to surprise me.¡±


    ¡°What my brother means to say is that Tiguak Trimbly sent this letter while on board the stolen ship.¡±


    Remy gestured for it, and, when Wilma handed her the worn parchment the girl unfurled it. The edges were jagged as if ripped out of a book, the ink was smudged as if it had been rolled immediately after writing.


    She scanned the words briskly. Her grip tightened at the end of it. She flipped to Wilma and breathed, ¡°Is this true?¡±


    Wilma nodded, ¡°I don¡¯t doubt ¡®im. Please, love, stop ¡®im before he regrets it.¡±


    Remy gave her a salute, ¡°We will. Sergeant Webly is the best at what he does. I promise you we shall catch them all the moment they make landfall.¡±

 Captain

    ¡°Oi, I see it, mate.¡±


    Tig ran to the prow where the Professor had been staring off into the distance with a bottle as his eyeglass. The outline of an island bounced on the horizon.


    The Professor lowered his bottle, ¡°Bit of a mountain, askewed on the left side, looks a bit like a cat¡¯s arse. Aye that be her, Siblisey Island.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve been there?¡± asked the boy.


    The man bobbed his bronze head, making his hat tip a little, ¡°No but I had the acquaintance who was born there. Although now that I think of it, a cat¡¯s arse isn¡¯t the only arse that island reminds me of. It¡¯s quite round you see a bit like¡ªright,¡± He swaggered to the opposite side of the prow, ¡°you¡¯re too young for that, mate. I think. We¡¯ve found land, so how bouts we celebrate a little, eh? A drink.¡± He said pulling out another bottle. ¡°What a clever suggestion. None for you though, we¡¯ve only just established you¡¯re too young.¡±


    Tig rolled his eyes, ¡°Just how many bottles are on this ship?¡±


    ¡°Never,¡± stumbled the man, ¡°question how much a sailor drinks.¡±


    A couple of thuds echoed from the lower deck. A quick trip down the railing revealed the cause of it. The barrel was rolling and empty.


    ¡°Yo-you¡¯re out of your barrel!¡± gasped Tig.


    The sea wolf glanced up, ¡°You think I was a part of it?¡±


    ¡°You stayed in there for three days, mate,¡± echoed the disembodied voice of the Professor.


    Gemjo yawned, ¡°Could have stayed longer.¡± She cracked a lazy smile and flexed her arm up while arcing her side. ¡°Is this a better pose, Chitik?¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t staring!¡± he clamoured.


    ¡°No you were only painting an image behind those goggles.¡±


    He grit his teeth and ran down the stairs.


    Like him, Gemjo was almost entirely mechanical in her legs and arms. Her feet were that of a wolf, but made of tightly packed steel rods in the same fashion as her arms. Puffy brown breeches billowed from her knees to her waist, which remained tied together by a red sash. A white, sleeveless shirt covered the rest. It was stained from little wash.


    She had just finished tying a red scarf around her neck.


    ¡°What?¡± she said tossing the long part of the scarf behind her. ¡°Steel fur does poorly to protect from the cold. And the wet,¡± she finished bitterly, ¡°hate wet fur.¡±


    Tig¡¯s eyes wandered low as he finished the steps. A tail. She had a bushy silver tail and one made of fur. She hid it almost instinctively and frowned at him.


    ¡°You have a tail,¡± he said with glee. ¡°Can I touch it?¡±


    ¡°No. The less scent of you two I have on me the better when you get captured.¡±


    ¡°Not that the police will sniff you,¡± countered Tig.


    ¡°Not them, me.¡± She pinched her nose, crafting a nasally version of her already creaking voice. ¡°Less you¡¯ve noticed this entire ships reeks of drink and, uh, other fluids.¡±


    The Professor¡¯s head popped above the railing, ¡°Minutes, mates! We¡¯re minutes away from landfall.¡±


    ¡°You intend to get off here?¡± asked Tig.


    ¡°I do,¡± yawned Gemjo.


    ¡°And you won¡¯t tell on us?¡± he said with a lower of his head.


    She glanced at him for a quick minute, then shifted to the island approaching fast on the horizon. ¡°Ever gone to the police for anything? Questions, that¡¯s all they ask. I¡¯d rather slip into the island as if nothing ever happened. There I¡¯ll find some easy work, maybe sleep a little. The usual.¡±


    ¡°Then it has been pleasure, Gemjo of clan Yuka,¡± said Tig as he held out his hand.


    She did not shake it, only stare at its wooden features and the seep of blue light that crept over top, ¡°Find a navigator,¡± she said after a pause. ¡°You won¡¯ get anywhere you want without one, especially when a man who leads blindly into the horizon is the one driving.¡±


    ¡°I certainly agree on that,¡± laughed the boy.


    With a nod thrown his way, Gemjo stepped off the boat. Tig heard the splash as he got to the edge.


    ¡°Hours!¡± swore the still looking Professor. ¡°This drink must¡¯ve been laced, mate. I swear I saw her go overboard.¡±


    Tig spotted a black and white fishlike creature jump in and out of the water, ¡°She¡¯s a sea wolf.¡± He explained, smiling. ¡°They do that.¡±


    Minutes later, Siblisey was upon them. It was an island with a mountain in the distance and a cove at the front. Instead of a beach, Siblisey had a waterfall stretching from one end of the cove to the other. A hundred docks punctured the top of that drop with lifts going to and fro a hundred more harbored ships at the bottom.


    As the caravel lurched closer, the limestone structures of the city¡¯s seaside became as clear as the water surrounding it. Most were clean cut square houses with glass domes on top. The first layers of buildings stood no more than a story high, while more and more towards the back crept up higher on the inclines that dug into the natural hills that formed there. Elms and oaks dotted the green expanse behind the town and leading to the mountain, while the island itself proved small enough to be captured in Tig¡¯s goggles just a minute away.


    The winds rushed as gulls inevitably cawed. A shadow passed and then another. Tig studied the sky and saw it then. Clockships flew above.


    The Professor ran from the top deck by the prow to across the main deck and up to the half deck.


    Tig¡¯s eyes kept to the drifting ship above them. Everyone in Verace possessed a small understanding of how those mechanical wonders worked. Of how they followed invisible timelines spread across all of known reality. A part from how those ships floated on air instead of water they held little distinction from regular ships. In fact, the one that just passed them was a caravel. The only visible difference being the presence of a domed glass cockpit situated at the bottom of the bow.


    Tig squinted. Past the glare and clouds, he swore he saw figures in blue hats there. Though he had only a moment to scrutinize. For the next he was stumbling.


    Their own caravel swished and Tig struggled to find footing. Siblisey, which was only just ahead of them, shifted haphazardly to their starboard.


    ¡°Professor, where are we going?¡±


    Tig ran up to the half deck and saw the Professor with his bronze hands clutched to the wheel.


    ¡°Professor!¡±


    The bronze full turn lifted a finger. ¡°I can explain,¡± he hicc¡¯ed, ¡°I¡­¡± his eyes batted and he fell to the side, turning the ship with him.


    Tig clung to railing desperately, ¡°Professor! Wake up!¡±


    The man stirred to that, blinked and glanced at the wheel, ¡°I wasn¡¯t asleep. You were asleep.¡±


    ¡°Mind explaining now?¡±


    ¡°Right this,¡± he sniffed, readjusting their course, ¡°When one repossesses a ship. That is to say, take a ship that is not entirely in one¡¯s possession--¡±


    ¡°Steal it you mean.¡±


    ¡°No! Wait. Wait. When one steals¡­ damn it. Possess a ship, one does his best to harbor on the thieves¡¯ bay of any island he approaches.¡±


    Tig studied the great sandy rock face on the side of Siblisey that now blocked the view of the city.


    ¡°Thieves¡¯ bay?¡± said Tig. ¡°What makes you so sure Siblisey has one?¡±


    ¡°Mate, every city has one.¡±


    ¡°And if it doesn¡¯t?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not a good a city then is it? Trust me on this, mate,¡± he said already drifting. ¡°Keep your eyes fixed starboard, we¡¯ll be there soon.¡±


    The rockface continued. Little bits of verdant foliage cropped up from the top.


    ¡°Look, Professor. I think what we need is to go back and¡­ and¡­ hours¡­¡±


    The rock face led to another, yet none so natural. This one was carved in. It was a cavern that shaded almost all below in perpetual night. Little yellow lights revealed the workings of a harbor further down. Ships with black sails were moored all over.


    Tig stumbled back and nearly collapsed by the Professor.


    ¡°P-p-pirates.¡± He stammered.


    ¡°Oh relax. Honor among thieves, eh?¡±


    More of the underground harbor came into view as they neared the crooked piers. Shambling huts, seemingly built from the same splintering wood towered above the black water.


    The caravel creaked as the piers lurched besides it.


    The Professor stepped to the side and tapped the planks a bit with his boots until a plank slid out and a lever sprang from it.


    ¡°Ah there it is,¡± hummed the Professor, pulling the lever.


    A loud boom thundered beneath them.


    ¡°Good anchor,¡± said the Professor. ¡°Right. Now what did that barrel girl say again?¡±


    A voice cut in before Tig could answer.


    ¡°Navigator,¡± it wheezed


    Tig and rushed to the edge. The Professor sauntered there instead.


    Gemjo was leaning by the barrel, wet and puffing. She glared at the Professor as soon as he came into view.


    She held up an equally dripping print. It was yellow with blurred words but a very clear image. She had three of them.


    Tig clutched his iron jaw, ¡°T-that¡¯s... that¡¯s a¡ª¡°


    ¡°Wanted poster,¡± she finished gingerly. ¡°One for each of us.¡±


    ¡­


    Clearly then, the reasonable action would have been to hide. But Tig knew he had not done a single reasonable thing since he left with the Professor. So the three of them ventured into town.


    Navigating through the pirate infested den to get to above ground was troubling enough. To then want to cross all twelve seas was absurd. Gemjo was right. They needed a navigator. Tig spied at those passing by.


    The thieves¡¯ den proved surprisingly docile for those it hosted. Many there were discreet enough, often shuffling by with hands in their pockets and gazes held low. But to ask why they were discreet would lead to criminal pasts. The air reeked of gunpowder and soot. He shook his head. By the way his two companions marched sordidly ahead of him, he figured they¡¯d be seeking the navigator outside as well.


    The trio trailed the humble path to Siblisey town. Oaks dominated much of the sides while the road only kicked dust to their faces when the wind blew hard enough.


    The Professor led the pack without his jacket, as proud as an alpha. Tig held the middle, overshadowed by the tall and lanky man, while Gemjo, about Tig¡¯s height, walked with the Professor¡¯s coats overhead of her.


    A few of the less than honest full turns that passed them snickered at the sight. Tig caught glimpses of their black wizard hats as they did. Only thieves wore black hats.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    ¡°You know,¡± started Tig. ¡°Covering yourself that way does little to detract attention from you.¡±


    She was scowling in the shade. Tired perhaps, annoyed definitely. ¡°A simple job. That was it. A simple job. Guard the boat, one night, go home. Easy. Then you showed up.¡±


    ¡°Talking to me, mate?¡±


    Gemjo tugged the coat lower, ¡°We¡¯re lucky they didn¡¯t gut you as soon as you walked into a pirate den wearing a bloody soldier¡¯s hat.¡±


    Tig shrugged, ¡°We¡¯re lucky they smelled him as well you did. No self-respecting soldier would smell that strongly of liquor.¡±


    The Professor winked back at Tig with a bottle gripped in his hand, ¡°A bottle¡¯s saved me more than once before, mate.¡±


    His iron jaw dropped, ¡°You¡¯re still drinking!?¡±


    ¡°No, mate. It¡¯s empty. Last one to. I¡¯ll mind the gallows should I remain that way. Say,¡± he stopped briskly. ¡°What¡¯s that over there?¡±


    Tig and Gemjo rounded their eyes to the first building that should greet them. It lay on the outskirts of Siblisey, right before the main stretch of the city.


    The Captain¡¯s Wife read the sign.


    The Professor positively gulped the air and gushed, ¡°Hours blessed. A pub!¡±


    He was gone a second later, the swinging tavern door telling of his destination. Gemjo quietly paced to the entrance.


    ¡°You¡¯re following him?¡± asked Tig in disbelief.


    ¡°Better there than out here.¡±


    She passed the door to jingling bells. Tig sighed.


    The air simmered the moment he entered. The stench of bar food drowned out all else, fried fish chiefly among them. Cups clanked and men laughed. To his side he spotted two burly half turns wrestling arms. To his other side, a barmaid sped hastily by and drips of beer splashed on him.


    A sea of black hats parted him from the end of the bar. For a building that looked no bigger than a bakery, it was awfully spacious inside. Perhaps the dim flicker of lamps and the stained willows walls made it the way. He took a step, swore he heard a squish. Then another and a man belched his way. He gagged, stumbled and loosely caught himself on the bar counter. Rows upon rows of varying drink filled the case behind the counter.


    A tall glass slammed in front of him. A familiar bronze liquid bubbled in the cup and foamed at the top.


    He stumbled back.


    ¡°You¡¯re too young,¡± spoke a sonorous voice, sliding the cup away. He looked up. It was a woman. A really burly woman. In fact, she had arms twice as thick as the ones wrestling near the entrance and muscled face that made him gulp.


    He could see a thousand gears whirling within those arms that stole his fascination, thick steel bars caging it all in and leading to a face that was carved of wood with high cheek bones. Her black eyes batted with yellow pupils. Tendrils of steel wiring were neatly tied behind her head.


    ¡°Leave, kid. This is no place for children.¡±


    ¡°My friends,¡± laughed Tig. ¡°Yes, uh, my friends are here. Have you seen them? A man in a blue hat, bronze skin and a girl with silver hair and four ears.¡±


    Her bursting arm lifted and he followed it to a commotion coming from the back. Several black hats were gathered there. Traces of light glimmered from between them.


    Tig swallowed hard. ¡°Thanks,¡± he said as he slid to his feet.


    He passed by the many black coated wizards on his way, quite easily too, owing to his still small stature. The sounds of cups clanking gave way to cheering intermingled with sneers and an ever present word that repeated itself.


    ¡°Fight!¡±


    ¡°Fight!¡±


    ¡°Fight!¡±


    Tig drew his hand across his face, ¡°Really?¡±


    The fighters had cleared an area, the distance between them almost set.


    In one corner, stood the still leather clad Professor. He had no hat on, so his coal hairs spiked the air. In the other stood a half turned man. With hair pointed up like a cone. If Tig had seen from the distance he would have though this man wore a hat. This man was bare chested, wore puffy white pants and was in the process of cracking his knuckles dramatically.


    Despite his the numerous patches on his pants, his hands were intricate, only turned from the wrist down. They were silver with several turning joints and steam rushing out from the gaps. His chest was well built, fleshy and white.


    Tig glanced up. He was shorter than the Professor yet he seemed just as tall as he squared to face the man. Clean shaven with narrowed curled brows, he had a one of kind face. A large triangular nose made most of it while perfectly circular eyes with piercing black pupils gave him a determined look.


    ¡°Bets. Taking bets!¡± cried a familiar Gemjo, walking around the ring. She had the Professor¡¯s hat, now filled to the brim with cogs.


    Tig pulled Gemjo aside, ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    Gemjo grinned, ¡°More money the easier the life.¡±


    ¡°Unless you get caught.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll run.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°The moment those two idiots start brawling, we run.¡±


    He blinked at her. Unbelievable. Though the more he thought about it and the cogs she had amassed the more plausible it seemed.


    The Professor¡¯s opponent commanded the room.


    ¡°You¡¯ve any idea who I am, old turn?¡±


    The Professor shrugged, ¡°No I--¡±


    ¡°Captain Franco, the strongest in the twelve seas and the man who¡¯ll topple the navy!¡±


    Tig clutched his chin. To topple the navy was no easy task, nor a wanted one. Any who claimed so was either a fool or a very dangerous man.


    Members of the crowd chuckled as he said that. Tig nodded. A fool then.


    Franco continued, not easily phased by their laughter, ¡°You¡¯ve lost the moment you challenged me.¡±


    ¡°We haven¡¯t even started, mate¡­ hic!¡±


    Tig¡¯s eye twitched. Gemjo¡¯s plan seemed more and more appealing.


    ¡°See these?¡± said Franco, patting his shoulder, ¡°Pure muscle.¡± He levelled a finger at the Professor. ¡°You¡¯ve insulted my maps and so now I¡¯ll show just how strong those muscles are.¡±


    Tig peaked at Gemjo, ¡°Did he say maps?¡±


    ¡°How dare you, mate. All I said was that your maps¡­ hic¡­ reminded me a lot of Beatrice... Benive? No Benjamin. No that can¡¯t be right, Benjamin was her brother. That¡¯s right! Her arse.¡±


    The opposing man turned positively red as he said that.


    ¡°Mate you¡¯ve got an eye for painting arses.¡±


    Gemjo¡¯s grip directed Tig away from the inevitable brawl. She nudged her silver haired away from it all.


    Tig shook his head. ¡°We can¡¯t just leave him,¡± he argued.


    Thud.


    Tig turned and saw the Professor passed out on the floor, snoring.


    Tig sighed, ¡°Fine.¡±


    The crowd burst into laughter, not least among them Franco who now stood with his foot over the Professor¡¯s head and his hands on his hips.


    ¡°My very presence defeated him,¡± he claimed.


    The crowd roared.


    Tig and Gemjo snuck through the horde of black hats with a hat full of treasure. The bar had another exit near the back, which he had glimpsed upon his entry. It was one of the only entries for unfiltered light, so he noticed it instantly but was otherwise distracted by his task at hand. Now his task tugged him by the hand. She led him through the crowds nimbly with a cogs jingling in her other hand. They were a few black hats away now. The light from the door was close. Escape nigh.


    Then footsteps echoed from the front. In an instant, the merriment silenced. Tig and Gemjo stood still, the last of the black hats behind them.


    All eyes were turned to the front


    The footsteps continued. Tig heard spurs and smelled on overtly expensive cologne. Cinnamon and Lavender.


    The new arrival commanded the room. He was a military man by his blue coat. He had a band of blue coats wavering besides him.


    ¡°Sergeant Webly,¡± declared the thin faced man with a cane in hand. ¡°Be at ease, brigands. You are not our tar-¡±


    A dagger wobbled behind him. He turned and saw his hat now pinned to the willow walls. Tig cocked his head past the man, and spotted a pale girl about his age standing there. She had been looking back at the dagger, so she did not see him. Tig cocked his head. With her back as straight as a beam she seemed familiar.


    He mouthed the words instinctively, ¡°Le Ricci?¡±


    Webly felt at his head and found it bare. He sighed, ¡°Knew it wouldn¡¯t be easy.¡± He drew a pistol.


    As he did, nearly every black hat in the tavern drew their own. They all clicked.


    ¡°At ease,¡± he repeated. ¡°No need to get splintered and dented over this. I wish only for a man.¡±


    The bartender leapt over the counter and shook the floor as she landed. Webly¡¯s frail marble eyes trailed to as high as she stood, nearly two heads above him.


    She spat to the side, and Tig glanced at it. Oil.


    There was a long, deadly silence as the woman raised her hand.


    ¡°Honor among thieves,¡± she grunted.


    Webly flinched. ¡°Scrolls,¡± he clamored, ¡°get the scrolls!¡±


    The guns fired. Tig ducked. Silence. No cries of agony, no grims thuds, not even the bounce of bullets. Nothing. Slowly, stupidly, he peaked up in curiosity. What he saw was not something he thought possible. The bullets had slowed to an almost frozen speed.


    The ground below Webly begged his attention next. Two white circles were inscribed there and glowing. One was large and covered a foot away from Webly and the other small and placed just around him


    Hushed whispers broke out throughout the room. And while most turns were at awe of the frozen bullets, something else glimmered in Tig¡¯s eye. It was the cane. Webly had just twisted the head of the cane and began prodding each of the bullets in odd angles. Not a single black hat, not even the bartender dared approach. Tig squinted as the man¡¯s regiment seemingly abandoned him and shuffled out the room.


    Perhaps Gemjo noticed this to as she tugged Tig¡¯s wrist and led him through the forest of black hats. They arrived at back entrance door when Webly finished.


    Webly smiled and pointed to the first bullet.


    ¡°If I were you,¡± he mused. ¡°I would duck.¡±


    The spell vanished. Gemjo pulled Tig down and chaos ensued. Glass shattered, wood splintered and voiceboxes fizzled out. It was a chorus of wobbling bullets and it ended in an instant. Tig looked up, miraculously unhurt. All the bullets once aimed at Webly had been redirected and more powerfully so. Just one bullet had left a gaping hole by the entrance. Only half the blackhats were standing.


    Webly twisted the cane as blue huts marched back in. The glow of it vanished.


    ¡°Search them,¡± ordered the sergeant.


    Gemjo got up, her ears a quick twitch. ¡°We need to leave, now.¡±


    Tig nodded.


    Creaking the door ever so slightly, they ventured out and ran.


    They raced down the winding slopes of Siblisey, white stones upon white stone blurred past them. While the regular townsfolk turned to them, not one decided to follow.


    Then after minutes of running, Gemjo pulled Tig into an alley. He puffed madly, the lights of his palms coloring his pantaloons blue.


    Amidst the deafening palpitations he heard the rush of water. Half turns running, the calls of porters, and the whistle of steam shooting off a distant factory. He sniffed, the smell of cinnamon and lavender still clung to him, but now the smell of nearby bakery was stronger.


    Gemjo had been peeking out the alley way. She was close beside him. Sunlight glinted in her hair, while the lack of it left the rest of her body dizzyingly shaded.


    ¡°At least we won¡¯t need worry about the cogs I took,¡± she said.


    Tig¡¯s heart sank, ¡°Do you think,¡± he started, ¡°do you think he¡¯s dead?¡±


    She shook her head, ¡°He was lying down. It¡¯s unlikely. Right now we need to leave. That sergeant Webly, I knew I recognized him. He stops by Verace often. He¡¯s probably here because of us.¡±


    ¡°Us?¡±


    ¡°More precisely the drunk idiot and the ship he stole.¡±


    Tig¡¯s stomach churned. He felt sick. Noxious. He reached for the nearest container he could and let it out. When he finished, he saw pure terror painted on Gemjo¡¯s partially furred face.


    ¡°What?¡± asked Tig.


    ¡°The-the hat¡­¡± she trailed.


    He looked down, ¡°Oh. OH¡­ Well, we could, um, clean it.¡±


    ¡°You clean it,¡± she shuddered. ¡°For now we need get back to the ship and set sail as quick as we can.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid that won¡¯t happen, mates,¡± said an all too familiar voice.


    The two of them blinked at the men approaching from the end of the alley. Of the two, the Professor was hung loosely off the shoulder of the other man.


    Tig rubbed his eyes, ¡°You¡¯re from that brawl.¡±


    The two man party stumbled to them. The man who was supporting the Professor pointed at his chest, ¡°Captain Franco, yes that is I. The great, the glorious, the¡­ the¡­ by the hours what happened to that hat?¡±


    ¡°Ah. My hat.¡± The Professor snatched the hat from Tig¡¯s hands and adorned it.


    Gemjo nearly gagged to the audible splurge. And Franco unhanded him, jittering while he dusted his shoulders.


    The Professor scrunched his nose, ¡°A little wet.¡±


    Gemjo fixed her composure, ¡°Right, we need to get back to the ship.¡±


    ¡°Ship,¡± quirked Franco. ¡°By the Hours he was right. Ha! I thought it was the mumblings of a drunk man. ¡®Help me up¡¯ he said, ¡®I¡¯ll take you on my ship¡¯ he said. Good. Perfect.¡± Franco crossed his arms and nodded curtly, ¡°Then I shall be your captain.¡±


    The Professor had been sniffing a liquid on his finger, ¡°I¡¯m sorry what?¡±


    ¡°Your captain. Captain Franco. What is your goal, friends?¡±


    The Professor shrugged, ¡°Drink.¡±


    Gemjo yanwed, ¡°Sleep.¡±


    Franco stopped on Tig.


    Tig lowered his head, ¡°Revenge¡­ I think.¡±


    ¡°Drink, sleep, revenge! Haha! Easily accomplished. I shall give all that you desire so long as one day you aide me is toppling the Navy.¡±


    Gemjo raised her hand.


    ¡°Yes, you, furry creature.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d rather sleep.¡±


    ¡°The navy¡¯s strong,¡± added Tig. ¡°I would not consider that an equal trade.¡±


    Franco shook a finger, ¡°Oh but I have a plan, good¡­?¡±


    ¡°Tiguak Trimbly.¡±


    ¡°Good Tigook.¡±


    ¡°Tiguak.¡± Corrected Tig.


    ¡°Yes what I said, Tijook.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s¡ªno, just call me Tig.¡±


    ¡°Good Tib, we shall travel to the end of the world where the Mad Tinker lives and employ him for our cause.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t say, mate. That¡¯s where we were headed.¡±


    Franco puffed, plodding his hands on his hip and buffing his chest, ¡°Tis¡¯ destiny,¡± he decided.


    Steps echoed and cries of soldiers flooded the air. All four them hugged the walls as a score of blue hats rushed by.


    Gemjo slouched the moment the soldiers were gone. ¡°Honestly,¡± said Gemjo, ¡°whether you join us or not is not my concern, right now we need to leave.¡±


    ¡°Savy we run then? I saw some soldiers heading to the thieves¡¯ bay not long ago. Worse I may have also told some of the gents back at the bar how I stole a gold plated caravel.¡±


    ¡°You did what?!¡± roared Tig. ¡°Did you also tell them it was unguarded?¡±


    The man had risen his bronze hands defensively, ¡°No no, I am a professor of magics, mate, I¡¯m smarter than that¡­ hic. Why, I assumed they learned through deduction. Three of us on the ship, three of us no longer there.¡±


    Tig¡¯s head fell low in defeat, ¡°We¡¯re doomed.¡±


    Franco nodded to that, ¡°Then we must hurry.¡±


    He had almost left the alley when Gemjo clutched him by the wrist. All eyes turned to her.


    ¡°Or perhaps,¡± she said, a smile cracking up her lips, ¡°We don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡­


    It was a ploy most devious.


    The four of them stood on the high cliff overlooking the thieves¡¯ bay and watched as their caravel, twice stolen, set out to sea. Only seconds later, a shadow loomed over them. Tig grinned at it gleefully.


    It was the same caravel he saw entering Siblisey. Yet now, upon the cliff, he could see the flag of the imperial military fluttering behind it. It had blue background with a white gear with twelve teeth plastered at its midst.


    That ship closed in on the caravel.


    The cliff was empty of trees and rocks, allowing for an unsullied view of the boats. But Tig was quick to admire those besides him and where they stood as the two ships came into contact. He imagined if any saw him and his companions now they would have caught something very picturesque. They would have seen four adventurers standing atop the cliff face, the dipping sun etching their outlines as they stood.


    Yellowing green grasses that grew up to their ankles swayed in momentary bursts of wind. Behind them a dusty path had been cut into the earth leading steeply to where they stood. It was Franco¡¯s idea to go there once Gemjo revealed her plan.


    He had insisted they go and once he said it would act as a way to confirm the sea wolves¡¯ prediction, they could hardly disagree.


    Franco stood in front of the three of them, ¡°What now, friends?¡± he asked glancing over his shoulder.


    Tig cleared his throat, ¡°We need a navigator. Do you know where to find one?¡±


    Franco laughed, ¡°Hours blessed. I know just the man.¡±


    ¡°As in, as well as yourself?¡± asked Gemjo.


    Another laugh. This one nervous. ¡°Yes?¡± he answered.


    Gemjo and Tig looked to each other. The boy had shrugged while the girl shook her head.


    ¡°Good enough,¡± sighed Gemjo, already retreating from the cliff. She made a listless wave at those behind her and the tops of ears vanished as she descended. Tig had found the sway of her tail hypnotic. The recollection of it more so. The Professor¡¯s retreating form broke his trance.


    He was alone was with their would-be navigator. He imagined the man to be staring out into the sea, hopeful, daring and with the look of someone ready to fight the world. What he got was a man panting and nearly gagging.


    Franco straightened to the sight of the boy. ¡°Oh, you¡¯re still here¡­ I¡¯m ok. I¡¯m ok,¡± said the man who would topple the Navy. ¡°The sea, it¡¯s just¡­¡±


    ¡°The sea?¡± said Tig.


    ¡°Water,¡± he corrected himself.


    ¡°Water?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m thirsty. Are you thirsty?¡±


    Tig eyed the man suspiciously but nodded all the same. He had just run halfway across an island.


    ¡°So. Where shall we go?¡± began the boy.


    ¡°For what?¡±


    ¡°The water.¡±


    ¡°Hah that. Yes that! Ahem. Wait for me by the trail will you?¡± Franco fashioned a wavering smile. Tig tried the same.


    The two stared at each other for several painfully long moments until Tig, tactfully, excused himself. He had made it halfway to the trail when Franco spoke up.


    Tig had turned, although wrongfully so. The man¡¯s words had been directed over the cliff along a wind that blew sporadically. They were not for him.


    ¡°I¡¯ll become one,¡± said Franco, his back to Tig, ¡°I promise.¡±

 The Lie of Franco Cantinio

    Galvanized gulls screeched over the banks of Siblisey.


    The skies cleared as the factories powered down for the night. More and more full turns took to the street as businesses emptied out. Yet those streets faded quickly behind them. Franco led the way. Lamps flickered and evening rays colored the limestone walls a turmeric orange.


    ¡°This way, friends,¡± directed Franco.


    Tig noticed the path they were treading had been increasing in slope. Little bits of greenery peaked through the gaps in the cobblestone and houses seemed fewer and further between.


    Tig rushed to Franco¡¯s side, ¡°Where are we headed, Franco?¡±


    Franco gave him a half smile, ¡°I¡¯m glad you asked, Tij.¡±


    ¡°Tig.¡±


    ¡°Up ahead lies legendary ground.¡±


    ¡°Legendary?¡± quirked Tig. ¡°What¡¯s legendary about it?¡±


    Franco patted himself on the chest, ¡°The soon to be Captain Franco the Great was born there.¡±


    ¡°Up there? In the country of an already small island?¡± scoffed Gemjo. ¡°Oh the Great Franco, captain of straws and empty pockets.¡±


    Franco snorted in his throat, but quickly regained his composure, ¡°I¡¯ll be the captain of the strongest crew on the sea once I leave.¡±


    Gemjo stretched and a smile crested her cheeks, ¡°Meaning you never left the island?¡±


    Franco frowned back at her, ¡°I have left, actually. Once before.¡± He brushed his chiseled chin with a silver hand. Steam jetted out of the gaps between his fingers. ¡°Though that is a tale for another time. As for now once we reach my home, good friends, please do mind the senile woman who lives with me. Hah, for the life of me she think she¡¯s my mo-¡±


    ¡°Franky!¡±


    Franco stopped short, his expression dropped.


    The Professor stood beside Franco and took a swig. He breathed pleasantly after it, ¡°That your mother, mate? I do savy her.¡±


    Franco stomped in front of the Professor and puffed in his face, ¡°No. Not you, you drunken, uh, friend. My mother is not to be ¡®savy¡¯d.¡±


    The Professor winked one goggled eye and in the distance, the woman swooned.


    ¡°NO. no no no no. You did not just do that.¡± Steamed Franco.


    ¡°Who?¡± teased Gemjo. ¡°The drunk or your mother?¡±


    ¡°Franky,¡± cried her shrill voice, ¡°Just who is that handsome turn?¡±


    Franco flashed red as he spun to his mother, ¡°MA!¡±


    ¡°WHAT?¡±


    ¡°DON¡¯T SHOUT IN THE STREET.¡±


    ¡°WHAT?¡±


    Franco slumped a hand against his face and breathed into it deeply, ¡°Shall we go?¡±


    The rest of the way was of little trouble. The main road trickled into a dusty trail, and that trail led into an offbeat path. A small creak rushed under that swath and branches loomed low forcing the Professor and Franco to momentarily brush them away.


    Tig heard mechanical swallows sing in the trees. Steam crickets chirped in the bushes and wooden frogs let out vibrating ribbits. He glanced at Gemjo, almost expected a howl.


    Franco¡¯s mother was a short and round woman, a full turn whose body had completely shifted to wood. Curiously, her hair was of moss that formed a near bush. Her eyes were a glistening amber. She was a full turn without a hat. Strange. Tig thought he had saw it all.


    The Professor crept up to her, much to the displeasure of Franco, ¡°So, what¡¯s a charming young woman such yourself doing in these parts?¡±


    ¡°Oh please, call me Maria.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a travesty, truly,¡± the Professor swept up her hand and gave it a peck. ¡°I may be a thief, but you¡¯re robbing the world by staying here, sweetheart.¡±


    Maria tossed his hand away and turned to Franco, amber eyes narrowing, ¡°What does he mean by thief? No Francisco Santos Carlo el Cantinio of mine will live with thieves.¡±


    ¡°No, ma listen. This is man an idiot.¡±


    ¡°Not an idiot, mate. A professor. And I assure you Maria, the only thing this thief steals is the hearts of beautiful women.¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­¡± she said batting her eyes. ¡°Franky, I¡¯ll prepare oil stew for the gentleman and pasta for the children. Help me will you?¡±


    Franco balled his fist at the Professor.


    ¡°Franky.¡±


    ¡°Yes ma.¡±


    The two went ahead where the path ended. A small hamlet came to view. Here, where the mountain peaked roughly overhead, the houses were hovels instead. A thick layer of moss served as the rooves for those houses, grey stone acted as walls. Each house was more a stubby hill that had its high point at the entrance and tapered down. Uncut grass overwhelmed the dusty paths.


    The Professor tipped his hat, ¡°Are we supposed to crawl, mate? Doesn¡¯t seem that spacious.¡±


    Gemjo approached his side. With her tannish jaw clutched in her hands, she realised it before the others, ¡°I see. Wait old drunk, and you will to.¡±


    The drunk shrugged, ¡°So long as I get a bottle, I¡¯ll stuff whatever hole needs stuffing, mate.¡±


    Gemjo made for the burrow, ¡°You could have worded that better.¡±


    Tig held off from following them. Something caught his eye. He wandered to the center of the hamlet where a brass clock statue half covered in moss awaited. At least half a dozen mossy hovels blurred in his sights. The clock formed the centerpiece. He ran his wooden hand along the inscribed numbers.


    They were worn, faded, bits of the clock had been chipped away.


    ¡°Does it interest you, boy?¡±


    He glanced at where the voice came.


    It was a skinny full turn made entirely of dark iron that stood with immaculate posture. A white wizard hat adorned his skeletal head, while his chest bare. His wide eyes, short mantle and puffy pants were all white. When he talked his lower jaw split in two. He had mandibles.


    ¡°You wish to harness the clock, boy?¡± the man walked up to the clock, his head twitching as if gears controlled it. ¡°Ah, you are from the northern tribe. You deal with spirits, it would come naturally to you.¡±


    ¡°What would?¡± he asked instinctively.


    The dark iron man seemed to smile, his blaringly white eyes glimmered. ¡°Why, Time itself,¡± hushed the man.


    ¡°Tig? Tig!¡±


    Tig blinked and saw Franco gesturing at him, ¡°Come, friend, get some supper.¡±


    Tig nodded and paced, every so often peaking at the strange dark iron man. He nearly tripped as he came across the stairs.


    ¡°Watch yourself.¡± Warned Franco.


    Several steps extended in front of him, steep steps. He looked to the once stubby opening of the burrow and found it extraordinarily tall. Winds shrieked through the chamber. The further he went down the more he saw to his side.


    Monoliths of bare chested mechanized men in the likeness of Franco stood there. One on either side.


    ¡°My Great grand dad, Franci, and my Great great great grand uncle Fron. The two greatest of the Cantinio family.¡±


    ¡°And down there?¡± asked Tig eyeing the massive chamber ahead.


    ¡°My family home. See what I told you? Legendary.¡±


    Tig passed the entry way and found a large chamber below. It stretched as long as a galleon, maybe two. A series of hanging chandeliers lit the cavern in austere light. A polished oak table, nearly as long as the hall, had plates set at the far end. A velvet drape covered the center of it, leaving near edges still a sandy brown.


    Gemjo noticed him first. She had been leaning by the wall, ¡°You were up there for a while.¡±


    Tig blinked, ¡°I was?¡±


    Gemjo motioned her head at the far counter.


    ¡°Long enough for the Professor¡¯s new love interest to cook supper,¡± said Gemjo with a nudge at the far end.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Tig felt at his head. ¡°It seemed no more than a few minutes,¡± he guessed.


    ¡°Try an hour.¡±


    ¡°An hour?!¡± he coughed.


    Gemjo puffed as if amused by that answer. She got to her feet and made down the hall. Her swishing tail almost made him dizzy.


    ¡°Right,¡± he said to himself. ¡° Can¡¯t touch that.¡±


    He eyed the polished grey stone columns around him as he followed her. Banners hung from the very top and nearly grazed the bottom. Each was of a different kingly state within the twelve seas, all members of the Empire. Tig frowned at them. That was as far as his knowledge of the banners extended.


    He paused on one banner, his steps slowed. It was blue with a twelve toothed gear centering it.


    ¡°Ah, you¡¯ve an interest in the Cantinio family business?¡±


    ¡°Business?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Cantinio men and women from across generations have served as great leaders and military commanders for several organizations. That,¡± he said gesturing at the one banner with the gear on it, ¡°Was what my late grandfather served.¡±


    ¡°But I don¡¯t understand. Didn¡¯t you want to topple the navy?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s long a story,¡± waved Franco. ¡°I¡¯ll have many more to share at sea.¡±


    They were close enough now that the Professor had heard. He had been sitting on the opposite side of the table with Maria besides him and Gemjo besides her. He popped a bottle.


    ¡°Lest you forget, mate. We¡¯ve got no boat,¡± reminded the drunk.


    ¡°You got no boat,¡± hummed Franco. ¡°But I do.¡±


    ¡°Franky, you¡¯re heading to sea?¡±


    ¡°Yes Ma.¡±


    Maria Cantinio cuffed her hand and leaned to the Professor who had been seated next to her, ¡°Happened when he was young, you see. Terrible accident, ever since he¡¯s been afraid of the-- ¡±


    ¡°MA.¡±


    ¡°What? They¡¯re your friends they should know.¡±


    ¡°Should know what?¡± asked Gemjo. ¡°Never mind, I don¡¯t care.¡± Gemjo licked her lips and glanced hesitantly at the fork and knife left out for her.


    ¡°Perhaps a story for the sea?¡± mused Tig.


    Franco snapped his fingers, ¡°Exactly!¡±


    Tig took his seat. A fragrant and steaming dish of pasta was plated in front of him. He sniffed it eagerly. Oregano and thyme. Franco seated beside him. The Professor, who sat across from Tig, had taken to sipping the oil stew. Tig spotted Gemjo using her bare hands to claw at the pasta.


    The Professor finished his sip and spoke with a smack of his lips, ¡°Tell us why you want to end our prestigious navy, mate?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re still on about that Franky?¡± asked his mother.


    Franco scratched his head, ¡°I may be, yes.¡±


    Maria turned to Professor, ¡°Same story as the one I was about to tell you.¡±


    ¡°Ma.¡±


    ¡°Oh shoosh, at least let them know this before they go.¡±


    Franco puffed, ¡°Fine.¡±


    Maria shuffled her seat ever closer to the Professor, ¡°Ten years ago, when Franky was just a boy, not much younger than this one here,¡± she said nudging her head at Tig. ¡°Franky decided to set sail. Now the sea is dangerous and all the other Cantinios had already set about on their respective adventures. You could imagine my fear when I learned my poor darling boy went off by himself.¡±


    The Professor smiled at Franco, ¡°Dreadful.¡±


    ¡°Oh, it almost broke my heart. Why he almost drowned.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t almost drown. I just got tired,¡± corrected Franco.


    ¡°Everyone knows you¡¯re terrible swimmer, Franky.¡±


    ¡°A terrible swimmer? On an island?¡± muffled Gemjo with pasta in her mouth.


    Maria continued before Franco could defend himself, ¡°There was storm the same night. The little sailboat he took had taken too much water. He was too far at sea to ask for help, so eventually he was knocked overboard. The waves, terrible then, separated him for his boat, and little Franky was left alone at night and in the middle of the sea,¡± Maria paused. ¡°Is she¡­ is she sleeping?¡±


    Gemjo¡¯s snores echoed throughout the massive chamber. Her tail flicked back and forth as she slept and Tig could not help but wonder if she had been experiencing a pleasant dream.


    ¡°Not your story, love,¡± waved the Professor. ¡°She does that often, terrible affliction. Would you continue?¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes. Now this is the strange part you see--¡±


    ¡°Not strange it happened,¡± insisted Franco.


    Maria leveled her amber eyes on her son, ¡°Let¡¯s ask them, Franky.¡± She turned to the Professor and spied at Tig. ¡°A man eventually saved little Franky but with flying clock ship. No one saw him, nor did he introduce himself. We found Franky wandering the streets of Siblisey come morn. Do you know who he said saved him when I asked my poor, shivering boy?¡±


    ¡°Humor us, love.¡±


    Maria wiggled her head and smiled a bit, ¡°The Sixth hour.¡±


    Tig nearly choked on his pasta. Gemjo snorted awake.


    ¡°Mate. Mate. You telling me you met a god?¡±


    ¡°Honest,¡± clamoured Franco. ¡°It could not have been anyone else.¡±


    The Professor did not seem convinced, ¡°Twelve gods, twelve Hours and you met one?¡±


    Franco leaned in on the table, ¡°It had to be him. He was the legendary sailor and it was on his month, the Sixth. Do you know what they say was the doom of the Sixth Hour? His lack of a navigator. Exactly what you lot are lacking now. I suggest you all get some rest to get back on that quest.¡±


    Gemjo stared at him. Her head bobbed upon her crossed steel arms as she spoke, ¡°Are you trying to change the subject?¡±


    ¡°Not trying, already changed. Sleep. Captain¡¯s orders.¡±


    Gemjo shrugged, ¡°Can¡¯t argue with orders,¡± she trailed as she promptly collapsed on the table.


    ¡°Little Franky¡¯s been devout since,¡± said his mother.


    Tig had to ask, ¡°So how does that relate to toppling the Navy?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure,¡± said Maria. ¡°Just wanted tell a story.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡± All those awake turned to the Professor. ¡°I am a Professor after all, mate. I know things and occasional I get paid to know. The Sixth Hour is the God of Anarchy, the patron of all half turns. The one rebellious twat among the twelve. The others are alright. Well except twelve. Nobody likes twelve, the pretentious bastard.¡±


    ¡°You just called a god a bastard,¡± noted Franco.


    The Professor finished a sip from his bottle, ¡°I did. Not like they can hear us, mate. So how bout we gossip, eh? The Sixth Hour you saw must have told you to end the navy, is that it?¡±


    ¡°Yes, how did you know?¡±


    ¡°Not a very good reason then, is it? Suppose it was the god of anarchy that told you to topple the world¡¯s largest organised military. Well, it¡¯s in his nature. It be the same as a teacher telling you to learn or mother insisting you love.¡±


    ¡°I have¡­ other reasons,¡± said Franco.


    Maria reached for her son as he said that. Her wooden brows furrowed, and her mouth turned to a frown. Whatever his reasons were, just their mention had rippled the waters of long un-touched troubles. Tig could tell that by the way Franco seemed momentarily defeated, by how his mother sought to comfort him. And even then Tig felt the need to glance away as she comforted her boy. All at once he felt greedy, selfish, wanting. There were many thing Franco Cantinio had that Tiguak Trimbly did not.


    ¡°Let¡¯s hope those reason do you betta than some religious backstory,¡± said the Professor, ending his words with a swish of a bottle. ¡°As this drink will do me.¡±


    He flipped the bottles¡¯ base to the ceiling and took a long draw of it. He parted the liquor from his lips, swayed a little, and fell face first into the oily soup. His hat rolled off and Maria gagged the moment she the contents of it.


    ¡°Is that¡­ oh by the Hours, FRANKY!¡±


    Tig was the only one among them that found proper bedding that night. Franky had been too busy rinsing the Professor¡¯s hat on his mother¡¯s behest.


    Maria led Tig down the long hallways that stretched to the left side of the chamber upon entry. They passed several rooms before they approached the guest rooms.


    Perhaps it was the only room in the Cantinio family hovel that was of regular proportions. It had a ceiling he could touch, walls he could walk to in seconds and a fireplace should he get cold. Luckily, a bed had already been laid out with a wool covers to warm him.


    ¡°Now remember dearie, if you need anything feel free to ask. You half turns need all the rest you can get to grow up strong.¡±


    ¡°Thank you Mrs. Cantinio.¡± Bowed Tig.


    The door creaked shut and Tig stumbled to the bed with his eyes scanning the low rise ceiling. He smiled as he thought of Franco and Maria, of gods and of gossip. He reached for the ceiling and stared at the dim blue glow of his hand.


    That hand curled into a fist. His voice became quiet and hoarse, ¡°So that¡¯s what a mother¡¯s like.¡±


    ¡­


    They gathered by the docks come morn. Maria hugged her boy for a long time. When they parted the embrace, Franco had a bag of pungent goods in his arms.


    ¡°For the trip,¡± she explained. ¡°It¡¯s cheese, won¡¯t spoil easily.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Ma.¡±


    ¡°Now you come back, you hear me. I don¡¯t want any letters. I want my son.¡±


    ¡°I know ma.¡±


    She smiled at him, making her wooden cheeks impossibly round, ¡°The family home will be awfully lonely by myself. With you gone, that¡¯s it. Just me. Hah! Maybe I¡¯ll redecorate.¡±


    Franco dropped the cheese and grabbed her by the shoulders, ¡°They¡¯ll return Ma. I¡¯ll find them, all of them and tell them just how much you miss them. I bet even that old Fron will agree.¡±


    ¡°Fron,¡± she puffed, flicking her eyes to the sky then back at Franco. ¡°Haven¡¯t seen him since I was a girl.¡±


    ¡°And I never,¡± said the man.


    ¡°Well tell him little Maria¡¯s not so little anymore, understand?¡±


    ¡°I will, Ma.¡±


    ¡°Oh and your hair,¡± she said touching the cone. ¡°It¡¯s atrocious. Do cut it will you?¡±


    ¡°MaaaaAaaa.¡±


    ¡°Ok. Ok. You¡¯re a man now. I get it. Go if you must, but come back.¡±


    Franco held her for a little while longer. In that moment between mother and son, the two shared an identical smile complete with dimples that spoke to their blood. While the gull song picked up and heady sailors grumbled curses to the morning wind, he held her. It was their final goodbye. The one said without words.


    Until Franco let go.


    He picked up the cheese and nodded at her as he made to the others.


    The turning mechanism clicked several times before the lift finally snapped into place. A box of bolted wooden frames awaited them. One after the other the four of them entered the lift. Franco was the last to do so. He clutched his cheese tightly.


    The machine clicked and Franco sniffed.


    Just before the sight of his face vanished below the waterfall he bellowed so all could hear, ¡°LOVE YA MA!¡±


    Several descenders turned to their group and some even snickered. Tig could tell Franco did not care. The man who would topple the navy had the biggest smile on his face. It was the smile of an honest man, the kind that never lied to himself.


    Streaks of sun intruded their box. The Professor and Gemjo were already sightseeing, their countenances drenched in the light. Tig shuffled to face it, but before he did he noticed how Franco stood perfectly still with his eyes glued to the waterfall. He was shivering. It seemed a strange habit of his, especially considering how he acted the day prior by the cliff. But Tig decided to leave the man alone. With a shrug, he turned.


    The view from the descent was magnificent. A crystalline ocean expanded in front of them. Ships were transformed into dots by the grandeur of it and the rising sun became an egg yolk wobbling in the distance.


    When the lift completed its descent, the four of them tapped the wooden docks and eventually came across what Franco had touted.


    ¡°Behold, Friends. Our ship!¡±


    Tig frowned, Gemjo chortled and the Professor blurted what they had all been thinking, ¡°It¡¯s tiny mate.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a sloop. A steam sloop.¡± Franco ran from the end of the boat to the prow and back. It took him two seconds.


    It had a single mast and three sails. One sail at the back and two angled at the front. The half deck that sported the back was almost entirely consumed by the jet black steam engine.


    ¡°Gree-tings, do you have room for a fifth?¡±


    Tig nearly leapt back.


    It was the old man from the hamlet. His brimming white eyes were off putting at best.


    Franco stepped in front of him, ¡°You¡¯re that old full turn who arrived last week. Listen, our course is a perilous one. The city we seek lies within the belly of titanic whale.¡±


    Tig poked his head between them, ¡°I¡¯m sorry what?¡±


    Franco shook him away, ¡°The Navigator lives there. What I mean is that you may very well die if you go with us, old man. I mean the S-s¡ª¡° He gulped with a quick to the water and back, ¡°s-sea, ahem, is dangerous. We can¡¯t protect you.¡±


    The old creature smiled, angling his mandibles about, ¡°I can protect myself. If you take me with you, I shall pay kindly.¡±


    ¡°We do need money for a ship,¡± suggested Gemjo.


    The Professor gulped a drink on the sloop, ¡°I like money. Money buys liquor and liquor well that¡¯s happiness. I say we take him, mate.¡±


    The strange man cocked his head in slow rigid bursts.


    ¡°Fine,¡± said Franco after some deliberation. ¡°Don¡¯t blame me if you die, old man.¡±


    As Franco left, Tig remained face to face with the stranger. The old man pointed to somewhere above and to the side. Tig followed that extended digit and saw a mechanical bird. Only it was completely still.


    The man brushed passed him yet Tig kept staring at the mechanized canary. Its wings were spread. It had been in midflight, yet now it was if it had been frozen.


    He remembered the incident at The Captain¡¯s Wife. He glanced down. No circles.


    He turned to the old man and found him sitting peacefully on the ship¡¯s edge.


    ¡°Come on Tij, we mustn¡¯t dally.¡±


    Tig shook his head, ¡°Tig.¡± He corrected Franco as he ran to the ship. The boarding plank retracted, the engine buzzed to life and past the plume of steam, in the corner of his eyes, he caught the same canary zipping through the air at extraordinary speed.

 Fraud

    Sergeant Webly wiped his brass digits on an oil cloth.


    ¡°Took longer than expected.¡± He scoffed.


    A band of black hats lined the edge of the main deck, each of their hands manacled in kind. Some of the black hats were lanky, a few short and others the typical burly. Waves crashed on either side. Another caravel, a Navy issued boat, sat tethered to the gold plated one on which Sergeant Webly stood. He stared out upon the prow, spotted a series of planks connecting the two boats.


    Remy was beside him. Always beside him as if watching his every move. Should ever he turn, he would most likely run into her pale figure.


    ¡°They¡¯re not here.¡± He said as he pocketed the cloth.


    Remy saluted him, ¡°Sir, one of the blackhats reported learning about this ship at The Captain¡¯s Wife.¡±


    ¡°The Captain¡¯s Wife? The same Captain¡¯s Wife we wasted our only boundary scrolls on?¡±


    Remy glanced down, ¡°Yes sir.¡±


    ¡°Worse and worse.¡± Tis¡¯ked Webly. ¡°It takes a month to prepare those things and to say we burned it on some low class brigands is a travesty. We were this close, Ricci, this close.¡±


    He turned to Remy who seemed more intent at staring off into the outline of Siblisey.


    ¡°What is it, Cadet?¡±


    Remy shook her head, ¡°I, uh, nothing sir.¡±


    ¡°By the Hours, cadet, speak your mind. I¡¯m not that damned steam-up-his arse general.¡±


    She hesitated before following that order, ¡°Back in the pub, sir, I saw some children about my age wander off through the back exit.¡±


    Webly smiled, ¡°I haven¡¯t known you long Niss Ricci, but those eyes of yours are quite gifted.¡±


    She felt at her goggles, frowned a little.


    ¡°So? Why did you not report it then?¡±


    ¡°Sir?¡±


    ¡°These children you saw running.¡±


    ¡°I had just re-entered the pub, sir, and you ordered us to search the tenants.¡±


    Webly sighed into his brass palm, ¡°This is the problem with soldiers these day. No initiative.¡±


    Just as a he said that, a young half turn officer made to them. Both Webly and Remy saluted him.


    He had a gold circle upon the band of his blue hat instead of a star or a stripe. His nose was pointed and his eyes narrow. He had fair skin and a small mole grew just over the left end of his lip. Despite his age, or lack thereof, the man played a permanent grin as the two held their salutes.


    ¡°At ease Sergeant Webly, Cadet Ricci. I am lieutenant-Commander Levili, acting officer for Siblisey Island. What are two soldiers of the army and half the members of the Sevens doing on a Navy Vessel?¡±A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    ¡°Orders of General Twat sir.¡± Answered Webly.


    ¡°General Twat?¡±


    Webly cleared his throat. Remy cracked the smallest of smiles.


    ¡°Misspoke sir. General Tat.¡±


    Levili paced between them with his hands held behind his back. He had long black hair that stretched a just passed his shoulders, ¡°You are quite a ways away from the mainland, Sergeant. Your legs shaky yet?¡±


    Webly tapped the deck with his cane, ¡°Why I carry a cane, sir.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± Said Levili peaking curiously at the inscribed thing. ¡°And your purpose for this most gracious visit?¡±


    ¡°A manhunt sir. We¡¯re tracking a fugitive who may deal great harm to the Empire.¡±


    ¡°So why did Tat send so little as a dozen men to hunt him?¡±


    ¡°Discretion, sir.¡± Lied Webly.


    Levili nodded to that and kept on his pace, every so often making eyes at Remy. Webly¡¯s brows narrowed. He swore he saw the man redden at the sight of her.


    ¡°And why,¡± continued Levili, ¡°not enlist the Navy, who I dare say, would be much more capable of handling such a case?¡±


    ¡°Sir.¡± Began Webly, taking a step towards Levili. ¡°I¡¯ve only been on this island for a day, and I¡¯ve already seen a rat¡¯s nest of piracy. Should Tat have pleafully asked for your incompetent--¡±


    ¡°Sergeant Webly!¡± snapped Levili. ¡°How dare yo--¡±


    ¡°Intolerable and,¡± Webly took another step, oily saliva spitting at the lieutenant, ¡°frankly inexcusable conduct, our man, no, any man who may threaten the Empire would go free. Tat may be an idiot, but even an idiot knows not to trust the navy.¡±


    ¡°I can have your head, Sergeant!¡± fumed Levili.


    Webly gestured to his side. A gun clicked. Remy Le Ricci had her silver pistol aimed at Levili¡¯s prim and proper head.


    ¡°Soldiers!¡± jittered Levili. ¡°Apprehend these two. Soldiers?¡±


    Levili turned to the notable silence. There were at least forty blue hats on board, yet only a dozen were under Webly¡¯s command.


    Levili¡¯s own men had not stirred to the movement.


    Levili shook his head, ¡°What¡¯s wrong with you? Capture them. Shoot them! For Hours sake, do something. Anything!¡±


    Remy reached for him and stripped him of the pistol he had holstered to his hip.


    ¡°Bounties.¡± Said Webly, pacing ahead of Levili. ¡°Turns out when you leave brigands alone long enough the townsfolk are happy to pay for their capture. More so than what the Navy issues. Take a gander at your allies¡¯ pockets and ask yourself what changed their allegiances. Perhaps how much.¡± Webly snapped his clockwork shoulders and spun on his heel. ¡°Come Ricci, we¡¯re done here.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Echoed Levili as the two wandered down the steps. Webly paused. Remy bumped into his back.


    Levili continued, ¡°You could have kept the gold, been rich.¡±


    Webly sighed. The answer was obvious, ¡°Knowing how well your Navy handles itself, I would have been a pirate had I wanted money. No, Lieutenant, this isn¡¯t about money.¡±


    ¡°Then what is it about, Sergeant?¡±


    Webly kept walking, ¡°Figure that out yourself.¡±


    ¡°The Admirals will hear of this.¡±


    The Admirals. Webly smiled. Perhaps they were the only members of the Navy he truly respected, well them and a certain other man, ¡°The sooner they do, the more trouble you¡¯d be in Lieutenant.¡±


    At last, Levili was at a loss.


    Just as Webly made to the nearest connecting plank he heard a mumble and stopped once again.


    ¡°I like you.¡± The creaking voice came from a short black hatted man. He was one of the captured few. Webly studied him. He had no nose, only two holes to breathe from. His sockets were deep set with multiple layers leading to eyes of red. The rest of his face was skeletal. Webly shuddered. He was an ugly bastard.


    ¡°What you just did to Levili was a work of art it was.¡± Spoke the bastard. ¡°Just for that I think I¡¯ll tell ya.¡±


    ¡°Tell me what?¡± asked Webly.


    A few of his crewmates snickered.


    ¡°I know where your target be. Assuming it was the man with the blue hat who tricked us into this ship, well by now he¡¯s sure to have made acquaintance of a certain would-be-captain Franco. Saw the two of ¡®em sneaking out during your attack.¡±


    Webly gestured at Remy, ¡°Write this down.¡±


    ¡°Knowing Franco, the fool, he¡¯s bound to lead them to the one place he always says he¡¯ll go: The Hungering City.¡±


    ¡°The Hungering City, yes I¡¯ve read of that.¡±


    The short man puffed, ¡°Hah, serves that drunk right for tricking us. Now he¡¯s the one about to be tricked.¡±


    Webly narrowed his eyes, ¡°How do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Franco¡¯s a fake. A fraudster. He could never be a captain what with his condition.¡±


    Remy¡¯s pen seized scribbling halfway. She lowered it and asked before Webly could, ¡°what condition?¡±


    The man laughed, and his shrill voice squeaked like a rusted bearing, ¡°The poor fool, he¡¯s afraid of the sea.¡±

 The Howl

    The sloop creaked in the midday sun. The sails rustled and the vessel bobbed. Five figures populated the ship. One at the back, one below her, a smaller one staring off starboard, one swaying and the last, sitting cross-legged upon the tip of the prow.


    ¡°It stinks.¡± Complained Tig, ¡°Of liquor, sweat and is that a furball?¡±


    Gemjo¡¯s ears twitched, ¡°It might be.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with liquor, mate?¡±


    Franco shivered, ¡°It swishes, it¡¯s liquid and it¡­ it surrounds us.¡±


    Tig¡¯s eyes quickly swapped from Gemjo sitting at the back to Franco huddled below her. The boy frowned. For a man who boasted of toppling the navy he had not stood up once since the sloop set sail. Worse, he was rocking. His round and determined eye had become stuffy and adrift.


    ¡°Are you alright, Franco?¡± asked Tig.


    ¡°Me? Yes. Yes! Of course, why wouldn¡¯t I be? I just needed¡­ shade to¡­ look at maps better.¡± He shuffled until his back was to the railing, and he tapped the wall of the half deck behind him. A drawer zipped out. Several scrolls toppled, and he gestured at them nervously. ¡°Too much light if I stand. Yes that¡¯s it.¡±


    ¡°You sure it¡¯s not something else, mate?¡±


    Light glinted off the half empty bottle. Franco had been glaring at the man at the end of it.


    ¡°I¡¯m certain, friend.¡±


    The Professor lowered his bottle, flashed a gold and silver smile and swaggered close to Franco, ¡°Savy I guess mate? I¡¯m good at guessing.¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    The Professor tripped a bit and hicc¡¯ed, ¡°I¡¯d say it¡¯s big and blue.¡±


    Franco went pale.


    ¡°And¡­¡± continued the drunk, ¡°It¡¯s above us isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Gemjo rolled her eyes, ¡°The sky? You think it¡¯s the sky?¡±


    The Professor fell by Franco¡¯s side and slung his brass arm over Franco¡¯s shoulder, ¡°Terrible thing, the sky. I understand you mate. Believe me. Always above us like a roof you can¡¯t escape.¡±


    ¡°Yes the sky.¡± said Franco. ¡°Oh how did you know?¡±


    ¡°Pure genius. I am Professor.¡±


    Tig cocked his head, ¡°But Franco, you weren¡¯t shaking on Siblisey?¡±


    Franco puffed, ¡°Did you ever see me look up? Hah, no I bet not, that¡¯s the secret.¡±


    Gemjo yawned, ¡°You¡¯re all idiots.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯re stuck with us, mate.¡±


    The sea wolf pouted. Tig ofudn himself grinning. It was true. Despite the power of her people, despite how much freedom it afforded her at sea, Gemjo of Clan Yuka would forever be stuck sailing until her bounty was cleared.


    The man in the white hat spoke, ¡°A man approaches.¡±


    All eyes turned to the front. It was the first thing the stranger said since they left Siblisey two days ago.


    Sure enough, a tall, thin man in a straw hat and white robes rowed towards them upright and on a raft. Tig squinted at what appeared to be an outline of island behind him. Gemjo elbowed the steam engine and it stammered to a stop. The waters slowed around them.


    ¡°That island.¡± Started Franco, sitting up at the sight of land. ¡°Yes, my star reading last night was correct. If we ring around that isle we should intercept the Hungering City in a matter of hours!¡±


    ¡°Hours?¡± said Gemjo. ¡°Enough for a nap I guess.¡±


    ¡°Is that all you think of?¡± laughed Tig.


    Gemjo shrugged, ¡°That and whether the man up ahead means us harm.¡±


    Tig refocussed on that figure. As close as he was now, the straw hat did little to hide his features. He had a black face, white eyes and a tattoo the shape of a ¡®Y¡¯ that curved above his brows and ran down his flat nose. It was as white as his eyes and that of their guest¡¯s.


    He was seconds away when their guest spoke again, ¡°He is a time priest, servant of one of the twelve. He is powerful should you fail his question, docile should you get it right.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard of that lot. They travel around and ask what Hour you worship. Savy you pick the one he worships and he¡¯ll leave ya alone. Otherwise he kills ya¡±


    ¡°Three lines.¡± Said Gemjo. ¡°Three lines form the shape on his head. I say it¡¯s the Third Hour.¡±


    ¡°Agreed.¡± Said Tig.


    ¡°So we all say Third then?¡¯ asked Franco. ¡°Alright. Third it is.¡±


    The guest gave an affable grunt and the Professor swayed a bit.


    The raft scraped the prow of the boat and Straw hat tilted.


    ¡°Which Hour do you serve?¡± asked the straw hat man.


    A bead of sweat rolled down Tig¡¯s temple. The guest had been right. He flicked his eyes to Gemjo then Franco. He wondered who was brave enough to go first.


    He did not expect it to be the guest, ¡°I worship the Third Hour.¡± Hummed the old full turn.


    Gemjo was next, ¡°Third.¡±


    ¡°Third.¡± cried Franco.


    Tig gulped, ¡°Third.¡±


    The Professor lowered his bottle. Just as the drunk began to voice a word, the straw hat man held up his black metallic hand.


    ¡°That is enough. By time¡¯s decree, you have passed. You are no heretics. May the seas bid you well.¡±


    The raft dislodged from their sloop and Tig drew a breath as it did. Still, he eyed the raft and the man on as it drifted to their side. He had no doubt whether that man could kill them or not.


    He had only heard the name ¡®Time Priest¡¯ mentioned once before and that was on the worried breaths of sailors who had seen too much.


    The Professor blurred in his peripherals.


    ¡°Oi, priest! Ya left without letting me finish.¡±


    The raft paused, the man turned.


    The Professor half smirked to that, golds and silvers glinting, ¡°The Hour I worship is the First.¡±


    Silence. Both boats swayed. Tig ran his wooden hands across his face. The sighs of his companions joined his own. An idiot. He had been traveling with an idiot.


    His telling glare quickly fell off the Professor when he noticed how the Time Priest had shifted.


    Both his white tattoos and eyes had been glowing.


    Tig stumbled back and tripped on the last step, ¡°He¡¯s angry isn¡¯t he?¡±


    The eyes glowed brighter, the air around the priest simmered.


    ¡°Yup. Definitely angry.¡±


    The engine buzzed to life and he saw Gemjo repeatedly whacking it. He flipped back to the priest, narrowed his brows. He had to act. Now.


    He reached into his black coat and searched madly. Not there. He kept patting.


    ¡°Impossible.¡± He muttered. ¡°I never took it off.¡±


    ¡°You looking for your book mate?¡±


    ¡°Yes! Do you know where it is?¡±


    The Professor swished his head, ¡°I may have, uh, sold it at the pub for some cogs. Good money that.¡±


    Tig¡¯s jaw quivered. He hadn¡¯t the words. The white lights of the Straw Hat man¡¯s eyes had become almost blinding now.


    Tig shook his head, ¡°Gemjo, use your gun!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t have a gun!¡± she yelped.


    He whirled, ¡°Franco, use¡ªuse your muscles!¡±


    Franco swallowed and leapt to his feet, ¡°Right, you can do this Francisco Cantinio. It¡¯s just a little water, nothing to be afraid of.¡± His eyes traveled down to the waves in front and instantly he shrank. ¡°Nope, nope, nope. I can¡¯t good Tij¡ª¡°


    ¡°Tig.¡±


    ¡°-- I¡¯ve cramped my leg.¡±


    ¡°Yea.¡± said Tig. ¡°That¡¯s it.¡±


    ¡°He-re-tics.¡± The straw hat man¡¯s voice was a snake¡¯, hissing and venomous. ¡°Heretics!¡±


    His arms jutted apart. The overflowing robes he wore shuffled back to his elbows and bits of white lightning crackled at his fingertips.


    Just when the sloop creaked forwards, the priests swung his arm, lights culminating upon it. Tig gulped. They would not make it.


    Lightning flashed.


    And dissipated. Now the black outline of the guest had formed in front of them. His feet were perched on the rim of the boat and his hands pressed together as if he was praying.


    His head clicked as it turned to Tig.


    ¡°Run.¡± He hushed.


    The engine roared and sloop jetted ahead.


    Sea water spilled over the deck. A salt mist hovered rom the sides.


    ¡°He¡¯s following.¡± Reported Gemjo as she leaned over the edge. ¡°Fast to.¡±


    ¡°I shall fight him.¡± Said their guest.


    ¡°No old man, you stay here.¡± Snapped Franco.


    The old guest made that same mandible smile he had previously and before Tig could reach for him, he stepped over the edge.


    ¡°No!¡± said Tig running towards him. A bronze hand drew him back.


    ¡°Trust your elders, mate. I bet the old butt¡¯s got a plan.¡±


    ¡°Or he¡¯s senile.¡± Said Gemjo.


    A loud boom resounded as she said that. Gemjo, Tig and even Franco peaked over the edges of the ship.


    What they saw was beyond any of them. It was Magic.


    White lightning streaked across the sky, licking the sea as it shot at the guest. Not one hit him.


    Tig¡¯s focus remained on the old man even as that figure shrunk in his sights. Hit after hit resulted in massive sea sprays, fogging the battle more and more.


    ¡°Ice,¡± gasped Tig, ¡°He¡¯s using Ice.¡±


    ¡°Never heard of the magic.¡± Said the drunk.


    Tig turned to him, the island neared, ¡°But you¡¯re professor of magic!¡±


    ¡°Precisely why it bothers me, mate. No such thing as ice magic. Freezing water? Preposterous. Maybe with written magic? Yes written magic could do it.¡±


    A monstrous beam of white barely grazed the ships¡¯ portside. Tig staggered to see where it came. His heart sank.


    The straw hat man had emerged from the fog and was close upon them. His raft was skidding the waves with tremendous speed.


    Franco struggled up, ¡°There¡¯s a forest in the island ahead friends, we¡¯ll hide within it.¡±


    ¡°If we can make it.¡± Croaked Gemjo. ¡°Look!¡±


    The priest had been making signs with his hands. Lightning gathered around him. Water swirled and winds gusted.


    A crackling white dome of sea, air and lightning formed around the still moving priest and expanded. Tig fell to his back. His eyes rising. Now they wouldn¡¯t make it.


    The dome swallowed the sloop and several minutes of the sea along with it. Everything went white.


    For a moment he raclled a land just as white. Of a small village made of black stone huts where smoke incense mixed with rockswimmer meat. He recalled home. True home.


    The white vanished. He gasped. Sizzling sand burned at his exposed neck and he stood up to the banter of distant seagulls and the momentary wash of waves.


    A jagged plank stuck out of the sand. He saw another. Then another and another. His head hammered as he stood up and the sight of more planks flooded into view. It ended with the rather abrupt and sinking sight of a shattered sloop upon a black tooth.


    Tig fell to his knees. His heart began to race. Sweat dripped from his forehead and drenched the sand.


    ¡°TiJ?¡±


    He glanced up.


    ¡°By the Hours is that you Tib?¡±


    ¡°Tig.¡± He sniffed, strangely elated to have his name mispronounced. ¡°Did the others¡­ did they survive?¡±


    Franco nodded, waving some scrolls ahead of him, ¡°As did my scrolls. I stayed to search for them while Gemjo went out looking for you. The Professor, well, I¡¯m not sure where he went. Just wandered into the forest after Gemjo left. He had some strange pouch on him. Muttered something about sobriety.¡±


    While the forest rested in Tig sights, the sea had him more enamored than anything.  He asked the inevitable, ¡°Where is he?¡±


    Franco held his map to the sky and Tig grinned at the man who had already overcome his fear of the sky.


    ¡°Don¡¯t know.¡± Said Franco. ¡°And I don¡¯t care to find out. Best he thinks us dead as my sloop.¡± Franco frowned. ¡°Which brings me to our other pressing matter.¡±


    The two of them stood by the foot of the shattered boat. It was split in two and the prow was missing. Remnants of tattered sails gripped to the sharp rocks desperately.This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    Franco cocked his head, his chin crested by his silver hand, ¡°You know, I bet we could salvage this.¡±


    ¡°We do need fire.¡± Nodded Tig.


    Franco gave him a shove and smiled at him, ¡°Not that, you tanned city fish. I mean a raft. Seeing how our villainous assailant pursued us has inspired me. If I can salvage the engine of the ship, gather a few planks and the propeller, it could work.¡±


    ¡°You can do that?¡±


    ¡°Aye, I may not look like it good Tik--¡±


    ¡°Tig.¡±


    ¡°¡ªBut I have bachelor¡¯s in Chronodynamics, a minor in Tinkership.¡±


    ¡°Tinkership?¡±


    ¡°You know, tinkering for ships.¡±


    ¡°Right. I knew that.¡± Said Tig. ¡°I¡¯ll find Gemjo and the Professor then.¡±


    ¡°Oh and should you find some full turned animals, bring them back. We could use their parts for the ship.¡±


    Tig nodded, waving back at Franco as he ventured into the island.


    From where he stood he could not spot much past the immediate forest and the beach that curved on the other end. The island was a small one. It was flat with a gradual incline leading to a central hill. The forest Franco had described earlier was a sprawl of junipers and cork oaks. Gaps in the forest gave way to particular larger oaks.


    Untouched by the machinations of civilisation, it seemed the epitome of nature.


    Had it been any other scenario, it would have been a triumph of his escape. A true island escape. But now, with planks scattered behind him and the sun burning at his temple, it was no more than a disaster. His feet splurged in his boots. He shuddered. Wet socks.


    He decided on finding Gemjo first. If she had truly gone looking for him she would been somewhere around the coast. His brows lowered and he stepped towards the forest. If she had bothered to that is. Knowing Gemjo, there only one place she would go.


    A piercing howl deafened all else. A series of aluminum birds rushed out of the trees. He froze. He sorely wished that was either Gemjo or the Professor. Otherwise, they were not alone.


    He turned back to the ship and saw Franco in the distance gesturing him to continue.


    Tig sighed and kept on his pace. ¡°One step Tig, one step,¡± he told himself.


    Trees swished over ahead of him and the shade off the forest welcomed him. The heat was gone the moment he entered. Circkets chirped, piano birds sang.


    Then he heard another sound. A familiar sound. Snoring. He passed a gnarled oak and two junipers and found her on a hammock made with much of the missing sails.


    ¡°Of course,¡± he muttered, his brows low.


    He reached for her and paused. Franco would take a while to put together a vessel, at least the bits Tig could not assist in. He had time. Perhaps to breathe. Perhaps to think.


    He leaned against the hammock, and it lurched as he did. He crossed his arms. The last few days had been hectic. He had thought about leaving to sea a thousand times before but to think he¡¯d lose two ships in the span of days was almost unthinkable. Or perhaps, as long as the Professor was with him, that would be a daily occurrence.


    Even if nothing seemed guaranteed, Tig knew it was the moments of peace that served as the true treasures. Not cogs, not even sleep or drink. Just peace.


    He took in the sight as he thought that. They were by a meadow. A creak trickled by. Light spat past the opening in the branches and glinted off the waters, revealing some of the cobble rocks at the bottom.


    He glanced at her.


    She was asleep on her side and facing him. Bits of the light from the treetops twinkled on her metal hairs. Her mouth was half open, drool trickling out. Maybe she was after peace of a different kind?


    The scarlet scarf she wore hung loosely off the edge. He squinted at it and remembered. Peace was not his to have, not until he finished what he needed to. No one knew. No one except Wilma and, now, most likely Marici.


    He did not want them to. Not for the longest time. Not until he realised he would not come back.


    Gemjo¡¯s snores hummed in the back of his mind, and he smiled.


    ¡°Perhaps I should tell you.¡± He mused. ¡°You are a northerner.¡±


    Her snores croaked a little.


    He stared off into the creek bed, ¡°It happened six years ago, I remember it still. I remember the colors. The smell. Fire. It was the day I met my half family. Well,¡± he trailed, his eyes flicking down, ¡°the day they met me. The have a saying in my family. That blood runs hotter than steam, whatever that means.¡± He laughed. He paused as his smile faded. ¡°But they¡¯re not my real family and they never will be. Not after what they did. I can¡¯t¡­¡± He stopped short as something in the creek caught his eye. The glint of it made him slide up his goggles.


    He took off from the hammock and made to the rushing waters. As he got closer the shape of it became more defined.


    He crouched, his hand extended ahead of him. It was a key. The water formed eddies around his alien limb before he drew the treasure out of the bank.


    Still dripping, he held it up to his goggles. He marveled at it. It was a polished ebony piece, with a golden trim around the head and an hourglass cut out of it. His eyes traveled to the end of the key. It had only one projection, but one shaped like a triangle with a circle carving out the tip. He ran his index finger along the blade and turned it. Small letters appeared briskly in the light. Letters he knew nothing of.


    ¡°You found something?¡± Yawned Gemjo.


    He caught her rubbing her eyes and sitting on the hammock.


    He stuffed the key in his coat pocket, ¡°No. Just observing my turn.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± she said wading to the creek. Her furry face soon joined his as the two stared into the surface. Her eyes lowered. ¡°This is boring.¡±


    Tig glanced away, ¡°When did you wake?¡±


    ¡°Why? Did you want to know when I knew you were gawking at me?¡±


    ¡°I¡ªI just got here.¡±


    ¡°Sure.¡±


    Tig shook his head. ¡°The Professor. We need to find him.¡±


    ¡°About that.  I have a proposal. Now hear me out, chitik, I say we abandon him.¡±


    ¡°Not again. We tried that.¡±


    Gemjo flung her arm around his neck and leaned close, ¡°This is different. We¡¯re on an island. If we go, he won¡¯t find us. Say Franco finishes his ship, then we leave without the man who got us here. Think about it.¡±


    Tig stepped away from her, ¡°No. I felt sick the first time we did that. I¡¯m not doing it again.¡±


    She frowned, wandered to her hammock and tumbled into it, ¡°I tried.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re just going to sleep here? What if Franco needs our help?¡±


    She turned over, ¡°Even if Franco doesn¡¯t finish I could always swim off.¡±


    ¡°And your bounty?¡±


    ¡°I got enough cogs to pay it off. And in case you¡¯re wondering, I hid my cogs before I found shelter. In case someone stole from me while I was¡­ recuperating.¡±


    A smile played up his cheek, ¡°Did you hide those cogs in a pouch?¡±


    She shot up. The hammock swung.


    ¡°Because Franco saw a certain drunk carrying it.¡±


    Her voice croaked, ¡°No¡­¡±


    ¡­


    The two northerners sped under the branches. They ran for minutes before Tig requested a stop. Trees hovered over them. They had run directly into the midst of the forest.


    ¡°Where?¡± He puffed. ¡°Where could the drunk have gone?¡±


    Gemjo sniffed the air, ¡°Follow me.¡±


    ¡°Wait, please.¡±


    Gemjo sighed, ¡°You rest too much, chitik.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to hear that from you, seawolf.¡± Tig stood up as he said that. ¡°Did you howl earlier by the way?¡±


    Her tail visible shivered and he scoffed back a laugh.


    Gemjo spun to him, her guise livid, ¡°We do not howl.¡±


    ¡°Was it the Professor then? Did he howl?¡±


    ¡°What howl?¡± she sighed.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t hear it? It happened a little before I stumbled upon you.¡±


    ¡°See my delightfully fluffy ears? I would have heard a howl.¡±


    His brows fell low. Gemji¡¯s butterfly ears twitched.


    ¡°What if you were asleep?¡±


    Gemjo had risen a rebuttal finger when a crunch echoed from the woods.


    ¡°Professor?¡± asked Tig.


    Another crunch. Gemjo nudged her head to the side and held that rebuttal finger to her lips. Tig took a gander at his sides. The shrubs shuffled. A branch snapped.


    He heard hurried breaths. Shadowy outlines appeared between the trees.


    ¡°Definitely not alone.¡± Said Tig. He counted ten of them.


    Steps sounded behind them and soon they found themselves surrounded with little more than oaks to keep them separate. Tig¡¯s back brushed against Gemjo¡¯s.


    The creatures wandered forwards. They were not human. Most were of similar build. They had long double jointed arms, red suits that covered their lanky forms, and crimson top hats that favored their heads. Their skinny legs ended with ornate mechanical talons. And worst of all, each had the face of an ivory owl.


    Several green and orange owl eyes blinked around them. Tophats tipped. Long limbs dragged.


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard of these.¡± Said Tig. ¡°The Mad Gents of Triberi. Wil¡ªthe woman who took care of me told me about them. They were supposed to be fairy tales.¡±


    The gents straggled close, their heads clicking every which way.


    Tig rose his hands as if to defend himself, ¡°The gents are physically strong and they don¡¯t communicate the same as us. They are extremely aggressive.¡±


    ¡°Strange fairy tale.¡±


    Tig shrugged, ¡°Wilma always tried to be blunt about these things.¡±


    ¡°Then I¡¯ll be blunt as well.¡±


    Her back brushed of his and the moment he spun to her, she shifted into an orca. Black and white collided with red. Tig started. The gents paused. An opening lay before him.


    Steam billowed up as she returned to her form ¡°Run!¡± she cried.


    Tig made to Gemjo, helped her up and ran as quick as he could.


    He glimpsed behind him, but heard them first. Nine terrible screeches muted all else. He covered his ears instinctively as he ran.


    Gemjo had been speaking as the two made pace. He lowered his arms and glanced back, red blurs were speeding up.


    ¡°Tig!¡± spoke the puffing Gemjo. ¡°Can you hear me?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°I smell him close. Just him.¡± She sniffed. ¡°Wherever he is, he¡¯s outrun from these things. Even safe perhaps.¡±


    They jumped a log. Another screech


    ¡°Or he¡¯s deftly avoided them.¡± Countered Tig.


    Gemjo ducked a branch. Even in their sprint, the girl played her skeptical mug.


    ¡°Right.¡± Huffed Tig. ¡°He¡¯s definitely outrun them.¡±


    The space between trees expanded. Something black bobbed in his view. Gemjo snapped to the front and ran even faster. The feature became defined. Deep. He had run too fast to stop.


    ¡°Jump!¡± said the sea wolf.


    Tig leapt when she did. The ground rushed up behind him. Then black. He spotted a light at the far end of the fall and braced himself.


    Two splashes echoed one after the other. Two half turn heads bobbed up and gasping. Tig pulled his goggles off and willed his dark eyes to the top.


    Nine tophats popped over top.


    ¡°Quick mates, hide.¡±


    Gemjo dove while Tig remained head out. He squinted at the man hugging the dark end of the fall, ¡°Is that you Professor?¡±


    A rock tumbled down. Several screeches bounced one after the other.


    ¡°And they saw us. Great.¡± Griped the Professor.


    Gemjo popped out of the water and crawled to the surface by the full turn. Tig decided to do the same.


    He held his breath and dove. The world muted. He could hear the low reverberations of the two on the other side. One was more elevated and frantic, the other slurred.


    Tig pressed forwards, one arm after the other. Just a stroke before the other side he caught a golden glint and saw his newfound key sinking. He caught it a moment before it had gone too far and noticed something peculiar about the bottom of that pit.


    The light he saw had come from it. It was pulsating and yellow. Almost inviting. A bronze arm gripped his and pulled him out.


    Tig rubbed at his eyes.


    ¡°Either you savy the water or the water savies you.¡±


    ¡°No, I saw something down there.¡±


    ¡°Keep your observation to yourself, mate. It appears we have visitors.¡±


    Tig swiveled up. The gents had begun climbing.


    ¡°Where¡¯s my treasure?¡± demanded Gemjo.


    The Professor lifted a pouch and Gemjo snatched it greedily. She took one whiff of the contents and handed it back. Her frown was immediate. Her sigh second.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t my pouch.¡±


    Tig shrugged. He stole a quick glance of the pit. It wasn¡¯t too large, but it proved big enough for their voices to echo. At least three of their sloops could have fit within it.


    Falling rocks reminded him of his peril.


    ¡°We need to go.¡± Said Tig.


    ¡°Mate, I tried looking, honest. Not exits.¡± He said pointing up. ¡°Just the entrance.¡±


    ¡°What about down?¡±


    ¡°We are down.¡± Slurred the Professor.


    ¡°In the water, there¡¯s something there. But it¡¯s deep. I don¡¯t think¡­ Gemjo, you can take us!¡±


    Gemjo peaked at the descending gents and shuddered, ¡°Fine, but whatever you do. Don¡¯t touch the tail.¡±


    The other two nodded and Gemjo jumped into the water, shapeshifting halfway. The Professor and Tig followed in and clung to the sides of the orca. They descended in seconds.


    The middling light grew dramatically. The light became an opening. Tig closed his eyes as they swam through.


    The water had gotten hot, nearly sweltering. He opened his eyes and coughed, nearly gagging on the water that rushed in.


    Several yellow orbs the size of coconuts glittered across the walls of the underwater tunnel. Turquoise water surrounded them. A surface neared and Gemjo broke through.


    Tig fell off her back and floated. Hot water flowed in through the ends of his collar. Though he was above water, the little breath he had was stolen by what lay ahead.


    A crystalline tree of silvery blue soared in the distance. It was as big as the wizard tower of Verace. No. Bigger. And brighter. The bark of the tree shimmered as brilliantly as a moon. Black growths and iridescent flora had made a thousand gardens all along the trunk of it. The roots of the giant had spread in every direction delving deep into the ruddy black stone that covered it. Even now, two impossibly wide tendrils had dug into either side of the narrow channel they had entered in. The water, the same stuff Tig was on, glowed as bright as his hands only with yellow stones dappling it here and there. It flowed further down and joined a lake underneath the crystalline tree.


    His eyes trailed from the roots to the ceiling and he spotted a bulbous cap at its top¡­ It wasn¡¯t a tree. It was a mushroom. Tig sniffed the air. It smelled strongly of mint.


    He could hear the crash of waves above it, and that same sound rebounded a hundred fold within the cavern.


    Tig¡¯s head bumped against the rocky shoreline. He rubbed at it gingerly as he stood on the shore.


    The Professor and Gemjo had gone ahead. He followed briskly, ducking the roots and eyeing the rough walls He let his wooden fingertips brush them as he passed them by. The walls were cold, yet the water hot. The air temperate and humid as if he were by the sea.


    He stopped short when he came to the edge of the river. The reflection of the mushroom rippled within it, blotted only by smaller fungi whose caps only just managed to breach the surface. Strangely, those same caps formed a line. Tig followed them to the bottom of the trunk. They led further down and stopped abruptly at a small door.


    ¡°A pathway.¡± Said Tig. ¡°They form a pathway.¡±


    The Professor took the first step, and when he didn¡¯t fall, the other two followed. From there, they ventured further down the line.


    Stepping between mushrooms that were close enough together and jumping to those that weren¡¯t, the trio traveled to the end of the soft path.


    A door had been carved there. Unlike the glimmering walls of the fungi it was an opaque red. A symbol in gold was carved on the surface of it.


    It was the symbol of an hourglass. One half full.


    ¡°Seem magical.¡± Noted Gemjo.


    ¡°Must be.¡± Agreed Tig.


    The Professor tapped it by the end of his bottle and it opened with a creak.


    ¡°Clearly not.¡± Said the full turn.


    Tig wandered past him. Despite what it was carved into, the room appeared as spacious as a pantry. Until he looked up. Shelves upon shelves of books lined the circular walls, all the way to height of the mother mushroom. Tig felt his head spin just by staring at it. A ladder on wheels seemed to be the only to go up.


    A book slammed shut.


    ¡°Can¡¯t read this.¡± Cursed Gemjo. She tossed it aside careless and picked up another. With a flip of few pages, she let it fall. ¡°This neither. The language in it is strange. Foreign.¡±


    Tig grabbed the nearest book he could. It had a forest green hard cover. Dust shrouded his face when he picked it. He tossed it open with a flick of his wooden finger. He recognized the figures, yet just as Gemjo said, he could not read it.


    He tried another. No good. Book after book, the words had no meaning.


    ¡°Impossible.¡± Hushed Tig. ¡°The Empire consolidated all written text. There should not be exceptions.¡±


    ¡°Unless it¡¯s old.¡± Said Gemjo.


    Tig scanned the high rows upon rows. There must have been thousands of books, hundreds of thousands.


    ¡°Really old.¡± He added.


    Then laughter. The Professor¡¯s laughter. He had been chuckling as he scanned the pages of one such book. Tig raced to him as did Gemjo. His expression dropped. He met gemjo in the eye and saw the same wonderment.


    They both stared at the Professor.


    Gemjo asked first, ¡°You can read this?¡±


    ¡°What this? I¡¯m not illiterate mate. I am a professor after all.¡±


    ¡°What language is it? Where is it from?¡± asked Tig.


    ¡°A place over there beyond the sea of sands and a little bit closer to the horizon.¡±


    Tig stammered, ¡°T-that Horizon? The one you need squint really hard to see?¡±


    ¡°Now you getting¡¯ it.¡±


    ¡°Is this his home then? Are we here?¡± asked Tig.


    The Professor smiled, ¡°Not even close. But there is something here.¡±


    The man walked about the room and tapped the floorboards at intervals.


    ¡°Ah¡± he said after a particularly hollow tap.  He stepped on it three times hard and the floorboards zipped a part, revealing a long spiralling staircase below with nothing but black around it.


    ¡°It goes lower?¡± said Tig in disbelief.


    ¡°Trust me mate, you haven¡¯t seen anything yet.¡±


    The three of them tapped the seemingly endless steps. Lights flickered on the walls as they conquered portions of the descent. Tig noticed they were the same lights dotting the water floors. When the Professor finished his bottle he tossed it into the descent. Tig listened for the fall. It never came. The Professor had already pulled a bottle from his pouch. Tig realised they would be there for a while, and perhaps the Professor knew.


    Minutes passed, then an hour. Tig glanced behind him. The lights that had turned on had vanished. It seemed strange. Nothing ahead and nothing behind. Almost as if¡­


    ¡°We¡¯re not going anywhere.¡± Said Tig.


    ¡°Patience mate, were almost there.¡±


    ¡°Suppose we take much longer.¡± Humored Gemjo. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t your bottle run out by then? Maybe you¡¯ll even be sober by the time we get there?¡±


    The Professor was silent for a good minute, ¡°By the Hours! We need to hurry.¡±


    ¡°This must be a trap.¡± Surmised Tig. ¡°My old instructor often told me how magic worked that way, especially if constructed through written means. Assuming whoever built this also owned that library, I wouldn¡¯t put it past them.¡±


    ¡°Brilliant deduction, truly. The of shcolars. But hows abut are we to break it, eh?¡±


    To that he had no answer. If the path truly was endless there was no way out. It reminded him of Verace. How much he tried to escape, year after year but tried little to truly do so. Until the Professor arrived, until one man gave him a choice. Stay or jump.


    Tig blinked.


    That was it.


    ¡°We jump.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve gone insane, chitik. Less you are unaware there is no guarantee there is water down there.¡±


    ¡°The furry ones makes a lot of sense.¡±


    Tig took off a shoe, ¡°If we are close, we¡¯ll hear a sound.¡± He tossed it into the abyss and waited. Nothing.


    ¡°Alright.¡± Said Tig. ¡°I¡¯m jumping.¡±


    Gemjo held her hand before him, ¡°Hold on, there could be something dampening the sound. Dropping a shoe proves nothing. We should walk.¡±


    ¡°But what if this is a trap?¡± Said Tig. ¡°What if that is the trial here? Not persistence but cleverness?¡±


    ¡°And if it¡¯s not?¡± asked Gemjo staring into the abyss.


    Tig gulped, ¡°Then¡­ then¡­¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re dead.¡± She put it bluntly. ¡°Is that worth risking for however many steps remain?¡±


    Tig lowered his head. Perhaps he had gotten used to jumping lately?


    He sighed, ¡°You¡¯re right.¡±


    The other two continued ahead of him, while he remained, staring into the abyss. If only the shoe had made a sound. If only for once he was made correct. He sighed and took a step.


    The world tumbled.


    Tiguak Trimbly had made two mistakes in the great descent. One, he had forgotten to dry his socks, and two, he had grabbed his both his companions by their ankles when he inevitably fell.


    Winds surged by them, the layers of stairs rushed one after the other until they seemed stutter like the blades of a fan. Gemjo had been crossing her arms and glaring at him. She mouthed a word. Tig frowned.


    Idiot.


    The worst, however, was yet to come. Because, as Tig realised most bitterly, there was in fact a floor. It snapped to them in frightening speed. He shut his eyes


    Yet there was no impact. Instead, he felt as if he had been submerged. He opened his eyes and realised he was not. No, it was still air. But not air he could breathe.  Light seemed to dim. The last he saw a floating bottle and boot.


    He gasped. He could not breathe. The light vanished. He could not see. Not even sound permeated the invisible expanse. He reached out to nothing. He knew nothing. He was nothing. For a moment, the abyss consumed him.


    Tap. Light returned. Everything returned. He found his himself on a black marble floor and his companions standing beside him. The Professor was happily snoring a ways away.


    Gemjo grabbed him by the collar. Her steel hands dug deep into the black wool.


    ¡°You meant that didn¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°No I--¡±


    The chamber howled. It was a deafening screech that made his ears ring. Gemjo¡¯s grip loosened and his senses returned to him when it ended. It was a sound he had heard before.


    ¡°That was it.¡± clamoured Tig. ¡°That was the howl! Ha! Guess you heard that, eh Gemjo? That was¡­ Gemjo?¡±


    Her attention was elsewhere. Her face had gone as still as stone. A bead of sweat trickled down her forehead, her open mouth quivered and her eyes seemed wrenched open as if an unknown entity kept them that way.


    He flinched. He saw it in the reflection of her pupils. His breath became shallow. He didn¡¯t want to turn.


    A shadow that made them specs loomed over top.  Gears churned. Steam whistled.


    A sonorous voice echoed through the chamber. It was akin to dry thunder, distant and closing.


    ¡°That, little fleshy thing, was the third law of Chronodynamics.¡±

 Gatekeeper

    ¡°Permanence is the illusion of metal and wood. It is the eleventh hour that must pass for all turns.¡±


    -- The Mad Tinker


    The creature that spoke was a monster among monsters. The monster had called to him. Expected him.


    Steam gushed at his sides. He knew his life was short, yet he went to the sea. He knew the sea was dangerous, yet he sought trouble anyway. He figured this was the last trial of the strange chamber. The hardest to. He swallowed hard. His feet shuffled.


    Tiguak Trimbly faced the creature behind him. He saw little of it past the blue flicker of his hands. But he saw enough.


    Black, endless pupils fixed on the boy, and golden irises ringed the pupils. Four of them. Two large, the closest to him and two smaller further back. A massive draft bombarded them and Tig whirled away momentarily.  He froze the moment he returned to that sight. The head had swung incredibly close. The eyes lay seconds in front of him. Tig¡¯s head raised and did not stop rising.


    One eye was as large as a three story house. The head swung back forcing Tig to cover his face as the wind swayed with its movement.


    The creature puffed, the stench of sulfur made Tig cough.


    When it spoke the chamber trembled, ¡°If time is slowed, it must accelerate. You know little for approaching me.¡±


    Tig stumbled back.


    The head vanished into darkness and appeared again, several minutes above. He saw the outline of craggy jaw well in the distance.


    ¡°Little fleshy thing, do you know what I am?¡±


    Tig tried to speak but the words did not come out. Drop after drop, sweat trickled of his face. How could he?


    The far off eyes squinted, ¡°You cannot see me. Neither can your companion.¡±


    The head swayed and something massive approached. Tig shivered. His feet would not move. He saw the tip of what came and could only gawk as a pointed edge hurtled towards him.


    Perhaps instinctively, the boy raised his arms to defend himself. Tig slammed his eyes shut.


    Silence. The wind settled.


    ¡°Lower your hand. Lower it!¡± echoed the creature.


    Eyes still shut, Tig held out his palm.


    ¡°Turn it around, fleshy thing.¡±


    Tig gulped. His wrist clicked until the back of the hand faced the ceiling.


    A gentle tap warmed the center of it. He peaked at his own limb and gasped. His breath was stolen for the second time that day.


    Tendrils of blue light seeped from his hand. The tendrils snaked in every direction as if they were roots or a snapshot of lightning.


    More and more facets of light split off from the main branches and spread haphazardly. A luminescent nervous system lit the impossibly large chamber and stilled.


    Tig shut his iron jaw and peaked at where the light came.


    ¡°Impossible.¡± He hushed as words finally returned to him.


    It had all come from his hand.


    ¡°Light bending.¡± Murmured the colossal voice. ¡°A mere triviality when one wields time itself.¡±


    Winds swished and Tig followed the tip that had touched his hand. In the newfound light, he realised what it was. A black claw, yet one the size of a caravel.


    The claw lifted up and the head came into view. He could see it now for it was. For all it was.


    The thousand flights of stairs before made terrible sense. This creature was the size of a city. Had he sat on Verace he would have flattened it.


    He saw its teeth first. The reptilian snout second. Rows of two story daggers flashed in brass just under its crumbling lips. Two mandibles snaked from the back sides of his jaw and ended in curved saffron fangs. A patchwork of craggy black stone plates made its skin. Yellow liquid oozed in between.


    Tig trailed back to its eyes. Layers upon layers of jagged obsidian clung above and below, forming eyelids. Scaly brows formed an ebony crest.


    There was more of course, but Tig could not look away from its golden eyes.


    ¡°W-What then,¡± stuttered Tig, ¡°what are you?¡±


    The creature rumbled. The chamber shook.


    ¡°I am the end of your beginning. You are meek. Untested.¡± The eyes rolled to a little ways past Tig. ¡°But because you travel with him, you are different. You walk one path among twelve and still you know nothing of it.¡±


    Gemjo stepped passed him. A weak smile crept up his face. She seemed to have regained much of her composure. He saw her steels hands shaking. Though not all of it.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°The Professor?¡± she said. ¡°That drunk?¡±


    The creatures had a long neck with obsidian spikes jutting from it.  Anything below that was covered in the dust it kicked up just by moving. But he could gears turn whenever it shifted its claws.


    The creature swayed to their left. Bits of blue from the lighting reflected off the creature¡¯s scales.


    ¡°You underestimate him? Then truly you know little. Your ignorance abounds. Perhaps,¡± it mused, ¡°I shall kill you.¡±


    ¡°Wait.¡± Pleaded Tig. ¡°Please, I can¡¯t die here. I have something I must do. Gemjo to.¡±


    Gemjo nodded fervently.


    The creature paused and turned to them. Steam rushed out its nostrils.


    Gemjo stood in front of him, her hands were still shaking, ¡°Tell us then. If we know so little, teach us.¡±


    ¡°You want to learn, little fleshy things?¡±


    ¡°We do.¡± Said the seawolf.


    Its eyes lumbered to the Professor and stayed there, ¡°You seek the Mad Tinker. Then learn that you have wandered here far too early.¡±


    Tig swallowed hard. His throat clicked, ¡°What--¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve blundered by coming here, fleshy things, so blunder less. Of mind and metal you have neither, not yet. Seek the clock that neither ticks nor tocks, find the hour that lacks all but five minutes. And then and only then, may you enter the sand with a sea within it. But not now. Not¡­yet¡­¡±


    The head faded into the dust and the lights began to fade, one branch at a time.


    Tig took a step. He had to ask.


    ¡°Who are you?¡±


    The chamber shook abruptly as several deep hums played in the distance.


    ¡°The Gatekeeper.¡± It echoed.


    Then silence. He took quick, shivering breaths. He felt as if he were a sardine before a whale. A spark in the flame. Nothing got that big. Nothing. He would have thought it was a dream had not been for the stench of sulfur keeping him awake.


    The last of the lights flickered out until only Tig¡¯s hand lit their faces. He saw Gemjo¡¯s ears twitch. Her expression grim.


    ¡°Hold on to me Tig.¡±


    Tig shook, ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Trust me on this. It¡¯s coming.¡±


    Tig swung about. He heard nothing, ¡°What¡¯s coming?¡±


    Then he saw it. An empty bottle on the black marble floor shook. The sound came second. It was a distant rumbling at first. It became a coursing static and, finally, rushing water. He turned.


    It was close. Seconds away. Tig latched onto Gemjo¡¯s shoulder and she shifted.


    He noticed the Professor still happily asleep on the floor.


    ¡°What of the professor?¡± he shouted, the waves deafening.


    ¡°Forget him!¡± she cried in her orca form


    ¡°But--¡±


    Black water engulfed them. They shot forwards, propelled by the current. Tig¡¯s light did little to brighten the path. More water pressed at his back, while Gemjo deftly evaded crags that swung at them.


    Tig coughed, water trickled in. He waved his head. It tasted salty. The muted roar of waves got higher as the two entered a slender pass.


    The current guided them. The duo swished through snaking caverns. The weight of the sea hammered against them. Even as their movements proved too quick to track, the way the ever narrowing channels seemed to slant suggested they were going up.


    The water slowed. Bits of rays spilled past. Tig felt his breath fading. Palpitations deafened all else.


    His lids batted. More light came in. The world became defined. Schools of fish swished by, lights scattered among the distance surface. They were under the sea. Ever rising, ever¡­


    His grip loosened. A distancing Gemjo became the last he saw as the world faded black once again.


    A hand gripped him and he snapped awake. The hand was bronze. A dirty jacket fluttered by it. Grimy black boots paddled nearby.


    They split the surface moment later, gasping and huffing. In his dizziness, Tig scarcely spotted the island swaying in his sights.


    It wasn¡¯t far, perhaps a few minutes at best.


    ¡°You almost scared me, mate.¡±


    He saw the Professor there, bobbing beside him.


    Tig coughed up water.


    The Professor continued, ¡°Never been waked underwater before. Quite an ordeal, really.¡± He scrunched his nose, his blue hat tipping back as he scanned the island. ¡°Now how did we get here? I swear we were walking down some steps, before I, um, decided to rest you might say.¡±


    ¡°A long story.¡± croaked Tig meekly.


    The Professor raised a brow, ¡°I¡¯m all for long stories, but it seem our ride is back.¡±


    Gemjo. Tig smiled.


    They finished the swim in seconds upon Gemjo¡¯s back. Tig took two step and stumbled to the shore. He panted loudly. Wet sand clung to his coat. Gemjo fell besides him. She saw her turn to him in his peripheral.


    ¡°What was that?¡± she asked.


    Tig swallowed, ¡°He called himself the Gatekeeper. But aside from that, I don¡¯t know. Wilma never spoke of such a creature. No one did.¡±


    The Professor crouched nearby. He had picked up an empty bottle and had been eying its contents.


    He frowned and tossed it aside, ¡°Gatekeeper you say?¡±


    The half turns glanced at him. Tig sat up.


    ¡°He knew you.¡± Said the chitik slowly. ¡°Yes I remember that. He knew you.¡±


    The Professor smiled, ¡°Long story, mate. A really long story.¡±


    Gemjo leapt up abruptly. Her brows were narrowed. Before Tig could ask, pistols clicked around them.


    Tig blinked. He wondered why he had not noticed earlier.


    Several yellows hats wavered about them.


    ¡°Merchants?¡¯ asked Tig.


    They were all full turns, a collection of men and women made of steel and silver mechanisms.


    A burly man stood out in front of the crowd. He had a violet mantle over top his yellow robes. He had gold for skin and diamonds for eyes. A flaxen mustache curled  over his little lips, and his blonde hair remained tied neatly behind his head.


    ¡°Are these them, Nister Cantinio?¡± he asked in a baritone.


    Franco appeared beside the man and nodded, ¡°Yes, Mr. Lawfield.¡±


    Tig leapt to his feet, ¡°Franc--¡±


    ¡°Lock them up.¡± ordered the golden man.


    Franco had been rubbing his hands together. He swatted his eyes from the angry looks he got from Tig and Gemjo.


    ¡°Hello friends.¡± He started nervously. ¡°So I have bad news, good news, troubling news and hopeful news.¡±


    ¡°Out with it.¡± Sighed Gemjo as a woman clicked the manacles on her wrist.


    Franco pointed behind him. A  charred raft sat beside the jagged that had destroyed their first vessel. Little more than iron frames of the sloop remained of the mess. Another ship moored well off on the waves. Tig recognized it from the many he saw in Verace. It was a trade galleon, one made small in the distance.


    ¡°Right so where to begin?¡±


    ¡°How about when you betrayed us?¡± snapped Gemjo.


    Franco lowered his eyes, ¡°That was necessary. Though I had not imagine I¡¯d be doing it so soon. You see, I intended to make raft, and I did, but it went up in flames. The smoke from the flames directed Mr. Lawfield here as he had just been passing by. But he happen to be a slave merchant. Terrible news for you but splendid for me. He offered me free passage and sizable reward should I offer you three to him.¡±


    ¡°And you accepted it, mate?¡± said the Professor.


    ¡°Yes. I had to.¡±


    ¡°No you didn¡¯t!¡± roared Tig.


    Franco shut his eyes and spun away. He stopped just before passing Lawfield, and touched the man on the shoulder, ¡°Two of them are half turns. Be sure to feed and bathe them well.¡±


    ¡°I assure you, Nr. Cantinio, we handle our property with utmost care.¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡± Said Franco as his hand fell. Tig kept on the man¡¯s bare back. His crunching steps became distant.


    Gemjo¡¯s struggle made him look back.


    ¡°Where are you taking us?¡± demanded the seawolf.


    Lawfield had a slow and rumbling laugh, ¡°Why to the best slave market in the twelve seas, my girl, the Hungering City.¡±

 Weighty Chains

    Winds gushed. The clock engine ticked.


    An endless blue expanse stretched below. Its surface was topaz, clear as glass. A network of ocean life sprawled underneath. School of fish jetted while flocks of gulls made shadows over it. Then the view shifted. Bouts of white shimmered where the waves stirred restlessly.


    Clouds passed the scene, whiter than the crashing waves, and four wrought iron bars focussed into view.


    Tig clung to them. He had a smile on his face.


    Yes, He was a slave. Yes, the prison stunk worse than the sloop and yes, he knew what future he had was bleak, yet even then, even as a bird with his wings clipped, Tiguak Trimbly could not help smiling.


    They were flying. Actually flying! He willed the ship to duck back under the cloud. Wished there wasn¡¯t a glass cover just outside the bars so he could smell it. He wanted the air to brush his still natural hairs, hear the waves crash again.


    More clouds cluttered the view until it was white. The shadow of the galleon hovered above. Tig¡¯s reflection on the dirty glass revealed his frown, and he fell away from it.


    He saw Gemjo resting on the lone bed in the cell. She had been awake, her head postured upon her hands and elbows jutting out. He cuffed his wrists. True to his word, Mr. Lawfield undid their manacles and fed them well, at least for the one day they had been captured.


    Tig cleared his throat, ¡°Mind if I get the bed, Gemjo?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I do mind.¡±


    ¡°You had it for a day.¡±


    ¡°And I shall have it for another. Maybe another beyond that. I need to think.¡±


    Tig¡¯s frown deepened and he huddled in his usual corner away from the girl. He spotted a wet sock slumped in the corner neighbouring him. The cell was as spacious as any crewmate¡¯s lodgings. Large enough to walk around in, but not so for more than five people. The room was completely enclosed save the window he just peaked out. A solid door covered their only escape. A small, circular window sat on the door revealing little of a lamp-lit hallway. Every so often, an escort would come to guide the two should they need to use a restroom.


    The guides were always armed.


    ¡°If only I had a pistol.¡± Muttered Tig.


    ¡°On that we agree. Say we buy one once we escape?¡±


    ¡°Escape? You¡¯ve already planned on that?¡±


    Gemjo half shrugged, ¡°While having my own bed is nice, I have my reservations when it comes to slavery.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps it¡¯s not that bad.¡±


    Gemjo¡¯s head slid to face him, and she raised a brow.


    ¡°Hear me out.¡± Started Tig. ¡°Yes we may lose our freedom, but it¡¯ll come with a guarantee of safety.¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t you say you had something to do?¡±


    Tig hugged his legs tightly, his gaze wandered down. He saw his feet. One foot was booted, the other lacking, its boot left somewhere at the bottom of a deep primeval pit.


    ¡°Perhaps I won¡¯t have to if I lacked the choice.¡± He suggested.


    His foot shifted to the cold touch of the floor. He felt the ship hum underneath him. Moments of silence passed before he realised she was grinning at him.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°So you have to, but you don¡¯t want to?¡±


    Tig scrunched his nose, ¡°Yes. A duty you might call it.¡±


    She snapped back to the ceiling, yawned a little, ¡°Then don¡¯t. Go, become a slave and live a safe life. I¡¯m sure the chains they¡¯ll have you wear will keep your hands and neck very safe.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not just about safety. It¡¯s complicated.¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Gemjo made a line with her lips, ¡°Oh sure. Complicated. Running must be quite the long and arduous process.¡±


    ¡°Says the seawolf with little purpose.¡±


    ¡°I do have a purpose. An easy life, I told you twice now haven¡¯t I?¡±


    ¡°Then a slave--¡±


    ¡°Slaves don¡¯t have it easy.¡±


    Tig flinched. For the briefest of moments Gemjo had raised her voice. He thought she only got mad at those who threatened her life, but not this.


    Her ears twitch and she turned over, scratching her side as she puffed at the wall.


    ¡°I¡¯ll do it when we near the city.¡± She said, her voice bouncing off the walls, ¡°I¡¯ll ask for a trip to the restroom, turn into an orca and disable them as I had the gents.¡±


    ¡°And their guns?¡±


    ¡°If they don¡¯t shoot me first, I¡¯ll steal it from the one I disable. I¡¯m going with or without you, Tig.¡±


    Tig lowered his head further. He knew she would. He took off his goggles and held it low. Had he stayed he would be alone. It wouldn¡¯t be the first time. He stared deep into the chocolate lenses that made wide ovals in the bronze frame.


    His image distorted within it and he felt at his iron jaw with his free hand. The wooden fingers trailed up the metal and stopped upon two new features that hugged his face.


    Thin iron lines stretched above and below both his eyes as if they were tattoos. His turn had progressed. He clutched the goggles. One day he would become a machine. One day he would become immortal.


    All creatures turned at different rates. The quicker they matured, the quicker they turned. Yet it also varied within the same species.


    Some people turned faster than others.


    He glanced up at Gemjo. She seemed to be at the same stage as he, while Franco, clearly older, was far behind.


    One would think progressing to immortality faster was a sign of fortune. He gripped the goggle tight. It could be no further from the truth.


    Perhaps a proverb, there was a saying among those who worshipped the Eleventh Hour, the Hour of death.


    He mouthed the words he could not quite forget.


    ¡°Permanence lies after the eleventh hour,


    Where clocks turn and tick early and end just as quick,


    Permanence lies, it is the illusion of death


    Of metal and wood, of bearings and gears, of mind,


    Permanence lies within the hour to come last.¡±


    His head fell low. The sight of grime encrusted metal boarding came to view. His grey foot blotted it more. Those who turned quickly died quickly. There was no proof behind the claim, only worried whispers and baseless superstition. But the kind of whispers Tig could not but help thinking true. Tig felt at the iron fresh on his face. He wondered how long he had. He considered whether what he had to do was worth doing. His eyes trailed back to Gemjo, always Gemjo. He wondered if she was right.


    Her ears twitched. A bump echoed from the other side of the wall, and a muffled, hoarse voice joined it.


    ¡°You want to escape!?¡±


    ¡°Eep!¡±


    Tig scoffed at the now standing Gemjo, ¡°Did you just ¡®Eep¡¯?¡±


    Her eyes spat like spark flies and she corrected her posture. ¡°No,¡± she said coolly.


    ¡°She certainly did,¡± echoed the voice on the other side.


    ¡°Look. Sea wolves do not ¡®eep¡¯.¡±


    ¡°As they do not howl.¡± Said a grinning Tig.


    One of her steely brows twitched, ¡°Alright.¡± She said with spin to the wall. ¡°Who are you?¡±


    ¡°Not important. Get me out, and I¡¯ll consider it a life debt.¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t even see you.¡± Argued Gemjo.


    ¡°Neither can I.¡± countered the voice.


    Tig shrugged, ¡°He has a point.¡±


    Gemjo shook her head, already tiring, ¡°Look, my plan isn¡¯t even guaranteed to work, nor can we trust you.¡±


    ¡°Better than my plan.¡± It said.


    ¡°Which is?¡±


    ¡°Pretend to sleep and jump them.¡±


    ¡°That is a terrible plan.¡± Sighed Gemjo.


    ¡°Precisely why I need you.¡± A footstep clanked and the voice got louder. ¡°I understand your hesitance, Niss, but you will not regret freeing me. I know people in high places.¡±


    Gemjo puffed, ¡°Strange that you¡¯re a slave then.¡±


    ¡°Well yes, yes it is, and I don¡¯t blame you for questioning me, but right now I can¡¯t dally in a cell. I heard you two talking about purposes and, well, I have one to.¡±


    Tig stood up. ¡°What is it then?¡± he asked the disembodied voice.


    There was a triumphant chuckle, most likely a smirk, ¡°I plan to marry the Empress.¡±


    Tig nodded at Gemjo, ¡°Right, we¡¯re leaving him.¡±


    ¡°Wait!¡± it clamoured. ¡°I promise riches, feasts, women¡ªor or men! Anything you want should you ever travel to the South Seas.¡±


    ¡°Then who are you?¡± repeated Gemjo.


    The voice quieted, ¡°I can¡¯t say. Believe me, it¡¯s more for your safety than mine. But I¡¯m no fraud like the man who got you on this ship. I pay back my debts.¡±


    Tig stumbled at the mention of Franco, ¡°He¡¯s not a fraud.¡± He mumbled.


    Gemjo let out a long drawn out breath, ¡°He betrayed us, Tig.¡±


    ¡°Still.¡±


    ¡°Not still, we¡¯re here because of him.¡±


    ¡°What of the Professor? He¡¯s caused us nothing but trouble, but we still kept him around.¡±


    Gemjo was shaking her head, ¡°Not sure if you remember, chitik, but that was the same Professor I tried to abandon. Twice.¡±


    ¡°Surely you¡¯ve changed your mind.¡±


    ¡°What? In one day? Yes he saved your life, but not mine. There¡¯s nothing that man can do to redeem himself. Nothing¡­¡± Her voice trailed. Her eyes flicked to the door window.


    The figure swaying in the halls was unmistakable.


    They ran to the small window and smudged their faces against it. They cried out after him as best they could. The glass did well to muffle their words, but not enough. His blue hat turned and he staggered a step as his eyes madly squinted and opened.


    A bottle swished in his hand and he hicc¡¯ed.


    ¡°Wo! Mates, what¡­ why do you look so,¡± His upper lip tightened, ¡°tiny?¡±


    Tig pressed Gemjo away and asked, ¡°How did you escape?¡±


    ¡°Funny story that. Door was open. My captors seemed happy to leave me in the dark. A form of slave breaking. Apparently they never check on full turns, so I may just hide.¡± He took a step forwards and wavered back. ¡°Do you two need some help?¡±


    Gemjo pushed Tig away as the full turn asked that. Tig fell with a thud and his eyes lifted to Gemjo and stayed there. She was smiling with her head tilted down. He knew that look.


    ¡°Yes,¡± hummed the seawolf, ¡°but not yet.¡±

 The Whale that Swallowed a City

    A mechanical step played after every booted one. The lone window was half drowned from the outside.


    It just so happened that the slave clock ship could only travel thirty minutes a day on air. While it was fastest then, it remained on water for the majority of the trip. That was what they planned on.


    It was Gemjo¡¯s idea. There was no point escaping while they were still out of sight of the Hungering City. Better wait until they were sure they were close. Then, only one pressing matter remained.


    Tig paced back and forth in the cell madly. The evening sun painted it in fire.


    ¡°You think he¡¯s been caught? He¡¯s probably been caught. But if he isn¡¯t?¡±


    Gemjo had been sitting on her bed, yawning as she carved a third line on the wall.


    Her bushy tail flicked. She eyed him lazily, ¡°You¡¯ve asked a hundred times now.¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you worried? I mean he¡¯s the Professor. That Professor and our plan relies on him.¡±


    ¡°He said he was hiding in the ship¡¯s cargo hold.¡± Her brows lowered. ¡°Where they keep all the wine and rum stores. I¡¯m sure he hasn¡¯t left.¡±


    Tig paused and took a breath, ¡°Right. You¡¯re right. But what if--¡±


    ¡°I heard some yellow hats talking about how they¡¯d approach the island by the evening. Not long now.¡± She said glancing at the orange rays spilling through the lone window.


    ¡°Freedom.¡± Reminisced the voice of the other side. ¡°Ah, the sands, the beautiful women, the sun on my neck. I miss it more and more with each day.¡±


    ¡°And how long have you been in here for?¡± asked Tig.


    ¡°A month, give or take a few days. These slavers come from the Sea of Seven. My domain, sad as I might add, remains limited to the fourth, fifth and sixth southern seas.¡±


    ¡°The Land of Glass, the kingdom of Al¡¯Tof.¡± Said Gemjo.


    ¡°You know it?¡± resounded the voice.


    ¡°My second most favorite place to get rich and grow old in.¡±


    ¡°Your first?¡± pressed Tig.


    She tossed him a sluggish smile, ¡°Home.¡±


    He knew what she meant. Though, as she turned, he was sure she didn¡¯t realise what it meant to him. He slumped his shoulders. Home was complicated.


    Gemjo spoke on, oblivious to it, her eyes fixed on the half sunken window, ¡°Do you see anything through your window?¡±


    ¡°You have a window? Hours, I¡¯ve been in the dark for a month.¡±


    ¡°Right. Ok well assuming this city is in a giant whale, I¡¯m sure the lookouts will see it well before we land.¡±


    Steps rushed overhead. Voices bellowed. Most were muffled underneath the plates. Tig gave Gemjo a glance, who promptly shared it. One word was said more than nay other. Land.


    A series of knocks directed them to the door. It clicked before they could identify who stood there. Gemjo stood at the ready.


    Lights flooded in and a bottle swished.


    ¡°Hours. It¡¯s open on the outside. Who would have known?¡±


    ¡°Professor!¡± cried Tig. ¡°I knew you wouldn¡¯t abandon us.¡±


    Gemjo seemed engrossed by the proportions of the door. She smiled weakly and pointed at it, ¡°Had I turned in an orca I would have gotten stuck.¡±


    ¡°Clearly.¡± slurred the Professor. ¡°Now lets get out of here before our good hosts realise their liquor is gone.¡±


    ¡°You drank all of it?¡± scoffed Tig.


    He swaggered further down as Gemjo shuffled to the next door, ¡°Not all mate. Enough, well in this case enough is everything except the one bottle I couldn¡¯t¡¯ open. Awful thing that. Why make a bottle that you can¡¯t open?¡±You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    Tig turned from the man back to Gemjo. She took a breath.


    ¡°Better not be lying.¡± She said to it, turning the handle.


    Tig waited as the door creaked open. A boot sounded then a tap. Gemjo¡¯s eyes raised and she stepped back instinctively.


    What came out was a man with the figure of a skeleton and the face of one to.


    He had to lower his head to get through. He bowed at them, tipping his black wizard hat with his lone arm. He had silver skin that hugged his skeletal face tightly. Black covered much of his sockets, giving them a deepest look while fully orange marbles formed his eyes. Long coiled wires dripped out of his hat like dreadlocks and his chest, which was loosely covered by a black coat, was an open ribcage. A visible gear assembly turned as he did. The remnant of a flayed orange dress shirt stuck out at his collar.


    Steam puffed out of the gaps in his silver ribs. Long dirty brown pants ended on one boot and one peg leg.


    Gemjo took another step back, ¡°You¡¯re a¡­ a¡­¡±


    ¡°Witch doctor, yes.¡± Said the hoarse voiced man, clearing his voice, ¡°You probably thought otherwise considering my lack of an accent, but eh. Ain¡¯t nobody helping lil¡¯ ol me if I be speakin¡¯ like dis, eh mon? Nobody eva be trustin a witch doctor.¡±


    ¡°You said you¡¯d you keep your word.¡± Snapped Gemjo.


    The witch doctor nodded, ¡°Eh now. Dere be no lies when I said dat. Not about da Empress eida. Fa now, let us be leavin¡¯.¡±


    ¡°Right, we¡¯ll need to be quiet if we¡¯re to leave.¡± Explained Gemjo. ¡°That mean no noise, no fighting. We get to the top deck and jump as soon as we can.¡±


    Tig, the Witch Doctor and even the Professor nodded. Gemjo led the way, the Professor second. As tig made to follow them, a long bony hand clutched his shoulder. He turned to its owner.


    ¡°You be a chitik, no? I heard of ya people. Dey be using spirits da same as mine.¡±


    Tig tensed, ¡°The chitik have always had a different way of using spirits than witch doctors.¡±


    He made a bony smile, ¡°Hows about a trade in information den?¡±


    Tig shook off his grip and kept forwards, ¡°Maybe later.¡±


    They trailed the narrow halls. On every corner Gemjo would pause and scan the next hall before continuing. Tig felt the marble eyes of the doctor upon him. Digging into him. He could not let the man learn the truth. Of why he truly couldn¡¯t speak of spirits the way most expected a chitik to.


    Gemjo held up a steel paw and the four of them paused. Footsteps clanked by and they continued. A large hall came into view, stairs sat at the centre of it and leading up.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± gestured Gemjo. ¡°Quiet now.¡±


    Her steps were silent and quick. The Professor however could not be louder. He stomped and swaggered and nearly tripped. He occupied the entirety of the two person stairway as he bounced between the railings. Tig glimpsed back the witched doctor, saw him climbing two steps at a time.


    ¡°Wait.¡± hushed Gemjo


    Gemjo was crouched by the front. Her sharp fangs were grit.


    ¡°Not good. There¡¯s dozens of them swarming the deck. I could sneak past them but the drunk won¡¯t make a step.¡±


    The Witch Doctor laughed and started climbing the steps past Tig and the Professor.


    ¡°Let me change dat, Niss.¡± He said as he lifted his arm and let the sleeve draw low. That arm still had plates covering the silver bone. Half of those plates were missing. The metal creaked and the Witch Doctor snapped a small piece off, making Tig wince. He then held it up and Tig watched it as it dissipated into embers.


    ¡°Call it a free trial,¡± he said with a peak thrown at Tig. ¡°My spirit magic be requiring da sacrifice of my person.¡±


    ¡°Mates, look! I¡¯m invishible... Hic. Hours where was this during my wedding¡­ or was it a funeral?¡±


    He wasn¡¯t the only one. Gemjo vanished as did the Witch Doctor. Tig glanced at his wooden hands and found them no longer there. Still, he could still feel the rush of sea air upon them.


    Steps and he spun to see three yellow hats walking up and quickly. He attempted to hug the walls, but he couldn¡¯t in time. He held his breath. The yellow hats brushed against him.


    And kept walking. He blinked. He could have sworn he touched them. A bony hand gripped him and he found himself propelled forwards, stumbling on the steps.


    They took a turn on the deck, skated the walls and went directly to the railing. The grip, still on him, hoisted him up and over.


    The sea rushed below. His foot curved against the cold wood. He shook his head. He had to do this. He held one foot off the railing, and before he could properly jump off the same grip tugged him down.


    He stumbled with a yelp. Four splashes sounded and several yellow hats ran to the edge, many scratching their caps afterwards.


    They saw nothing.


    Tig saw it all. He realised Gemjo had picked him up in her orca form now happily sped away from the galleon. The front of it bobbed into view as Gemjo took a turn.


    It was a splendid ship. White sails fluttered overhead. Even though it shrank as they sped further and further away he could tell it was a massive thing. A golden figurehead of a gear was the last he saw.


    The edge of his coat reappeared before him.


    ¡°Not bad, eh? Dat be greatah invisibility. Sight, sound and touch all gone wit a single spell. A tough ting ta cast wit written magic but notin tru da use of spirits.¡±


    Tig spotted his arms, then the figures of the Witch Doctor and the Professor held tightly to speeding black blob below them. He saw a fan turning near her head with a steel frame covering it. Steam plumed out and he followed its ascent.


    He froze as the steam dissipated.


    ¡°By the hours.¡± Gasped the Professor.


    Tig nearly lost his grip. He could not have said it better himself.


    If the Gatekeeper had been the size of a city, this was the size of a mountain. It blotted the sky. The unseen top of it ran into clouds where countless pipes let out steam. Unnumbered plates of greys and black formed its skin, and the dying light washed it in orange. Colossal gears spun in the gaps where plates had fallen off. Waves thrashed white around its edges.


    No wonder it took them days to reach the Hungering City. It was swimming away. A whale that could swallow a city lumbered before them.

 Enter the Soldier

    ¡°Nister Webly, you¡¯re heading back I take it?¡±


    ¡°Yes sir.¡±


    ¡°The Navy could use men like you. Honest men.¡±


    ¡°I wish I could stay, Sir, but I intend to fix the mainland first.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s you¡¯re problem, Webly, you¡¯re far too honest even to yourself. The sea is where the real danger lies, the real adventure.¡±


    ¡°What we do isn¡¯t about adventure, sir.¡±


    The man patted him hard on the back and Webly coughed, barely catching a glimpse of the man¡¯s bare iron chest.


    ¡°Life, Webly. Life is an adventure. Navy or not. Doesn¡¯t matter. Do what you enjoy and if that means soldiering, do what a soldier does best.¡± He flashed a silver smile at Webly. ¡°I trust you know the answer after all the years I¡¯ve trained you.¡±


    Webly furrowed his brows. It was a memory, one that replayed in his head thousands of times. He gripped his cane and held it tight to the black rock floor. An endless cavern engulfed him. It would have been pitch black if not for the myriad of lights arching down the city like a river of stars. The cries of porters could be heard even from he stood, minutes above the main streets. The smells of dried seaweed remained just as pungent.


    He scanned the city with his chin as a pointer. The roads were packed everywhere he looked. Crowded and toppling, the city was a mess of rotted black wood walls and angled, dripping rooves.


    ¡°They¡¯re late.¡± Snapped the Sergeant.


    ¡°Permission to speak, Sir?¡±


    Webly sighed, ¡°For the last time, cadet, you need not ask.¡±


    Remy Le Ricci cleared her throat and faced the front, ¡°When have the hunted ever been late to a hunt?¡±


    He glanced at her goggled eyes and saw a hundred yellow lights twinkle in the reflection. Her black hair seemed to meld into the black cityscape. Ebony spires blurred to the side of her. A warm wind rushed.Stolen story; please report.


    ¡°Niss Ricci, judging by the time they escaped they should have reached this city days ago. Something¡¯s happened. A change of course perhaps?¡±


    ¡°Or a shipwreck, sir.¡±


    ¡°Please, it was hardly a three day trip and the weather¡¯s been exceptional, it would take a bundle of idiots to make that mistake.¡±


    Remy nodded, ¡°It was a foolish theory, sir. My apologies.¡±


    Webly frowned. ¡°Assuming,¡± he continued, ¡°They did shipwreck then a delay of days would be most appropriate.¡±


    ¡°Should we travel back then, sir?¡±


    ¡°No. They¡¯ll come.¡±


    A factory let out steam in the distance. Small sailboats connected with the thin piers at the city¡¯s edge.


    ¡°How can you be so sure, sir?¡±


    Webly gripped his cane and tilted it away, ¡°Gut feeling, cadet.¡±


    ¡°Sir¡­¡±


    Gunshots popped a ways away. Webly tensed. It came from near the Imperial Consulate. Remy already had her gun out. Her white gloved fingers ringed the trigger.


    ¡°Nearby.¡± Guessed the Sergeant. ¡°Minutes. Most likely we¡¯re hearing Second Sea issued steam rifles.¡±


    ¡°Red rots, sir. Second Sea guns are rifled while red rots are smoothbore.¡±


    Webly¡¯s brass brows twitched.


    Remy lowered her head. ¡°You can¡­ hear it in the echoes¡­ sir,¡± she squeaked.


    ¡°Whatever they are, they¡¯re close.¡±


    More shots reported from a further distance. Just as Webly made to turn, a soldier from the Sevens stopped by him and saluted.


    Webly saluted back, ¡°What have you, Charles?¡±


    ¡°Viceroy Mikaera has been slain.¡±


    ¡°What?!¡±


    ¡°Worse, the two factions underneath him have begun squabbling.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± Sighed Webly. ¡°Take the Sevens to the Navy office, we¡¯ll enlist ourselves and pray to the Hours that the officer in charge is more competent than Levili.¡±


    ¡°Yes sir.¡± Nodded Charles.


    ¡°But sir, what if our target arrives in the chaos?¡±


    Webly spied at Remy. She seemed intent on that man more than anything else. Of course she hardly showed it in front of him, but he saw it in her expression when she wasn¡¯t looking. He noted the way she held her breath when the target was mentioned, or how she balled her fists when further delays were brought up.


    Niss Remy Le Ricci hid a lot more than her eyes.


    He tapped the cane, ¡°We protect, Niss Ricci. It is the duty of soldiers.¡±


    ¡°But what of merit? Does it not rank us up?¡±


    Webly took a breath, ¡°It does, and I¡¯ve suffered for it. I¡¯ve been a sergeant for twenty years, Niss Ricci. Do you know why?¡±


    ¡°Because you call your general a twat sir?¡±


    Charles chuckled.


    Webly grumbled, ¡°Because I am a soldier. I protect. We¡¯ll catch our man, you need not worry about that, but right now the civilians down there need our help as much as we need information on who we¡¯re fighting. Charles,¡± He said turning to the reporting man, ¡°What are you waiting for? Who did it? What organization?¡±


    Charles dipped his head, ¡°Sir. No organization has claimed responsibility, but rumors say a red hat did it. One that¡¯s also a half turn.¡±


    ¡°His name, Charles. Give me his name.¡±


    Charles swallowed and glanced up, he had pure black eyes upon a face ceramic and white. A crack stemmed from his chin that the other Sevens tried not to mention.


    The crack wobbled as he spoke, ¡°Venezio Trimbly, sir.¡±

 The Opened Door

    The colossal mouth of the whale formed a harbor. It opened and closed in a manner similar to high and low tide, where the backwash would drain spectacularly towards the later hours of the day.


    Luckily, Tig and his companions breached the whale while the mouth was still open. Not-so-luckily the slavers did to.


    Tig clicked his head as he scanned the expanse. The teeth formed a natural sea wall and further in piers lined the corners of the jaw, a giant slowly reverberating mass slushed inside. It was made of plates locked with a black substance dripping eagerly out the gaps.


    They had reached the piers by the time he realised it was the tongue. The tongue flopped down, the frontal dentures became masked in sea fog.


    They got off at a spot where no ships moored. Several dockworkers gawked as the orca turned into a girl. But otherwise, Tig found it surprisingly mundane for having just entered a mountain sized whale. There were a few storehouses here and there, built upon ruddy steel hills that were once pink gums. Steps led to them in the form of overturned gears the size of ship wheels.


    He took a gander at the ships docked. As little as dozen were moored there, far less than he expected. Siblisey was tiny in comparison and yet hundreds of ships traveled to and fro. He glanced at the lifting tongue behind him. Perhaps living in a mechanical whale was not as appealing as Franco made it seem.


    Bells rang and he turned to the sight of the gold galleon bobbing into view.


    Gemjo tugged his coat. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± She hushed.


    They made down the busy docks. Here workers in brown hats carried boxes and barrels up down a recently docked merchant caravel.


    Tig and Gemjo expertly dodged them while the Professor bumped into more than a few. The witch doctor was already on the other side, his black hat outstretched, revealing the steely tops of his dreadlocks.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid dis be where we part. I be busy a mon, and you have saved me a lot of time.¡± The man took out a silver pocket watch from his cap and handed it to Gemjo. ¡°Open it.¡±


    A blue light zipped out the moment she did. It swarmed around the watch and slammed itself against the silver. Tig caught the gold carving of an empty hourglass on the inside.


    ¡°What was that?¡± asked Gemjo.


    ¡°A curse.¡± Shrugged the man. He backed As Gemjo growled at him. ¡°Hey now, hey now. No need ta bite. Da curse wasn¡¯t meant for you, little lady. It be fa da locket. While any magic be impartial to its usah, curses be spiteful tings, dey rememba who be casting dem. Foeva. So, if ya eva be bringing dat locket into Al¡¯Tof or any of da soudern seas, I¡¯ll know. Open it and I¡¯ll really know, heh.¡±


    The Witch Doctor leaned and gently closed the locket, ¡°But fa now, only considah dat an emergency.¡±


    The Professor finally swaggered to them, ¡°You just say curse? What kind of curse?¡±


    The Witch Doctor chortled, ¡°Oh you be findin¡¯ out soon enough, mon. Noting big dough, if dat be ya concern. Take care now.¡±


    He said with a practiced stride away from them. He turned as he did, ¡°Until we be meeting in Al¡¯Tof dat is.¡±


    Gemjo flipped to the locket once the man was gone, ¡°I say we toss it.¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Said Tig with a snatch. ¡°It may be usefu!¡± he clamored.


    Gemjo swiped it back, ¡°Or, horribly inconvenient.¡±


    A bronze hand stole it for good.


    Gemjo blinked, ¡°Hey!¡± she said with a reach.


    The Professor licked it. Her hand drew back.


    ¡°A bit tart. A tad spicy. Definitely cursed though minor I¡¯d say.¡±


    ¡°You can tell by tasting?¡± asked Tig.


    ¡°Oh aye, especially this thing. Quite flavourful, do I detect ginger?¡±


    Gemjo shuddered. ¡°Keep it. I don¡¯t want anything you put in your mouth.¡±


    The Professor bowed and pocketed the item, ¡°Much obliged.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± Said Gemjo with a stretch. ¡°Now to find a hut to sleep in. The one closest to the caravel seems comfy. I¡¯ll sleep while you two guard me. Tig?¡±


    Tig had been focussed on the ship that just docked. He stepped towards it without a word. A steel hand tightened around his wrist.


    ¡°Let me go, Gemjo.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s with you lately? You¡¯ve been acting without any conscious. In case you forgot that ship is full of slavers.¡±Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    ¡°And Franco.¡±


    ¡°Yes the man who betrayed us.¡±


    He lowered his head, ¡°How about we watch then?¡±


    She released him, ¡°That I can agree on. I eagerly await the moment he realises we¡¯ve escaped.¡±


    ¡°You know.¡± Said the Professor. ¡°You can be quite petty.¡±


    Gemjo hummed, ¡°I¡¯d say I try, but it comes naturally.¡±


    Tig gestured the way, and the other two followed.


    The Three of them hid behind a barrel, the tops of their heads popping out the side of the barrel.


    Franco was by the boarding plank, Lawfield ahead of him. A bag of cogs weighed in the golden man¡¯s hand.


    Gemjo puffed, ¡°They don¡¯t know yet. Unbelievable!¡±


    Lawfield¡¯s hoity tone sounded in the distance, ¡°You¡¯ve kept your word, good Franco. The cogs I promised.¡±


    Franco shuffled at the boarding plank. He glanced over his shoulders several times before Lawfield caught on.


    The bag of cogs swung back, ¡°Is something the matter, Franco?¡±


    ¡°No I- I¡¯m afraid heights, yes that¡¯s it.¡±


    Lawfield rumbled a laugh, ¡°Height and sea. Fairing in our times is clearly out of your agenda.¡±


    ¡°Yes, uh, I may settle down here.¡±


    ¡°You? A Cantinio? You jest. Well it isn¡¯t something a humble trader such as I can question. The deal is done.¡±


    He held out the bag and Franco reached for it.


    Lawfield pulled it back once again, his eyes narrowing. ¡°Just in case,¡± he started with a turn to a man nearby, ¡°Check on the slaves.¡±


    Franco laughed before the man could leave, ¡°Surely you wouldn¡¯t think those slaves escaped do you? Mr. Lawfield, for the little time I¡¯ve known you, you¡¯ve proven to be a capable man.¡±


    ¡°Which is why I would want to check.¡±


    Tig felt his expression tighten. It seemed odd. Franco was, by all means, a strange man to begin with, but now his actions seem to conflict more and more with who he was. Tig wondered aloud, ¡°Why does he insist upon keeping the man waiting?¡±


    ¡°About that mate--¡±


    They both quieted him. Franco had stepped up the plank. His shoulders were rolling as if he had just cracked them.


    He raised his voice, ¡°Do you accuse Francisco Santos Carlos el CANTINIO of lying. Surely you understand the implications of that, sir.¡±


    ¡°Nister Cantinio, I assure you--¡±


    ¡°You insult me, you insult every Cantinio. That includes Fronesto, the head guard of the Arbiter.¡±


    Lawfield¡¯s golden complexion turned white gold at the mention of Fron, ¡°F-Fronesto? You mean Fron Cantinio.¡±


    Franco needed only nod.


    Lawfield lifted his hand as if to cal his man off and handed Franco the cogs. ¡°No. I do not want that.¡± said Lawfield. ¡°Go and my apologies for doubting you.¡±


    Franco wrapped the bag to his sash and bowed his head, ¡°Good day.¡±


    He was descending a moment later. The three of them slid out of view as Franco passed them. Yet strangely the man, even as he paced away kept glancing over his shoulder every so often. Then, even stranger, he ran.


    Tig jumped up from their spot, his wooden hand levied out, ¡°After him!¡±


    He chased Franco as quick as he could, struggling every second step due to his lack of one boot, yet even then the short Tiguak Trimbly proved fast enough.


    He brushed past the dockworkers, swung around the scaffolding and ducked into the alley Franco had waded into.


    Popping out the other side, he narrowly captured the image of Franco vanishing over a barren hill. He scaled it as quickly as one boot allowed for, and, puffing at the top, he saw a second set of piers placed well over and leading deep into the whale¡¯s bowls. Sailboats came to and fro.


    He caught his breath, his eyes still traveling. That was how people got across the ridges of the whale¡¯s gum. Pillars of light angled down from the gaps in the whale¡¯s skin where plates had fallen off. An entire lake rushed in the empty expanse directly past the pier, disappearing well into the distance behind a veil of mist.


    The Professor swayed by him, ¡°Oh! Greetings mate.¡±


    Tig glanced back. Gemjo was casually strolling to them, even yawning into her hands as she did.


    ¡°Is she walking?¡±


    ¡°Said she could smell you. No need to chase after that.¡±


    ¡°But there he is. Look!¡± He pointed at a very fidgety Franco some minutes away and paying a ferryman. ¡°We need to follow him.¡±


    The Professor held him by the collar before he descended.


    ¡°Slow down, mate. What¡¯s this about?¡±


    ¡°I want answers.¡± confessed Tig. ¡°What Franco did¡­ it didn¡¯t seem right. I mean he was to be our captain, even if it was one sided. He¡¯s better than that. He has to be. He¡­ he¡­ if he can¡¯t accomplish what he needs to do, how can I do it?¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯s to say he¡¯s given up?¡±


    ¡°But what if he as? If then I need to know why at least.¡±


    Gemjo was closing.


    The Professor smiled and let Tig go, ¡°Who do you think unlocked my gate?¡±


    Everything clicked. The puzzle filled in his mind. Franco was never an evil man. He couldn¡¯t be. Tig clutched his head and angry cries could be heard far from where the first piers were. One was of Lawfield. A smile twitched up Tig¡¯s fleshy cheeks and he straightened his posture.


    Nodding at both of his companions, he gestured down the slope, ¡°We need to run.¡±


    The uproar in the harbor was enough to motivate even Gemjo to do so. They reached the boats in seconds, where the last ferryman in the dock had been waiting.


    The Professor pulled out a dirty cog from his coat pocket and handed it to the man, ¡°A full cog for travel, mate. The grime¡¯s a tip.¡±


    The full turn man bit the mucky cog and shrugged, soon gesturing the three of them to get on.


    The boat departed the moment Lawfield and his men reached the top of the hill.


    Gemjo peaked out the back as the vessel swished forwards. She shrunk back down and huddled her knees, ¡°That was close.¡± She frowned, her eyes drifting to Tig. ¡°So why are you smiling?¡±


    ¡°I was right!¡± beamed the boy. ¡°Franco¡¯s no fraud! Professor tell her.¡±


    Gemjo held up her hand, ¡°I heard. Though selling us out to begin with was not right.¡±


    The Professor polished his new trinket on his dirty shirt. The once glimmering thing got darker.


    ¡°Don¡¯t think of it like that.¡± Waved the Professor. ¡°Consider our old friend Franco, a clever duck in arranging us a ride. Get in nice with slavers and borrow the ship.¡±


    ¡°I had to sleep in a prison bed for three days.¡± Grumbled the sea wolf.


    Tig¡¯s smile vanished, ¡°Least you had a bed.¡±


    ¡°So?¡± said Gemjo. ¡°What now?¡±


    ¡°We follow Franco.¡± Said Tig.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s come here for another reason if it wasn¡¯t to sell us as slaves and I want to know why.¡±


    ¡°Listen, chitik, I say we forget about Franco and this slave business, find a ship and get lost.¡±


    ¡°We need him.¡± Continued Tig.


    Gemjo¡¯s eyes rolled, ¡°What for?¡±


    Tig reared his head back to the front where the Ferryman was rowing. The mist was slowly fading and the outline of Franco¡¯s boat formed just at the edge of his sights. Perhaps the Ferrymen knew where to row out of habit, but if he hadn¡¯t and Tig was the one rowing, he would know where to go. Franco would lead them.


    ¡°So we can follow him even after he joins us.¡± Said Tig


    ¡°As a captain?¡± she puffed derisively.


    The boy kept his eyes on the distant Cantinio, ¡°No, as a navigator.¡±

 The Song of Gunfire

    Lines of smoke streaked in foggy lamp light.


    Remy hid behind a wall. At least five full turns ran across, all armed with dark red muskets. Remy slid back. Red rots. She was right.


    A brass hand waved ahead of her and three Sevens members ran out. Remy made to follow them, but the same brass hand held her back by the shoulder.


    ¡°Not you.¡± Said Webly.


    ¡°I can fight.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re still a half turn. You get shot, you bleed.¡±


    ¡°They need me.¡±


    Webly pulled her back until he was directly in front of her. His white, marble eyes seem to fixate on her goggles. The brim of his wizard hat shaded his face.


    He took a breath, ¡°They don¡¯t need you. The innocent people in the line of fire do. If something happens here, the fight will surely engulf all the surrounding streets. Go, warn them first.¡±


    ¡°But--¡±


    ¡°Now you wish to speak? Go soldier, you have an order. I¡¯ll send more when I can.¡±


    Remy nodded hesitantly, reaching only slightly as the Sergeant ventured to the corner.


    He took a step and waited, ¡°This isn¡¯t about protecting you, Niss Ricci, if that is you concern, consider this to be what a soldier does best.¡± He peaked out the corner, confirmed what he saw with a nod. ¡°For both of us.¡±


    He was gone then. The distant pops of gunfire followed and she tightened the grip on her pistol. She breathed hard. She had a mission.


    The area a street away had already been emptied, no doubt spurred on by the shots. As she got further down where the distant reports muted, she decided to tuck her weapon in her blue robes. It was quiet there, not a soul around.


    She took off her goggles and sighed as she did. She frowned deeply.


    ¡°For the both of us.¡± She repeated mockingly. ¡°By the Hours it¡¯s for the both of us!¡±


    Her voice echoed and she jumped to the sound of it. When she was doubly sure the streets were empty, she continued.


    Most of the houses here of the gentry of the Hungering City. Stained willow planks covered the front while gardens of assorted mushroom grew in wooden boxes. Each house was the size of half a Veracian estate, yet for a city nestled in the bowls of a whale, even that was an accomplishment. She remembered her own home. The painted white walls, the open garden and blossoming vines, it had all been quite nostalgic to her, well at least what she saw from the windows.


    A dusty reflection balanced as she glossed over the balconies. No refugees there either. The emptiness was comforting. Soothing. There was trouble to be had with others around.


    People whispered and snickered, always sure to glance in a direction that may have resulted in her own. People schemed. And of course they talked. She touched the metal rings below her eyes and winced when she heard the fixtures there twist and extend.


    What would the other ladies-to-be say when they learned of her distortion? What would become of her standing? The same Remy who always read mechanical manuals, the same Remy who was too afraid to play with other children, now with eyes that would have scared any of them away? Horrible. Unthinkable. She snapped her goggles on. The eyes were one of the few parts of the body that could not be replaced. It remained her eternal misfortune.


    Until she met Webly, the army had been her one escape, nothing more. Now it had a meaning however slight.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    She heard the steady buzz of a working market when the last of the estates passed her.


    A pair of steel gates formed like harps and lay open against high black walls. Scattered pieces of laundry led to and a little ways from it.


    She crouched and picked one such undergarment, found it overly frilly. No doubt the nobles had scrambled when the firefight began. Her head flicked up. Why then did porters bellow on the other side?


    The answer came in the form of a busy street some seconds away from the open gates. It was crowded, packed until some glass fitted shops were nearly blocked by the masses of people. It made her shudder just looking at it. She calmed herself with a breath as always and concentrated.


    Perhaps some saw the nobles run by, but in the press of countless writhing bodies even the flight of the rich could have been swiftly forgotten.


    Hats, tall and short, bustled about in every color. She tensed. Even red. A single red hat waved by the center of the street. Not many wore red hats, but the murderer, Venezio Trimbly, did. The red hat was the sign of a killer, worse it was a challenge.


    Those wore those hats did not care who saw them. Most left them alone out of fear. Remy withdrew her pistol. She wouldn¡¯t. She would catch him. She would bring glory to the Sevens. She cocked her pistol. She would¡­


    Webly¡¯s marble eyes flashed in her head. She had a mission. A duty. Her other hand swept over the first. She took a breath and pointed the barrel in the air.


    The shot that could have pierced the heart of a murderer cut through the voices of hundreds instead. The crowds silenced. Then panic. Hats hustled away. Babes cried and full turns screeched.


    She saw some blue coats wading her way and decided to meet them.


    ¡°Cadet Remy Le Ricci of the Sevens, Sirs.¡± She saluted them.


    It was a pudgy man accompanied by one that was practically a stick, both of unremarkable height.


    The stick spoke first, ¡°You¡¯ve come from the fight by the consulate? How it goes it?¡±


    ¡°Bad.¡± She reported. ¡°The Sevens just engaged. It could have reached here at any moment.¡±


    ¡°Hence why you fired the shot.¡± Grumbled the larger man. ¡°Good thinking, Cadet. We¡¯ll handle the stragglers.¡± He turned to his skinnier companion who had been nervously glancing past Remy. ¡°What is it Mott?¡±


    Mott, the skinnier man shook his head, ¡°If what she says is true then I fear for the safety of a man I spotted by the west harbor.¡±


    ¡°Is he the only one?¡± asked Remy.


    ¡°Yes from what I saw.¡± Said Mott.


    Remy peered down the western side. A line of lamps dotted the street. It seemed empty for the most part. Perfect.


    ¡°I¡¯ll warn him.¡±  She volunteered


    As she ran down the metal road, ramshackle houses formed on either side of her.


    They seemed embedded into the black walls gating the estates as if those worn places had been there long before. She skipped an open patch in the road. The metal plates had been curled out and she could hear water echoing from below.  Further down, more patches dotted the road and haphazard planks covered them loosely.


    One in every two lamps had long faded out. It stunk of rotted batteries and half turned rats. A gull screeched and she knew she was near. The last of the crumbling wood buildings stood beside her. Ahead lay the western harbor.


    There was a small dip before the harbor where drooping stone walls led into waterlogged scaffolding and piers. Here, where at least five major docks proliferated out, not a single ship moored within.


    That made the lone man who stood before them all too apparent. Mott had told the truth.


    She approached him, and he saw her before she finished the distance. He had white eyes upon skin of coal, a white hat, mantle and pants.


    His mandibles parted, ¡°Gree-tings.¡±


    Remy saluted, ¡°Cadet Remy Le Ricci.¡±


    The man bowed his head and fixed back on the surrounding waters. The patchwork walls of the whale made the background.


    She made her words bullets, quick and impactful, ¡°Sir, it is dangerous here. I must ask you to evacuate.¡±


    ¡°I am waiting.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll direct them away. Soon as they land. Your safety comes first.¡±


    The mandibles angled up and his head clicked as he cocked it, ¡°Your eyes are covered, you remind me of the boy.¡±


    ¡°What boy?¡±


    ¡°Trimbly.¡±


    ¡°Venezio Trimbly? You know him?¡± she reached for her pistol and paused. ¡°Why do you mention my eyes?¡±


    ¡°Mechanization.¡± He started with a pace. ¡°It is both cruel and merciful. A gift and a lie. There are those who relish in it and those who suffer. Which are you?¡±


    ¡°The latter,¡± She said touching the rims of her goggles. ¡°I chose the wrong Hour to worship and I suffered for it. But this is not the time for idle chat. You need to leave. Now. Even if you know Trimbly.¡±


    The man shifted his head abruptly. He seemed startled by his own movement. ¡°They will arrive at the north harbor.¡±


    ¡°North? How do you know?¡±


    ¡°Direction changed. Whale turned.¡± His head remained northerly while his body clicked to meet it. He glanced at her quickly before he left. ¡°The Trimbly I speak of is not your Trimbly.¡±


    ¡°Another? What does that mean?¡±


    ¡°Who will you fight, I wonder?¡±


    The stranger left after that, vanishing quickly into the fog.


    Remy Le Ricci stood still. Her hands were a quick drift to her goggles. She lowered those gloved units without touching the black rimmed specs. The red hat had been walking north last time she saw him and if the stranger was to be believed so to would the other Trimbly. She clicked her pistol.


    ¡°Neither.¡± She hushed. ¡°A soldier protects.¡±

 Low Spirits

    Bright blue veins drifted on the water. Tig knew that was from the copper that lined the walls of the whale. Marici¡¯s lessons told him as much. He caught his own reflection in the blue and oily waves. It rippled for every stroke of the rows.


    Spots of yellow intruded upon it and a slow rolling mist hid it all together. He wagered a look and found a city of black caressed by a thousand shimmering lights some minutes away. They weren¡¯t far now.


    Strangely though, more and more boats seemed to go in the opposite direction, passing them quicker than they ventured forth.


    ¡°It¡¯s night.¡± Started Tig. ¡°So why are people leaving?¡±


    The ferryman had a rounded belly and thin iron frame hands. He wore a straw hat and a simple brown vest that left a great portion of his white tin chest visible. Gears clicked and whirled where the man¡¯s heart would have been. He had a long silver nose and magnifying glasses for eyes.


    He shrugged, ¡°Not sure, half turn. It¡¯s odd for me to. Sometimes slavers send for temporary hires to track down run-away slaves. That could be it.¡±


    Gemjo shrunk low in the corner of his eye.


    Tig laughed nervously, ¡°That¡¯s an awfully¡­ fast response.¡±


    The man lifted a brow, ¡°What is?¡±


    Tig held up a finger as if to make a point, ¡°Why, uh, your response, sir.¡±


    Gemjo pressed her temple with steel fingers, while the man shrugged once again. People swayed on the dock up ahead and Tig peaked passed his ferryman.


    Franco had gotten off his boat. Tig tensed.


    ¡°Gemjo.¡± He hushed.


    The boat tossed abruptly as she stood up, ¡°Only for a little bit and only because I want this Franco business over with.¡±


    She leapt off the boat giving the ferryman immediate pause.


    ¡°Did she¡­?¡±


    Tig glanced at the Professor then back to the ferryman.


    ¡°She¡¯s a good swimmer.¡± Assured Tig.


    ¡°Scares all of us the first time mate, trust me.¡±


    The ferryman kept rowing, ¡°The things I see on this job, I swear.¡±


    The docks brushed against the sailboat and the Professor flipped the man another cog to keep quiet.


    As they left the boat, people crowded around it. Several more steps sounded behind them.


    The street ahead proved packed only near the end. Tig and the Professor pressed through in seconds. The rest of it remained surprisingly empty with shops lining both sides and lamps brightening the patchwork metal road. While every third shop seemed a rundown mess of blackened planks, the majority had fine glass paneled establishments with a variety of crates or barrels dotting their fronts. More and more denizens dressed in assortments of wizards hat passed them by.


    The Professor lowered his bottle, ¡°Is it just me, or we the only one¡¯s entering?¡±


    ¡°We need to find Franco.¡± Said Tig.


    ¡°Right, right. Well considering the majority of those walking these streets are going the opposite direction, I¡¯d wager my right shoulder that someone¡¯s seen a man walking the same way as us.¡±


    Tig nearly tripped, he gawked at the full turn, ¡°You just said something clever, well except the shoulder part.¡±


    ¡°I am a professor, mate. I ought to be¡­ Tig?¡±


    Tig had already gone to the nearest full turn he could find. He stood in front of a round women dressed in a white witch at. She had the skin of gun metal with wooden brows and a lower jaw that was fitted with whirling mechanisms instead of skin. She wore thick black rimmed goggles.


    ¡°¡­Hair shaped like a black hat. Really pointed nose. A triangle almost. Think of a bird.¡±


    The Professor swaggered up by Tig, ¡°Terrible description. Let me try.¡± He cleared his throat. ¡°Have you seen a man with an eye for arses?¡±


    A pang rattled the air and the Professor fell over. The woman, clearly infuriated, stomped away. Tig leaned over the drunk.


    ¡°Maybe I should ask and you¡­¡±


    ¡°Look pretty?¡±


    ¡°Sure. Be an absolute head turner.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll turn them so hard they¡¯ll pop off. By the Hours they¡¯ll call me a head screwer!¡±


    Tig left him behind and he struggled to catch up.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Look pretty and don¡¯t talk.¡± Sighed Tig.


    ¡°That¡¯s half my charm, mate.¡±


    ¡°Then be half as charming. We need to find Franco. Not waste time getting slapped by¡­by¡­¡±


    ¡°Delightfully rotund women?¡±


    Tig frowned, ¡°Yes. That.¡± Tig hesitated to ask another lady of the same proportions and instead opted for a small black hatted man sitting on a barrel. Meeting the Gatekeeper had sufficiently squashed his fear of black hats. Even this one with its skull face and red eyes embedded deep within.


    He narrowed his brows as Tig approached.


    ¡°Hi hello.¡± Greeted Tig. ¡°You didn¡¯t happen to see a man with a black cone for hair, sharp nose and--¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re the bastard who told us of that ship.¡±


    ¡°Sorry?¡±


    The man leapt off his barrel and Tig found himself looking down. He was an imp of a man that seemed ready to kick kneecaps.


    ¡°Not you, half turn, the drunkard behind you.¡±


    Tig sighed at the now muted Professor, ¡°I wish you were half as charming more often.¡±


    The imp grumbled and sped to the Professor. This time he did kick kneecaps, rendering the Professor low and with muffled grunts.


    The imp gave Tig a look, ¡°Only reason I¡¯m here is because the Navy cleared my bounty after I ratted you lot out, so I suppose we¡¯re even.¡±


    ¡°The Navy¡¯s here?¡± scoffed Tig. ¡°And after us?¡±


    ¡°They want you bad. Sorry mate, but I think I¡¯ll make some cogs off you when you pass. In return, yea I did see that Franco. I¡¯m surprised he didn¡¯t sell you out.¡±


    ¡°Where is he?¡±


    ¡°The same place he¡¯s been saying he¡¯d go for years. You¡¯ve come here without knowing about it? He got a real pair of fools then.¡±


    ¡°Where?¡± stressed Tig.


    The Imp tipped his hat and spat. Oily spittle splattered the ground, ¡°The elder spirit underneath the city. Near the center of it. Follow this road and take a left by the seal statue.¡± His bony lips ticked up as he said that. ¡°Now I can tell you exactly why not to follow him provided you pay.¡±


    ¡°Won¡¯t need it. We¡¯re following him.¡±


    The Imp puffed and went back to his barrel, ¡°Your loss mate.¡±


    Tig¡¯s steps had become purposeful now, directed. He knew where to go and each thud of his boot and tap of his foot led him there. His eyes spat within the goggles, willing the seal to show itself at any moment.


    ¡°Mate!¡± huffed a running Professor. ¡°Sorry about that turn back there. But one thinks hearing him out would have been a good idea.¡±


    ¡°You? Warning caution?¡±


    ¡°Look around you.¡±


    The people who walked away were faster here, some glancing back every so often. The shops that had open displays had all shut under layers of metal, or wood if they could not afford it. The shops that had not closed down had the owners desperately trying to shut them down. He saw a line of half turns shackled at the necks and covered in rags being led by a man in a yellow hat. Chains rattled as they rushed by.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Tig slowed for the first time since he had begun his mad charge. It did seem odd, discouraging even.


    He saw an orange glow on the horizon, smelled it second. Smoke. Memories of his village flashed by and he clutched his head.


    ¡°No.¡± said Tig. ¡°We continue. I need to know.¡±


    That feeling turned into minutes on foot. Soon the street they had been traveling became completely barren. A plaza happened ahead. A statue centered it. It was of a seal flexing its body as if in mid jump and a fish transfixed on waves and always away from the seal¡¯s hungering grasp.


    Tig reared his head right. The glow came from the left. Something bumped into him and instinctively turned to apologise.


    ¡°Sorry I wasn¡¯t--¡±


    He froze mid bow. It was just a moment, but a moment enough. The man who bumped into him wore a red hat. He gasped up. The man was gone.


    He whirled to the Professor, his heart pounding a hundred and ten times a minute, ¡°Did you see his face?¡±


    The man had just finished a swig, ¡°See who mate?¡±


    Tig shook his head. His breathing slowed, ¡°Never mind. It was¡­ it was my imagination. Come on.¡±


    They made quick work of the road left of the Seal plaza. The rest of path was self-evident. Totems. They were constructed of several smooth stones stacked a top each other. It was unmistakably chitik.


    It led to a narrow cavern with scarcely a gaslamp for every two dozen steps. The path led down. An unnatural blue glow marked the bottom. Tig squinted. That and the outline of two twitching delightfully fluffy ears.


    ¡°Gemjo?¡±


    ¡°Shhh.¡± She hushed them as she nudged her head at the inside. They crept low, eyes fixed on the emanating blue.


    A glimmering white surged ahead of him. Tig held his breath.


    Past two columns and a ring of water stood a creature of pure light. She was azure and brilliant, and she was not mechanized.


    He knew what she was immediately, as any chitik would. A spirit. An elder spirit. Her skin was a ghostly white. Her face was a noseless, lipless thing, yet black eyes tipped with white pupils that made her strangely beautiful. The waves of her ivory hairs floated up as if she were permanently submerged and intermingled in hues of black and sapphire at the tips.


    An astounding white dress formed her figure. It flowed low and remained puffed at the hips as if she wore a crinoline underneath. The frills ended in lapis lazuli tinges.


    She descended a delicate hand, and only then did Tig realise the spirit was at least five times as tall as Franco now before her.


    Tig took a step, Gemjo pulled him back.


    The bag of cogs jingled as the man made to place it on the spirit¡¯s hand.


    ¡°What is this?¡± she echoed in angelic quality.


    ¡°Your payment.¡± Replied Franco.


    The spirit directed him towards the ring of water, ¡°I have no need for cogs, shirtless one, please donate it to my following instead.¡±


    Tig noticed the Professor lean forward to that comment, his white goggles were already leering at the ring of water.


    ¡°You better not.¡± Said Tig.


    The Professor shook his head, ¡°I was going to wait till after they left. Obviously.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± stretched Tig.


    ¡°Back!¡± snapped Gemjo with a tug of them both. They fell into the hall and the sound of several small splashes followed with a hint of clanking.


    Footsteps tapped away and the three of them peaked at the retreating Franco. A hollow bag hung from his silver hand.


    ¡°Three hundred cogs.¡± He said. ¡°I made the payment, now my wish.¡±


    The spirit bowed, ¡°As it is written, I may dispel any magical effect, curse or otherwise. Speak and I shall purify you.¡±


    Franco took a long breath. His posture straightened.


    ¡°One day,¡± he started with his hand lifted before him, ¡°I will topple the Navy, but to do that, to become a captain capable of even attempting that, I need to cure my fear of the Sea. That is my wish. Cure me of it please! Release me from this curse!¡±


    Silence as the spirit cocked her head, ¡°I detect no curse.¡±


    Franco dropped to a knee, ¡°I¡¯ve had it since I¡¯ve been alone at Sea. It is a curse, there can be no other explanation.¡±


    ¡°It is trauma, shirtless one. No magic in that.¡±


    ¡°But- But I¡¯ve come all this way. I paid you. I betrayed my friends for this...I ¡­ I¡­¡± He fell to his second knee. ¡°You really can¡¯t, can you?¡±


    ¡°Just as the words I speak do not travel nor the visage I bear emits light, my domain lies only within the magical. As is the extent of my power.¡±


    Tig tilted back to Gemjo and the drunk and whispered, ¡°An elder spirit is one that has gone beyond physical reality. The chitik wise men are the ones who act as mediums to draw upon. My father told me that. She¡¯s not lying.¡±


    ¡°And can you draw from that?¡± asked Gemjo.


    Tig shook. His googles dipped low. He remembered the Witch Doctor. There were things expected of his people. Thing only they could do. He was chitik, anyone who knew that expected him to use spirit magic. It was only natural, and yet he was different.


    ¡°I--¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m doomed.¡± Echoed Franco madly. ¡°Doomed. Doomed! DOOMED!¡±


    Tig fashion his brows low, and took a step. This time Gemjo did not interfere. The fact he was a chitik would have to wait.


    Tig muttered to himself as kept forwards, ¡°No you¡¯re not, Franco.¡±


    Franco had lowered his hand, his head tilted back. Whether it was Tig¡¯s quiet voice that reached him or the boy¡¯s steps, Franco saw him now painted in the light.


    Franco had a painful look about him. He seemed on the verge of tears, and his brows quivered for each step Tig took.


    He could scarcely meet Tig in the eye as his voice trembled, ¡°Go away. Before I betray you again.¡±


    ¡°You won¡¯t. You haven¡¯t.¡± Tig¡¯s steps ended. ¡°You got us where you promised even if it was for a selfish reason. And you¡¯ll get us where we need be¡­ as our navigator.¡±


    There was glint in his eye, a bated breath, ¡°Me? But I¡­ I could never navigate given my fear. I¡¯m not good Tig. This was my last hope, without it, I¡¯m no better than one of those slaves. I¡¯ll never be a great Cantinio. Never. I was cursed the moment I was born in this world.¡±


    Tig¡¯s wooden hands clenched, ¡°You have a family don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°I do but--¡±


    ¡°You have a home, don¡¯t you?¡±


    The man nodded.


    ¡°Then get a hold of yourself, man! This,¡± Said Tig jutting his arms about, ¡°This is not about loathing what we don¡¯t have. It¡¯s about making those our strengths. You will be our navigator.¡±


    ¡°My weakness my strength? How does a fear of the Sea equate to any strength?¡±


    ¡°How could someone who was afraid of the Sea ever travel as far as you?¡±


    Franco gasped, ¡°I¡­¡± he tried to speak. To say anything, but he could only croak. His head hung low.


    Then the spirit spoke above them all, ¡°You¡¯re a chitik.¡± She hushed in astonishment. ¡°Yes, took me a while what with your iron features, but you are of the chitik tribe. Good lights! I¡¯ve waited for one your kind for generations. Connect me to Mystell of the Hourglass Lantern. I wish to speak with her.¡±


    Tig faced away from her, ¡°I can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Oh please! I¡¯ll grant you any wish should you do it. Possibly two, oh and some of my wealth.¡±


    He saw the Professor and Gemjo light up in his peripherals. If only they knew.


    Tig¡¯s gut twist. He glanced at Franco and felt a hypocrite.


    ¡°No.¡± he repeated. ¡°I really can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Do not test me, chitik. I know well as any that every chitik undergoes the ritual at age ten. Even with a slight connection you should be able to master things no non chitik would be capable of. Spirit connections for one.¡±


    Tig remained silent, his shoulders rising more and more as his head clicked low.


    The spirit leaned towards him, ¡°I haven¡¯t spoken to Mystell in decades. Why do you dally? If you have forgotten the rituals I can remind you. Name the branch of your family and my magic will bring it back.¡±


    ¡°Dead¡­¡± mumbled Tig.


    ¡°Branch, chitik.¡±


    ¡°Dead.¡± he snapped, his eyes narrowed to an edge. ¡°All of them. My uncles, my aunts, cousins, elders, my mother¡­ Before any Hours damned ritual to.¡±


    The spirit fell back, ¡°I¡­I¡­I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t save them. Not one.¡± He shuddered. ¡°Not even those younger than me.¡±


    Tig saw Franco staring at him with wide tear filled eyes. His silver hand wavered to his mouth, ¡°Hours. When you asked about my family and my home you meant--¡± He gagged, stumbling to his feet. ¡°Hours what have I done?¡±


    ¡°Franco. It was a long time ago. I didn¡¯t mean it that way. I just wanted you to come with us.¡±


    Franco shook his head frantically and paced back several steps, stumbling on the last.


    ¡°Franco.¡± Said Tig with his hand held out.


    The man had reared his hands in defence. He was as tall the Professor and yet now he seemed as small as a mouse. The way he stared at Tig now made the boy recall himself all those years ago. It was of horror, a fear so great not even an elder spirit could dispel it.


    Tig clutched his head as those awful memories flooded back. Franco¡¯s feet scrapped and the moment Tig spun to face him, he was already gone, speeding past Gemjo and the Professor.


    Tig shook his head for momentary reprieve and started after the man. ¡°After him.¡± He called to the other two.


    Three shadows momentarily flickered by the series of lamps. The tunnel breached open and they all paused at the end.


    The man with a white hat and eyes blocked half of the way.


    ¡°He¡¯s getting away.¡± Reported Gemjo.


    Tig nodded, ¡°You two go. I¡¯ll stay here.¡±


    ¡°Mate¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine. Go.¡±


    Their figures shrank behind the outline of the stranger. The man whose name Tig did not even know stood straight with his hands held behind his back.


    Tig managed a smile, ¡°You lived. I¡¯m glad.¡±


    The man cocked his head wordlessly.


    ¡°Listen If¡­¡±


    He smelled smoke. Fire flashed in his mind. He huddled low. The memories of his village had made him realise a terrible truth. He was the one wasting time. The more he waited the more that tragedy would repeat itself. He could not let that happen. Not again. Realising what he needed do, he stood up.


    He had thought about it extensively since he first saw the stranger use it. Stronger than any gun, faster than any written spell, this man could bend time itself. Tig had been unsure at first, callous of it. But now, he had to ask. ¡°If I learned your magic, could I be strong?¡±


    ¡°You would fail at it.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    The man spoke coldly. In his voice there was winter, a cruel, warmless, bitter thing, ¡°I said you would fail.¡±


    Tig bit back with the flicker of flame hot on his tongue, ¡°You said I could learn it before. You said it would come to me naturally.¡±


    ¡°Until I learned that you cannot call spirits.¡±


    Tig¡¯s fingers stretched out reflexively. ¡°You heard?¡±


    ¡°Sound travels on the property of time. Time is mine to shape. Yes, I did. And from what I heard I know you are unsuited. Lacking. I am¡­ disappointed.¡± The man turned away, ¡°Consider this my farewell.¡±


    Tig spoke as the man passed the stone totem.


    ¡°Then, am I to remain weak forever?¡±


    The man did not respond. Tig was not even sure if he had heard it. Moments passed as the distant steps of the man became faded.


    Tig¡¯s shoulders slumped. His eyes wobbled as he stared at nothing. The echoes of gunfire cascaded in the distance, yet he did not flinch. He curled his hands until the metal creaked. And he whispered with a breath polluted by smoke.


    ¡°Permanence lies within the hour to come last.¡±


    He cleared his face with a swipe of his jacket. No, he had a task at hand whether weak or not.


    He tightened his goggle strings and snapped in the direction his companions had run. Tiguak Trimbly forced himself forwards. Franco would become their navigator. He had to. Tig¡¯s stroll became a cantor, the cantor a sprint.


    They would sail the twelve seas, fight off whatever came, and one day they would reach the mad tinker.


    The seal statue zipped over head of him. He lacked Gemjo¡¯s smell and the Professor¡¯s somewhat stupid luck, but he had a feeling where the man would go.


    Franco had retreated in fear. Perhaps more so out of guilt than what he feared most. Figures bobbed into view past mist and blurry lights. Tig smiled. He knew it.


    Franco wanted to run. So where else but the sea?


    He slowed as those figures became defined. His heart stopped. Three figures lay sprawled on the floor while one stood above them, red hat and robes.


    It turned. Tig knew him instantly. He wished he didn¡¯t.


    The man in red had flowing black hair and a chrome mask fashioned like the face of bird.


    The beak twitched to Tig. The mouth below it gaped revealing black teeth and a smile.


    ¡°By the Hours how we¡¯ve parted,¡± said the man stretching his arms. ¡°We meet again, little brother.¡±

 The Fourth Son

    When he was little, Tiguak Trimbly knew his brother Venezio only as a Vene. Tig had always been distant with his older brothers since the incident, yet Vene, the youngest of the three, proved the kindest. He would bring Tig snacks when their mother forbade it, play with Tig had no others did and protect Tig when the other children bullied him. That was where normalcy ended and Tig realised just why the Trimbly family was different. Vene never stopped at just a warning.


    It was a cruel reminder of the incident. Any who harmed Tig had blood to pay and five demons willing to collect.


    But they were not demons. They could not be. They fed him, they cared for him, they treated him as their own. They could not be demons. So why did they wear red hats?


    The crimson thing wavered in the cavernous winds.


    Tig¡¯s eyes flicked from it to the sprawled bodies of the Professor, Gemjo and Franco. The Professor lay a ways away while something dark leaked out of the other two. His eyes went wide. His hands could not stop shivering.


    ¡°W-was I late again?¡± he worded the horrible thought.


    ¡°They¡¯re not dead.¡± Said Vene. ¡°Certainly not the full turn. He passed out before I could attack him. The half turn however.¡± He kicked Gemjo with a curved boot.


    Tig¡¯s heart jumped when he heard her groan.


    ¡°Still alive, though not for long when my poison works.¡±


    ¡°Poison?¡± he croaked.


    Vene swished his hand and a black liquid scattered the floor. A noxious plume gassed where it hit the metal walks and sizzled.


    Tig could not blink. Only watch. Vene¡¯s poisons were the deadliest. They were his specialization beyond his enchanted masks. The sight of the defeated Gemjo and Franco blurred in his sight with every breath.


    ¡°Why?¡± asked Tig. ¡°Why would you attack them?¡±


    ¡°Because of you, beloved brother. I would not have targeted them had they not been around you.¡±


    ¡°They were my friends!¡± he shrieked.


    ¡°They took you from Verace where we left you to be safe. Besides, you need not any friends outside of us. Come, I¡¯ll take you back.¡±


    Tig stepped away, ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be stubborn. We¡¯re alone, us Trimblys. We stay together. We kill together.¡±


    Tig spat the word, ¡°Kill?¡± It was disgusting. Yet also concerning. Tig balanced his chin on his hand. Wood against iron. He thought back to the running crowds, the fire, the shots. With Vene here, it all made sense. His hand fell away. ¡°Who did you kill?¡±


    ¡°Come now, Tig, that is none of your concern. I¡¯ll take you back to Verace where you¡¯ll be safe.¡±


    ¡°Who. Did. You. Kill?¡±


    A practiced sigh, a shrug of the shoulders, it was the same act with Vene, ¡°A nobody named Mikaera. Just a Viceroy.¡±


    ¡°You killed a Viceroy? Have you gone mad?¡±


    ¡°Father¡¯s order. We¡¯ve a new client that pays better than the others.¡±


    ¡°Is money all you care about?¡± tears blurred Tig¡¯s goggles, and he wrenched the specs off. ¡°He was right.¡±


    Vene breathed behind his mask, ¡°Tig, not this again.¡±


    ¡°That man from five years ago, the one that told me I would be forgiven by the chitik if I brought them your heads. He was right.¡±


    ¡°And in return it cost him his. Look, if the Chitik despise you let that be, we¡¯re your family now.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re monsters.¡± Snapped Tig. ¡°And maybe,¡± he said sniffing, ¡°I should be the one to atone for what you did.¡±


    Vene¡¯s hand flexed open and large portions of steaming black fluid poured out. After only drops of it remained, he wiped it carefully on his robes.


    Vene leaned slightly, his hands ready by his sides, ¡°You really want to do this, Tig?¡±


    Tig breathed hard. He mirrored his brother¡¯s pose. Five years. He curled his hands into fists. He knew what he had to do since he was nine. Another breath and it began.


    Tig¡¯s steps became the lone drumbeats in a maddened charge. He knew what he had to do. The red neared in incredible pace. So why did he not want to? The punch stopped short. Tig¡¯s fist hovered above the red robe. It fell a moment later.


    Tig wept, ¡°I can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°I can.¡±


    Steel against iron. The crunch of metal was audible, the pain unbearable. Tig lay on his side as a burning sensation spread in his left arm. He saw his companions directly ahead of him, convulsing.


    A pang echoed from his gut. The world spun and the jagged bits of the floor dug into his still fleshy sides. He lumbered up, felt something warm ooze from where he was punctured.


    Vene closed the distance, he was not much taller than Tig, but now he seemed a giant higher than the Gatekeeper, ¡°Give up, Tig. This is pointless and you know it. You¡¯re a Trimbly, at least realise that.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll never be you.¡± He said with a stumble.


    ¡°No, but you are Tiguak Trimbly, son of Toklo Trimbly, the greatest hunter of man among the chitik people.¡± His pointed claw picked the boy up by his head and lifted. Soon, Vene¡¯s amber eyes came level to Tig¡¯s. ¡°And I am your brother, Venezio Trimbly, third born son of Toklo and Vanessa Trimbly.¡±


    The arm flung. The ground met him. He balked as the pain in his arm reignited a new. Vene¡¯s steps approached him slowly, inevitably. Tig¡¯s sight went black with every step. His own breath seemed loud, overpowering.


    The memories of all the good Vene had done for him seemed to intermingle with the memories of their spars. He was never this cruel. Not to him.


    Meekly, the boy stumbled to a knee. Vene¡¯s reddened form blurred ahead of him, one clawed raised. That couldn¡¯t be his brother.


    Tig reached. The claw swept down. Four metal knives felt cold against his fleshy stomach. No puncture. No pain. But what he saw now hurt more than any wound would have.


    The mask had half slid off by Tig¡¯s light touch, revealing the same amber eyes, black smile and pointed nose the gentle Vene always held. He had fair skin just like his mother. Angled brows just like his father. It was his brother and that only made it worse.


    The metal hand upended and lifted the boy by his collar. He brought Tig near to his pale face and puffed, ¡°Why do you never fight?!¡± The grip tightened. ¡°Answer me!¡±


    He couldn¡¯t.


    The angled brows lowered, and Tig flew shoulder first into a storefront barrel. It was a hollow, numb pain that made all else vanish. His sight blurred. Sound seemed to deafen. Vene¡¯s footsteps turned into distant cannon shots.


    His brother slid the mask back on, his mouth wavering underneath, but no words coming out. A high pitch seemed to be all Tig could discern.


    Slowly, the boy¡¯s sight fell to his side. Gemjo was there. Dying. Slowly dying¡­ A burning village flashed in his mind. He could smell the smoke, still taste the soot that laced the air, still hear the gunshot. Tig blinked. Gunshot?


    Tig snapped to. He felt his left arm ache like a terrible cramp. His sides burned and his back throbbed. Distant shots became defined, near. Something spat by the metal floor and panged off of it. Another shot and Vene ducked behind a crate on the other end of the street.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Tig saw Vene¡¯s mask split in two in the middle of the road.


    Ricochets filled the air. It was a song of wobbling bullets.


    ¡°By the Eleventh Hour!¡± cursed Vene. More bullets dug into his wall of barrels and he turned to Tig. ¡°Hide, brother, it¡¯s the Navy. They¡¯ve come for me.¡±


    Tig wheezed, ¡°You¡¯ll get shot.¡±


    Vene ducked low, a bullet grazed his hat, ¡°You wanted to kill me and now you¡¯re concerned for me?¡±


    Tig attempted to get up, his entire body screamed at him as he did.


    ¡°Stop!¡± commanded Vene. ¡°I won¡¯t have you endanger yourself more than I have to get you back.¡±


    Vene peaked out briefly. A bullet zipped by as he ducked back in, ¡°Just one. Good. It seems I¡¯ll have to handle this attacker.¡±


    Tig fell low. His eyes lapsed to Vene. His brother had taken out a scroll. He threw it down to the que of several shots that fired in quick succession


    White circles formed. The bullets slowed almost to a stop. Vene threw open his cloak and four masks flashed underneath.


    ¡°I need wings.¡± He said as he adorned a beaked mask from his collection. The effect was immediate. The side of his red robe morphed into wings and the black leathers he wore underneath grew feathers just as black. His curled boots grew into monstrous talons.


    He buffeted his wings and flew up. High up. Black plumages drifted down. Tig coughed weakly. It was over. The circle formed a temporary column shaped shield as well as a prison. It stopped all bullets but it kept Vene inside. But not for long. Whoever thought to fire upon Vene would be caught by him once the time spell was gone.


    Tig slumped his head against the barrel. It was over. Then he heard the approach.


    He shifted his sights to a pale figure running his way. He blinked slowly. She had a silver pistol in her hand, her blue robes rustled and grew as she got ever closer.


    ¡°Citizen!¡± she called when only seconds away.


    Tig slid against the barrel until he was sitting up. The girl slowed ahead of him. She had hair as black as the city and goggles that reminded him of his own.


    ¡°Can you get up?¡± She asked.


    Tig shook his head. When she crouched to help, he meekly swept at her, ¡°Stay back,¡± he warned, ¡°Once that spell wears out he¡¯ll kill you.¡±


    ¡°As he will you.¡±


    ¡°No¡­ He won¡¯t kill me.¡±


    ¡°Your broken body says otherwise. Come, we¡¯re going.¡±


    Tig swept at her harder this time and she caught his arm, ¡°You don¡¯t understand.¡± He pleaded. ¡°Leave me. Save your¡­self.¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    Tears swelled at his eyes, ¡°Go, I can¡¯t protect you.¡±


    Bullets whizzed behind them and Tig realised the spell had broken.


    The girl stood. Her pistol clicked, ¡°But I will protect you.¡±


    Vene swopped down and the girl circled around, shooting at him. Vene remained always nearby. A vulture ready for its prey.


    Tig cried, ¡°Run! Please!¡±


    They did not hear him. The red blur crashed upon the girl who rolled out a moment later. Tig tensed. Everything hurt. His eyes buzzed about as he followed them desperately, hopelessly awaiting the unfortunate outcome. The girl ran faster, shooting behind her. Vene clawed. Any moment now. Gunshots ricochet haphazardly. Any moment and she would fall.


    Vene was dangerous, a true Trimbly unlike him. What could a girl with a pistol do?


    A series of bullets zipped by him and shattered the glass behind him. Vene paused mid swoop.


    ¡°Tig!¡±


    He forgot about the soldier and changed course for Tig instead. The soldier ran behind him with her gun. It was a moment of opportunity. The guaranteed kill. Tig knew it, but he could not say it. Vene had turned his back. Any moment now. Yet it was not gunfire that sounded as the girl slid in between them. Nor was it her back he saw had she fired the fateful shot.


    No. It was her front.


    Her gun rattled against the metal floor. Blood splashed the broken store front.


    Tig quivered, ¡°Why?¡±


    She had a weak smile on her. Her knees wobbled and her arms stayed barely outstretched.


    Her words came stumbling, honest, ¡°Soldiers¡­ protect¡­. Soldiers¡­¡±


    She toppled onto him, and he shivered under her weight. The open wound upon her back made him gag. That cut was censored by darkening blood, but the severity of it showed in just how quickly it darkened. Vene was quick to notice. He tossed her away, and she skated across the ground with bits of red leading to her.


    Vene¡¯s wings wings fell, the mask unbuckled.


    Vene noted her, ¡°Foolish girl, she thought she was defending you. Well better for us that she did. Come, we¡¯re going now.¡±


    A bullet grazed Vene¡¯s cheek. He touched the blood that trickled out of it.


    ¡°Another?¡± he scoffed. ¡°Just how many of you are there?¡±


    Tig sniffed cinnamon and lavender. The march of booted men sounded.


    A cane tapped and a familiar voice grumbled, ¡°Enough. Venezio Trimbly, you are under arrest for the murder of Viceroy Mikaera.¡± The voice paused. ¡°Wait. Hold your fire, he has a hostage.¡±


    Vene slid between them and Tig. He placed his mask back on. A black leathered glove gripped Tig by the wrist, and Vene peaked back at him, ¡°We¡¯re leaving.¡±


    Tig could barely move, his breath whistled between his iron lips, ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t an option.¡± The wings stretched.


    ¡°I believe it was.¡±


    Vene froze completely.


    A white hat bounced nearby. The air around Vene grew stagnant. Any waves of mist that had intruded had become still, and the little light upon him seemed dimmer than usual.


    ¡°By the Hours.¡± Hushed the earlier man. ¡°Time bending.¡±


    Eager voices, those Tig assumed to be of soldiers, mumbled at the sight of it.


    Among them he heard a question.


    ¡°Is he defeated?¡±


    The dim light around Vene gave way to a shimmering yellow. A pattern of strangle symbols glowed around Vene¡¯s leathery hand and his grip loosened. Then the wings flapped without warning and Vene soared into the air. Tig saw very little past his already blurring sight, but from the few symbols he glimpsed on his brother¡¯s hand, he could tell it was the same as those on the soldier¡¯s cane back in Siblisey.


    In fact, as he turned to the man now kneeling by the fallen girl, he swore that soldier was the same.


    Vene¡¯s voice rained from above, ¡°I¡¯ll come for you Tig. No matter how far you go, the moment you are alone I will retrieve you.¡±


    He flew even higher and vanished into the mists. Many voices filled the streets as orders were barked out and figures shuffled.


    ¡°Sergeant, this man¡­ he¡¯s the one we¡¯re after.¡±


    ¡°By the Hours Charles forget him. Remy¡¯s injured. Medic. We need a medic!¡±


    Tig turned and saw the stranger attending to the Franco and Gemjo. Tears welled in Tig¡¯s eyes. He fell forwards and began crawling. Seconds and seconds of metal plates slid by him. A wicked pain grew from his sides, yet he willed himself forwards with every bit of his body that worked.


    The white hat had been waving his hands in strange gestures at the two.


    ¡°C-can you save them?¡± Managed Tig.


    The stranger pressed his dark iron brows, ¡°It is difficult. The poison that spreads through them can only be cured by a plant found in Al¡¯Tof, the Zanae Kara. ¡±


    ¡°Can we¡­ get it in time?¡±


    The stranger shook his head, ¡°I can slow their time at a cost of their lifespans, but only for so long.¡±


    Tig hung his head low, he saw the girl who tried to protect him in the corner of his eye. A white hat from the navy was seeing to her.


    He had little energy left within him. His body wanted nothing more than to rest, and yet he felt his hands curl into balls tightly. He slammed the ground with his good hand. He could do nothing. Not even when the people he sought desperately to help bled and convulsed in vile poisons.


    He thought back to how he could not fight his brother even as the man ruthlessly attacked him. What would power matter then? If he had truly gotten strong as his family demanded of him what good would it do the people who already suffered? Nothing.


    He was nothing. He was as blank as the white in the stranger¡¯s hat. He blinked. White hats.


    He felt a fool. He had known the answer since before those five years, since before the incident. There were those who helped the ones that suffered, that protected the suffering in a different way. He thought of the wisemen back in his village, of Wilma who had trained tirelessly to pursue her craft. There was another way.


    ¡°Teach me.¡± He hushed again.


    The white hatted stranger furrowed his brows, ¡°I cannot. Your repetition worries me.¡±


    ¡°Not that.¡± winced Tig. ¡°Teach me to be a doctor.¡±


    The stranger halted his signing. His head clicked to Tig, ¡°You wish to be a healer?¡±


    Tig nodded, ¡°I could train to be stronger, but it would mean nothing if those I want to protect crumble before me. Not Gemjo, not Franco, not even that damned drunk. I never want to leave anyone behind again. Please, teach me to become a doctor.¡±


    ¡°In this,¡± Began the stranger with angled mandibles, ¡°You shall not fail.¡±


    Tig returned the smile, his conscious already fading. A silver hand warmed his wrist and he shook awake to the sight of Franco.


    ¡°Tij¡­¡±


    Tig clung back to his hand, and pulled himself close, ¡°Yes Franco?¡±


    ¡°The Zanae Kara¡­ I know where to find one¡­ close¡­¡±


    ¡°Where? Franco? Franco!¡±


    He coughed madly, his eyes batting, ¡°At the place of my learning¡­ The Institute Le Kura¡­near border of fourth¡­sea¡­¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll go there then. I¡¯ll save you.¡±


    Franco smiled, ¡°Do that¡­ and I might just join¡­ your¡­¡±


    His drifting speech ended in his figure darkening and frozen. Gemjo froze in a similar fashion.


    The stranger pressed his palms together. ¡°It is done.¡± He said. ¡°Their time is frozen, but our time is brief. We are already within the third sea.¡±


    Pistols clicked and rifles holstered.


    The man with the cane paced to the front of them, ¡°Who are you, Timebender?¡±


    ¡°My name is irrelevant, but you may call me Timebender if you so please.¡±


    The man scrunched his nose and gestured at the Timebender¡¯s hat with his pistol, ¡°You¡¯re a doctor?¡±


    ¡°I am. The boy beside me is my apprentice.¡±


    He sheathed his gun and swept his hand to the side. All rifles lowered.


    ¡°Will you travel with us back to Verace? We have a few injured and one half turn severely so. Too much for just the man we have on staff.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Wheezed Tig. ¡°We need to go to Kura.¡±


    ¡°The institute? What bids you there?¡¯


    The Timebender lifted Tig up by his good shoulder. His mandibles stretched as he spoke, ¡°A rare flower can be found there. These two need it to survive.¡±


    The soldier turned and waved is head back at his men, ¡°Convert the ship into an infirmary vessel, we are on urgent journey to Kura.¡± He spun back to them and saluted. ¡°Sergeant Webly.¡± he introduced himself. ¡°We will see to it you¡¯re escorted to Kura safely so long as Remy and my men are taken care of.¡±


    ¡°It is agreed.¡±


    Webly swapped to Tig and squinted at the boy¡¯s side, ¡°By the Hours this one¡¯s bleeding.¡±


    Tig glanced at his side. Blood had soaked much of his coat, making the black fabric damp and sticky. The pain had gone numb. His sights nearly black. The drowsiness he felt become almost unbearable. His eyes batted.


    ¡°You¡¯re right.¡± Said Tig with a tired breath. ¡°I am¡­ blee¡­ding¡­¡±


    The world flipped sideways. A thousand lights vanished.

 The Empty Bottle

    ¡°Five minutes, five minutes, what wanders there?


    The grinning gamble, the foot of a hare


    Oh chance is the key, not sagacity


    The world is unfair, the world is unfair


    Oh chance is the key, so let blinded be.


    What happens, should happen, without a care


    Wealth be the journey, the journey the fare


    Oh chance is the key, for chance is plenty


    In a world unfair, in a world unfair


    Oh chance is the key that turns elsewhere.¡±


    The guard ahead of the bars snarled, ¡°Will you ever shut up?¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t like it?¡±


    ¡°Maybe after the first time, sure. But upon your second, considerably drunken, iteration I lost interest. Especially since you forgot the half the words.¡±


    Another guard spoke, ¡°Don¡¯t forget when he tried to sing.¡±


    ¡°Hours, don¡¯t remind me.¡±


    ¡°Mate, that was my attempt at coaxing another drink.¡±


    A long drawn out sigh rebounded the blackened cells. The guard faced the Professor with narrowed black eyes upon a porcelain face. Had he frowned any harder he would extended the crack near the bottom of his chin.


    ¡°Charles, we musn¡¯t let him get to us.¡± Clamored the other guard. ¡°Webly¡¯s only just finished the interrogation.¡±


    ¡°No, Pratchet. I had enough. I say we gag him.¡±


    ¡°Then how would I drink?¡±


    Charles¡¯ shoulders shook and his hat wavered down. He spat out the words, ¡°I am not answering that.¡±


    The Professor fumbled back and slid against the wall. Had another even more staggeringly long hour pass he would have gone sober. He hicc¡¯ed in dismay and threw an unhappy glance at his drained bottle. It did not seem right. He though back. Far back. Further back than he had ever before.


    Yesterday.


    The old duck, Web-whats-it had asked him questions. Far too many for any sane man to ask. But, on the condition of a drink the Professor gladly answered, all except the one of course. He could never answer that question.


    The drink was a Five Minute¡¯s Fortune, one made famous along the first sea¡¯s borders. The Professor frowned at it. Perhaps it was the Web-man¡¯s attempt at a joke.


    Either way, at the time it had captured his fancy. It was a dark brown concoction that appeared a rich amber in the cell light. The bottle was grooved, thin and tall, the marking had faded designs of chitik totems and words too fine to read.


    And now it was empty.


    That made him frown more than Webli-ly¡¯s joke.


    He flung himself to the bars, ¡°I swear I didn¡¯t drink a drop.¡±


    ¡°Shut up.¡± Bickered Charles.


    The Professor sighed dramatically and tumbled back. He caught the glint of the locket on the ground and away from him. He sneered at it and crawled to it madly.


    ¡°You did this, you wicked piece of metal trash.¡± He accused the locket. ¡°You drank my prize.¡±


    ¡°Alright I had enough.¡±


    ¡°Charles.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll say it this once and only once, you drunken buffoon. The bottle,¡± Said Charles pointing to the Five Minute¡¯s fortune. ¡°It¡¯s still full.¡±


    The Professor¡¯s sight wandered to Pratchet as if to confirm.


    The more sensible of the two guards nodded. Strangely, though, the bottle remained empty. He clawed back to it and attempted something he hadn¡¯t before. He picked it up. He saw nothing, yet he heard the liquid swish, felt its telling weight.


    The cap bounced off the floor.


    He burped loudly, ¡°Yup, still there.¡±


    Charles tapped his foot, ¡°Told you.¡±This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    The Professor raised the bottle till his bronze reflection distorted in the empty glass, ¡°But why do I not see it.¡± He hummed to himself.


    The locket glimmered in the corner of his eyes. He lowered the bottle.


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    ¡­


    An engine ticked in mechanical cacophony. The window rattled. The door had been open, waving slightly to the sway of the ship. Tig pressed his legs behind those of his chair and stared nervously at the bed ahead of him. He was not supposed to be there. There nor the ship.


    For the second time in his life, Tiguak Trimbly found himself on a flying clockship. Yet this time it was the Navy¡¯s. The sheets puffed up and down gently as its occupant breathed. The whites of it melded with the fresh bandages dressing Tig¡¯s left arm. The other lay exposed owing to his grey, sleeveless shirt.


    Tig shared a similar breath, ¡°I know you¡¯ve haven¡¯t awakened in two days, and I know this is the third time now, but if you can hear me, know that I¡¯m sorry¡­ and that I¡¯m grateful. If you hadn¡¯t come when you did I would have been in Verace by now. My family would see me trapped there. Perhaps become one of them. It¡¯s a long story.¡± He said making a smile none would see. ¡°But I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll want answers when you stir.¡±


    Some soldiers strolled by the open door. Tig flinched.


    The chair slid, ¡°Anyways, I better go before they find me.¡±


    He stood and started away, the view of the bed shrank slightly as he did. Something clicked and extended. He peaked back and saw the girl still sleeping. A towel lay over her eyes and her black hair lay sprawled and messy upon the pillow.


    Tig shook his head. His imagination had a habit of wandering lately. He had been making quiet company for two days now. The door swayed as he passed it. The Timebender rarely spoke except when giving instructions. The Professor had yet to leave interrogation and as for the other two¡­ He steadied as the room directly next to the one he left faced him. It was their room. It was the place where Gemjo and Franco remained ever frozen.


    There was hope that the girl who saved him heard what he said, but not those two. The Timebender¡¯s terrible spell stopped most light, sound and outside entities from interacting with the two. They would be preserved perfectly until the spell wore off.


    Tig¡¯s hands balled, his iron lips curled and his half aluminum teeth grit. The Timebender had explained what the Gatekeeper brushed over.


    Whenever time slowed, it would accelerate in kind. No exception.


    A cane tapped behind him.


    ¡°Your master made a dangerous move freezing your friends.¡±


    ¡°Sergeant Webly.¡±


    ¡°Nister Tig.¡± Nodded the man. ¡°The third law of Chronodynamics if I recall. The same law that turns bullets into artillery and water into steam. I could not imagine its effect on a living things, let alone half turns.¡±


    ¡°Well I don¡¯t understand it. The Timebender said it reduces their lifespans. But we don¡¯t have lifespans.¡±


    Webly stumbled by, ¡°Oh we do, Nister Tig, ¡®Permanence lies, it is the illusion of death¡¯.¡±


    That gave Tig a start, ¡°You worship the Eleventh?¡±


    Webly had his hat tip back, ¡°One needn¡¯t worship to learn, Nister Tig. Or agree. The scriptures of the Eleventh proclaim that the time we have is fixed the moment we are born. That no matter how we die or where we end up, whether it be at the depths of the sea or the bowls of the scrapyard, our course is already set. I find comfort in that. If you have no control in how long you live then you do what you want to. What you think is right.¡±


    Webly walked some steps ahead and paused, ¡°If our lives are dictated by time, perhaps then they can be accelerated. I wish to think an entity greater than ourselves leads us out there, gives us meaning more than ourselves.¡±


    ¡°If not the Eleventh, then who? Who do you worship?¡±


    Webly continued his stroll, his cane tapping with him as he spoke, ¡°Enough idle chatter. You¡¯ve been summoned by your master in his cabin.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± Said Tig. ¡°I¡¯ll go, I¡¯m curious is all.¡±


    Webly was nearly by the corner leading out the hall so Tig thought it best to leave it at that. His two military grade boots, lent to him by the good sergeant, patted the metal pathing. The other end of the hall neared and Webly spoke up.


    ¡°The Second Hour.¡± Echoed the man¡¯s voice.


    Tig snapped back, ¡°The God of Love?¡±


    Webly was gone. Tig¡¯s brows dropped. For some reason those he spoke to had a habit of not responding. Whether they were asleep, uninterested or spiritually ascended.


    He continued on, his eyes lazy and his thoughts distracted. There was a hall up ahead. It had stairs in the middle of it that led up and down. On led to the cabins of guests, the other to the cells. It seemed an odd design and it had the unfortunate effect of making Tig think of the Professor more than he wanted to.


    Even now as he stood steps before the two stairways, he could not help but curiously glance at the descending bit.


    Hurried steps played stills towards him. He was pinned to the wall before he could turn. Silver hands held his own up. Goggles faced goggles.


    ¡°You¡¯re awake.¡± He laughed anxiously.


    ¡°You saw, didn¡¯t you?¡± she spat.


    His eyes wandered to her white dress and he glanced away, ¡°No, I swear I saw nothing.¡±


    ¡°Did you see them?¡±


    ¡°T-them?¡±


    ¡°Yes them. Normally rounded, the place that holds another¡¯s attention the most.¡±


    Tig¡¯s fleshy ears flashed red.


    She continued, livid, ¡°Buried deep, pointed. Don¡¯t make me say it.¡±


    ¡°Please don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°My eyes!¡± she breathed. ¡°You saw them.¡±


    ¡°Eyes you say?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    His gaze flipped low and back again, ¡°Y-you had a cloth over them. I only visited you three times to thank you, t-that¡¯s all. I swear.¡±


    She stared at him for the minutes before she let go and straightened her posture, ¡°If it is then I apologise for my behaviour. It is not becoming of a soldier. Above all I¡¯m glad that monster did not harm you.¡± She coughed with a nudge of her head tossed at his left. ¡°Much.¡±


    ¡°Thanks to you.¡± Said Tig. ¡°Had you not intervened when you did, I would have been damned.¡±


    ¡°I heard.¡±


    ¡°So you were awake.¡±


    She took a step back. The white gown she wore was only a shade lighter than her skin. Black, silky hair cascaded to her shoulders and bangs haphazardly covered the front of her goggle.


    Her nose was pointed, her cheekbones high. She almost looked a noble of Verace had it not been for her goggles.


    ¡°Hence why I assumed the worse.¡± She conceded. ¡°Again apologies for that. But you did mention one last bit.¡±


    ¡°Ah my family. It¡¯s complicated.¡±


    She scrunched her nose and pursed her lips, ¡°You don¡¯t happen to know a Wilma Marici do you?¡±


    Had he been in cooler spirits he would have lied. But now he couldn¡¯t. Now there was no escape. His back touched the wall. It was cold. But his sweat proved colder. She knew. She read the letter.


    The girl¡¯s lips parted as if she were to repeat the suspect question, but something made her turn. As did Tig.


    It was a distant tone that got progressively louder and peaked when two soldiers burst out of the stairs leading down. Their fervent ¡®AHH¡¯s¡¯ played one after the other until the girl stepped ahead of them.


    ¡°Charles. Charles!¡±


    The man shivered and halted in front of her. The other tried to run past but she quickly tripped him, resulting in a percussive pang.


    ¡°What happened, Charles?¡± she asked.


    ¡°My face.¡± He balled, continuously clawing at his porcelain cover. ¡°It¡¯s fallen off.¡±

 Jing Mon Ceros

    Men swatted their foreheads as the witch doctor strolled by.


    ¡°Captain!¡±


    ¡°Captain!¡±


    ¡°Cap-i-ton.¡±


    The Witch Doctor cracked a bony smile. A particularly small and blue-hatted full turn had spoken last. He had a nose shaped like a smoking pipe. Steam billowed out of it.


    ¡°Eh, I missed dat voice of yours, Salamon.¡±


    ¡°My voice is yours, Cap-i-ton.¡±


    The Witch Doctor nodded and kept on, ¡°As is everyting unda da sky.¡±


    ¡°And what above it?¡±


    The Witch doctor slowed. It was the voice of a woman and his right hand girl.


    ¡°Marcel.¡±


    ¡°Admiral.¡±


    ¡°Please, lovely Marcel.¡± Smiled the bony man. ¡°Call me Capiton around here. Shall we?¡± He said gesturing forwards.


    Deafened steps gave way to clanks. A long iron path with stubby parapets stretched far into the roaming clouds. The Witch Doctor practiced a dramatic tiptoe. Clouds and the whistle of updrafts guarded the drop on either side.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    ¡°Be serious, Admiral.¡±


    ¡°I be always serious, mon.¡±


    Marcel sighed, ¡°If only that was true.¡±


    ¡°Oh hey now, did you just roll dose pretty green eyes at me? Or did ya tin cheeks just turn copper at my backside?¡±


    ¡°Neither. And while you were gone getting captured, again, we caught word of a dispute up in the Land Above.¡±


    ¡°Heh. Hence da ship. Da Arbitah?¡±


    ¡°Not that bad yet.¡±


    Clouds brushed by him. The black edges of something grand hinted far on either side. He peaked back at Marcel, winked with both eyes.


    Despite being a proper navy soldier, she never wore her hat, instead opting to keep her brown buzz cut that rustled in the wind. A muscular face coveted her piercing emerald eyes. All of it led to what he assumed was even more lean muscle underneath standard navy robes.


    ¡°Sir, please don¡¯t stare.¡±


    ¡°Heh, dun ya be worrying about me now. I already be having a soul mate.¡±


    She rolled her pretty green eyes, ¡°I take it getting capture had to with that?¡±


    The Admiral frowned. He flipped back to the front, the strange object getting more and defined with each step, ¡°No, it be intuition.¡±


    ¡°Was it worth it? You were gone for months.¡±


    ¡°Wonderfully. A part from a few promising half turns, dere was a man wit, ya might say, interesting properties.¡± He gave her a glance and tapped his nose. ¡°I¡¯ll be expecting dem soon. Dey bear my curse sa you should know when dey arrive. Have a portah go befa we board.¡±


    ¡°Yes sir.¡±


    The clouds parted and the Witch Doctor¡¯s gaze lifted. A galleon the size of five focussed into view. The deck seemed impossibly high, and the masts almost uncountable. It was built solely of a black titanium alloy. The howls of crewman working could be heard from above.


    ¡°Da distance from Jing Mon Ceros?¡±


    ¡°Two hours by air, sir.¡±


    He nodded. The distant hammer of the world¡¯s strongest clock engine rang in his hollowed out ears. It had been awhile since he went up. Now he wanted to more than ever. He had an insatiable itch to visit another of the great beasts, less so of the dog emperor that ruled over it.


    ¡°First da fat whale on da Sea, now a flying one.¡±


    ¡°Sir?¡±


    ¡°Two ya said?¡± He asked peaking back to catch her nod. ¡°Den we be making it barely.¡±

 The Beginning

    The world toppled. The engines powered down and the thunder of waves became apparent. Tig moaned. The ground lay before him and his rump had reared up.


    ¡°This is why I said to wait before descending.¡± Her voice followed her gate. It grew louder with each footfall. ¡°Our forty minutes of flight have ended.¡±


    He dared not look back at her, fearing her gaze, ¡°Pardon my rush, but I absolutely had to see him.¡±


    Her descent paused, ¡°Why?¡±


    A bottle clattered. Bronze shimmered behind iron bars, ¡°Tig? Oi Tig is that you?¡±


    Tiguak Trimbly formed a twitching smile. He whirled to the girl now glaring at him and tensed.


    ¡°Tig?¡± he laughed. ¡°Who¡¯s that? My name¡¯s ,uh, I-ron¡­Baaa-rrr. Euron Bear. Yes that.¡±


    ¡°Enough flippant fibs, mate. Get me out of here.¡±


    The girl stormed down, ¡°I knew it!¡± she clamoured. ¡°You two know each other. That must mean¡­¡±


    The Professor¡¯s bronze head stuck out between the bars. His white goggles squinted and directed themselves upon the sickly pale girl, ¡°Remy, is that you?¡±


    The blood that heated her face quickly flushed out. She drew close to the bars, ¡°Did you tell him?¡±


    ¡°If you mean good sergeant Webits, I told that duck all he needed knowing and trust me¡­ hic¡­ that was a lot. But in no shape or delectably drinkable form did I, the Professor, reveal your connection to myself.¡±


    ¡°Which¡­ is?¡± pressed Tig nervously.


    ¡°None of your concern.¡± Snapped Remy.


    ¡°Yes mam!¡± Said Tig with a salute. He fixed his posture a moment later, unsure as to why he would salute. Remy¡¯s cold glance centered in his view. That¡¯s right. She would have murdered him otherwise.


    The murderess spoke, her words were daggers at his throat, ¡°Which on occasion, I must ask how you know him?¡±


    Tig crossed his arms. He felt remarkably brave that day. It was just a faint bout of courage, but he clutched to it as tightly as the Professor did his drink. He did so for two reasons. One to positively paint himself in defiance, and two, to mask his hands that shook uncontrollably, ¡°N-not speaking.¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t asking you.¡±


    ¡°Yes mam!¡±


    The Professor jabbed his own chest and blushed a little when Remy replied with a curt nod, ¡°I¡¯m touched, truly. Given me an awful itch behind my back where I just can¡¯t reach. Tell ya what, I¡¯ll answer any of your questions should you get me some liquor, savy?¡±


    Remy¡¯s lip twitched and her eyes ticked down to the bottle, ¡°Or, I could take away your current drink.¡±


    The Professor fell back, coddling his drink like a child, ¡°M-M-Monster! T-Tig, get her away from me this instant. Hours this one¡¯s gone mad.¡±


    ¡°No she¡¯ll kill me¡ªI-I mean yes mam!¡±


    ¡°Tig?¡± questioned Remy aloud. ¡°As in Tiguak Trimbly?¡±


    Tig stammered back.


    ¡°Brother of Venezio Trimbly?¡±


    He gulped.


    ¡°The runaway child, about my age, who we were tasked with capturing? Last I read, Tiguak Trimbly was attempting to murder his family.¡±


    The Professor made his way back to the bars, ¡°I¡­ hic¡­ didn¡¯t catch any of that, but I assume we¡¯ve passed the theft of my beverage, yea?¡±


    ¡°Adoptive family.¡± Answered Tig. There was no escaping it now. The moment Vene drew blood from a Viceroy, the chase of the navy would be inevitable. ¡°And to kill them was the plan originally, but now, I don¡¯t think I would.¡±


    ¡°Not that you could. That night is still blurry but I remember seeing you sprawled and defeated.¡±


    His voice became meek, ¡°He wouldn¡¯t kill me.¡±


    ¡°You said the same last night and I¡¯m still not convinced.¡±


    ¡°Oi Remy,¡± interjected the Professor, ¡°you get those eyes fixed yet?¡±


    She turned, ¡°Y-y-you quiet about my eyes. You are the one to help me.¡±


    ¡°And I am, mate, promise. Hence why I¡¯m going to the mad tinker right now. Well that and another reason.¡±


    She pulled him to the bars by his collar, ¡°Why should I believe you? You¡¯re in prison, incarcerated under the authority of General Tat and for the theft of a trade caravel.¡±


    ¡°Free me then.¡±


    She forfeited her grip. Her eyes wandered down, ¡°I can¡¯t.¡±


    Tig made to the other end of the bars closest to the stairs. Another prison sat across the room but empty. He considered his options. Perhaps the bars would keep him safe from her. He was not strong, but he was fast. It would take seconds at most. His escape seemed assured. He nodded briskly as he thought that.


    He had a question long burning on his mind, ¡°What is wrong with your eyes? Are you blind in one of them? Or do you have only one?¡±If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°Neither.¡±


    ¡°Yes mam!¡±


    Remy sighed, ¡°It¡¯s complicated.¡±


    ¡°Complicated¡­¡± Tig¡¯s gaze fell as he considered the word. He wondered just how Gemjo would have reacted if she knew the truth of it. Would she have hated him as all other northerners did? He smiled. No, she would¡¯ve fallen asleep.


    That smile faded as quickly as it came.


    Gemjo.


    ¡°Professor listen, Gemjo and Franco¡­ they¡¯re,¡± his head dipped low, ¡°Not well. I figured you¡¯d want to know.¡± He turned to Remy. ¡°Hence why I needed to see him.¡±


    ¡°Poisoned and frozen is that it, mate?¡±


    ¡°How did you know?¡±


    ¡°Wobly told me. Terrible thing, but nothing much we can do. Their best course is our current course and praying to their Hours.¡±


    ¡°As if that would help.¡± Scoffed Remy.


    ¡°It does, mate. Hours always come through for their believers. Especially the ones with little followers.¡±


    Remy pulled away from the bars, ¡°I have a duty. Besides I¡¯ll make sure to have you in my sights the moment they release you.¡±


    He finished a swig, ¡°If they release me.¡±


    ¡°As for you.¡± She started, eyes on Tig. ¡°You¡¯ll come with us to Verace. I¡¯ll arrange for your protection under Webly.¡±


    ¡°Yes ma¡ª¡± he shook his head. ¡°I won¡¯t go.¡±


    ¡°This is for your own safety, citizen.¡±


    ¡°Tig. My name¡¯s Tig and so long as I stay there I won¡¯t get anything done. They¡¯ll find me, they always do and they¡¯ll make me into one of them: A murderer.¡± His right hand tightened and he slammed his still bandaged shoulder and winced to the burning pain. ¡°I¡¯ll become a doctor using whatever time I scavenge from being away from them.¡±


    ¡°Do you mean to oppose us, citi¡ªTig?¡±


    ¡°No! no. I mean, yes¡­ Not now at least. So please don¡¯t kill me?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve made terrible mistake, Trimbly.¡±


    His back touched the wall, and he felt her glare dig deep into his skin, ¡°Actually,¡± He managed, ¡°I don¡¯t think I have.¡±


    Her brows twitched and upper lip curled, ¡°Leave.¡±


    Tig pointed at the Professor, ¡°But I¡ª¡°


    ¡°Leave.¡± She reiterated.


    He heard hollow thumps as soldiers neared. It was no option.


    Tig had his shoulders slumped as he passed the two descending guards. He noted that one of them had realised his face had never vanished. Strange that. The full turn balled for a good minute claiming his face had crumbled off despite remaining in plain sight.


    That illusion was vanquished upon Remy¡¯s quick instructions to breathe deeply and properly feel what he thought was no longer there. Even then, the man had been drained by it.


    Tig finished the steps and started the next. Clearly, it was one of the Professor¡¯s strange powers, just as he had done to Marici the night Tig had met him. It made him wonder about the drunk in question. Just who was the Professor? Why did the Gatekeeper know of him? Why did Remy?


    He knocked on the door first to his left after the stairs. Steps and mechanism worked on the other side. Who did he escape with that night of the festival? Perhaps it was a question that lacked an answer. Or perhaps he already knew.


    The door creaked open, and the dim light of the lantern seeped by.


    ¡°Welcome, a-ppren-tice.¡±


    ¡°Webly said you called for me.¡±


    The Timebender gestured inside, ¡°I did. We shall begin your training.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± chirped the boy. His eyes followed the Timebender as the man made about his small medical chamber and sifted through drawers and tables. Flasks toasted, papers ruffled.


    Tig rocked on his heels and continued as the man searched frivolously, ¡°Well then where to begin? I¡¯ll need to learn how to nullify poisons, oh, and dispel hysteria should I come across Hiretio. Perhaps some easy tips for acupuncture?¡±


    ¡°Hands.¡±


    Tig held out his wooden fingers, ¡°Anything I can learn, really, and quickly as I don¡¯t have much time.¡±


    A heavy book slammed on his outstretched hands. Then another and another. And, at last, a painfully heavy fourth.


    ¡°What¡­¡± he groaned. ¡°What are these?¡±


    ¡°Basics of chemicals, anatomy, botany and The Observations of Mechanization Vol. 1. Read all of these.¡±


    ¡°But--¡±


    ¡°Make notes. You will be tested in Kura.¡±


    He swallowed hard, he could barely see his master over the stack, ¡°How long do I have exactly?¡±


    The top of the Timebender¡¯s head fell to the side, ¡°Depends on how quick you wish to learn.¡±


    ¡°Is there any shortcuts? A manual to apply medicine perhaps?¡±


    The man made to the shelves, picked another book and sifted through it, ¡°Manuals may contain errors, as a doctor-in-training it is your duty to understand why the manuals write it so, to do that you must master the basics.¡±


    ¡°All the basics?¡± he whimpered.


    His head tilted back to Tig, ¡°That is only the beginning. I will provide you with practical training as well. That is, once your friends awake you shall attend to them with me, under my direct tutelage.¡±


    ¡°About that.¡± Said Tig, struggling to hold the books. ¡°Should the Navy request my return to Verace for any means, would you interfere?¡±


    The Timebender shut his book softly, ¡°So long as you wish to pursue this path and adhere to my teaching methods I will stop any from preventing it.¡± another book joined the nearly toppling pile. ¡°Basics of Biology, a Study on Pre-Mechanized Life.¡±


    Tiguak took steps to balance himself, ¡°Isn¡¯t that well, useless?¡±


    ¡°By that logic, so are doctors.¡±


    He conceited to that point with a nudge of his chin.


    The Timebender began pacing back and forth, his bony arms held behind his back, ¡°The use of a thing differs from the need of it, a-ppren-tice. All life starts fleshy, and so is susceptible to natural harm, take your friends for example. If not that then one must consider the future of the profession. While the things that kill us need be instant after we turn, it carries with it the assumption that mechanization will last forever.¡±


    Tig leaned against the door, and peaked passed the tower of books, ¡°Won¡¯t it?¡±


    The mandibles angled, ¡°Nothing lasts forever, young one.¡±


    The door clicked behind him and he turned to the opposite end of the hall. He assumed that comment was a jab at his balance. Or perhaps a prediction. As Tig struggled down the hall, he readied himself for the descent. One step after the other he braved the minute but imposing drops. All ten of them. He took a breath at the bottom.


    ¡°Safe.¡± He breathed with a turn. The top of the book tower seemed to wobble more and more. Carefully, as he waded forwards, his mind wandered elsewhere. Images of Gemjo convulsing on the iron floor almost tripped him. It struck him more than his memories of the village.


    ¡°I will not lose you to.¡± He muttered, braving step after step. If he was to read it had to be in the presence of them. It was only fitting consider how little he could do for them now. A door slammed. Tig started. He thought the last, considerably flatter stretch would be easy. His grip fumbled.


    He was wrong.


    A series of thuds played out before him, and sourly, he scrambled to bring them together. While the first four were relatively close, The Observations of Mechanization Vol. 1 had traveled well across the hallway, stopping short by a half open door.


    As Tig made to the book and crouched to pick it up, he realised that was the door that had been slammed. In fact whoever threw it shut had done so with such vigor that it had bounced back half-way.


    Tig glanced away from it, ¡°None of my business.¡± he said to himself. He took a step, the books trembled. His eyes snapped to the room next to the open one. That was his destination.


    He shuffled awkwardly to the half open room, ¡°That would mean¡­¡±


    He heard her weeping first. He thought it impossible until he saw her himself. The girl with skin as pale as a smoke and a temper as hot as fire was¡­ sobbing. He dared look closer, the books threatening to fall at any moment.


    She was on the floor, her back against the opposite side of the bed facing the far wall. She sat in such a way no one entering would be noticed, nor would they notice her.


    Tig saw her goggles sprawled on the bed.


    ¡°I¡¯m two different people.¡± She confessed with a sniff. ¡°And no one knows.¡±


    Tig stepped back and turned. His back brushed the wall. That was not Remy, at least not the Remy that threatened him, overpowered him, and would most assuredly do horrible things to him in his sleep. No. That was the Remy he saw the night when Venezio attacked.


    His voice box powered on. He whispered in a bout of static and buzz. It was barely audibly, even to himself, ¡°Then we are the same.¡±

 The Living Tower

    A living tower outlined before him, breathing steam far into the sky, and dirtying the blue with greens, yellow and browns.


    Tig had not left the top deck since they neared port. The sight engrossed him, captured him. Kura was no island nor was it a whale constantly on the move.


    It was a tree. One that seemed to grow from the sea. Three great lifts powered by distant ticking gear assemblies hoisted a slew of travelers to the higher branches, while stacks of pipes that curved from the trunk let out massive plumes. That steam intermingled with the green of the cascading bushels which covered much of the oaky trunk. Tig squinted at that wooden base. The tree was both incredibly wide and stubby or, as his eyes drifted down, monstrously tall and skinny. He shivered at the thought. If it was tall, perhaps it grew from the bottom, and no one knew how deep the ocean got.


    ¡°Fascinated are we?¡±


    He recognized Webly¡¯s voice now. It was a warm tone, discerning yet calm and It lacked what he expected, suspicion. He didn¡¯t know. Remy had not told him. Tig became distracted by that, consumed even. It was strange after the first day, curious on the second, and concerning upon the third. His eyes fledged to the passing waters. Remy had every reason to let him know, yet she did not. Yellow lines streaked the blue neatly.


    They came from a thousand lit windows scattered along the trunk and lit up upon the pagodas that pierced the green bushels. There were dozens of the tall strangely layered towers, perhaps more under the cover of leaves.


    ¡°Those towers you see come from sky whale architects, but they¡¯re influence stops short of the very top. Look there.¡±


    Tig followed the man¡¯s outstretched brass digit and stopped short of the massive peak of the tree past the main braches. It was carved in the likeness of a totem. The visage of an eagle sat on top of a lion. Small collections of green stuck out from the cracks of the carving and various birds swarmed around it. It reminded him of chitik designs but he knew they were not. This was of the people who conquered all twelve seas.


    ¡°A mark of the empire, always placed at the highest point to illustrate their authority, much to the displeasure of the investors from the Land Above. I believe the Viceroy lives there.¡±


    He tensed at the word, ¡°There¡¯s a viceroy here?¡±


    ¡°As there is in every island colony.¡± Answered Webly. ¡°Now as for our terms. I will see to it that your friends are all well and good before departing.¡±


    ¡°Then you¡¯ll all stay here? Including the Pr- drunk you captured.¡±


    ¡°Curious exception.¡± Hummed the man. ¡°But yes, it includes our prisoner.¡±


    Shadows swept by as faster ships came into port. Webly¡¯s marble eyes seemed fixed on the boy and his cane echoed against the planks.


    ¡°If you¡¯ll excuse me,¡± he said leading back, his voice growing louder. ¡°Prepare to port! Cover the bodies, we¡¯ll move directly to the wards!¡±


    ¡°Why hide them?¡± muttered Tig aloud.


    The answer came the moment they docked. Flocks of various full turns blocked their path asking arcane questions that matched their hats.


    ¡°What edition is your clock engine?¡± peaked a grey hat.


    ¡°Total use of imperial funds?¡± asked a yellow one.


    ¡°I see half turns, injuries?¡±


    Tig pulled his black coat tight and tugged on the satchel that carried The Observations of Mechanization Vol. 1, the most verbose and hardest to read of the five issued books. There were white hats among the flock, but instead of tools he expected common place for practitioner¡¯s these few held note pads.


    Webly leaned by Tig as his men cleared them a path, ¡°The turns here hunger for knowledge. Anything they know not they wish to. It is the only way to go deeper.¡±


    ¡°Deeper?¡±


    ¡°In there.¡± He said gesturing at the trunk. ¡°If you truly wish to become a doctor this may be your path.¡±


    ¡°I do not envy it.¡±


    Webly let out an affable puff, while the surrounding scholars fell away and the end of the docks balanced into view. Something cold pressed against Tig¡¯s back. He tried to glance back but Remy¡¯s voice made him still in all but his steps. Remy was close. Too close.


    ¡°I¡¯ll give him a tour, Sergeant.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve been here before, Ricci?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve read of it. Better he travel with me than a contingent of blue hats.¡±


    Webly nodded. ¡°Excellent thinking, it would alter his repute here.¡±


    The cold touch grew more present but Tig could not place it. He reached back to feel what had jabbed him.


    It was a round column that led further down to something of leathery then a hand... gloved?


    The object pressed harder and he skipped a step. He caught the distinct glare of his murderer to be and straightened.


    ¡°Right.¡± He said. ¡°I¡¯ll go with her.¡±


    It was a horrible choice on his part, though to say it was a choice was blatant fabrication. Her tour was a rushed one, leading him from Webly¡¯s sight and the far back Timebender before the boy could even muster a word.


    The opening to a tunnel grew incredibly large until its shadow passed over head. There were a few shops and narrow entry ways between almost all of them. Those paths had stairs that led either up or down.


    They walked for minutes before Remy directed him to a particularly abandoned hall.


    She pushed him away and the cold touch vanished. He heard a click.


    A silver barrel centered in his sights when he turned.


    Her voice was a secondary thought, ¡°Our understanding ends here.¡±


    ¡°What understanding?¡± croaked the boy.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it obvious? About you keeping quiet to keep me quiet.¡±


    Tig fixated on the gun. It was a balance that decided the weight of every life. Viceroy or vagrant. True Trimbly or fake.


    With what little sense he could muster he pieced her claim together and summoned the name.


    ¡°The Professor.¡±


    The gun waved, ¡°Yes, him. There are two options for you. Keep quiet and travel back with us to Verace or keep quiet for now until we leave.¡±


    ¡°That appears to be one option.¡±


    She steadied the gun.


    ¡°Yes mam!¡±


    ¡°Choose.¡±


    He lowered his chin, ¡°I¡¯ll stay.¡±


    Her rasping grunt made him flinch.


    He chuckled fretfully, ¡°And keep quiet of course.¡±


    The pistol sheathed, ¡°Good.¡±


    Tig kept his eyes on the weapon, even as she turned from him and studied main road. That gun had him obsessed. Not because it could have killed him a moment a go, well there was that, but mainly due to how it helped her fight blow for blow with Vene, a feat indeed. Even without firing it, its presence commanded fear, an unparalleled strength. It was strength he needed. Five assassins were after him. Even if he wanted nothing to do with fighting them, perhaps a gun would warn them off.


    And not just them. He narrowed his eyes at Remy. It gave him a notable option that, right now, he sorely lacked.


    ¡°How much is a pistol?¡± he asked her.


    Remy flipped back instantly. Tig gulped. Did she consider him a threat? Was asking her another trigger? Remy withdrew her pistol.


    Tig took a breath.


    ¡°Depends.¡± Started the girl, ¡°Are you looking for accuracy, distance, maneuverability or reload ability?¡±


    Tig blinked, ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Well the standard issue silver series offers both long range and a built in revolver.¡± She tapped the side of the gun just above the trigger and a revolver rolled out. ¡°Multiple shots. It also depends on what ammunition you use. Some bullets have a spin to it so you¡¯d need rifled barrels. Though those don¡¯t last as long. Red Rots are terrible for that.¡±


    ¡°You¡­ like your guns.¡± Noted Tig.


    The smile she had that had miraculous spawned upon the topic faded.


    ¡°No one will sell a half turn a pistol.¡± She finished.


    ¡°But you have one.¡±


    She narrowed her brows, ¡°I made Carter.¡±


    ¡°You named it?¡±This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    A frown, ¡°We¡¯re done here.¡±


    ¡°Wait, I¡¯ve no idea where to go.¡±


    She shrugged and turned the corner, ¡°Get lost on your own, Trimbly.¡±


    Tig pressed, louder this time, ¡°Didn¡¯t you tell Webly you¡¯d give me a tour?¡±


    Some onlookers stopped to gawk at where his voice came, only to leave as Tig waved at them.


    Remy¡¯s head popped back over the wall, ¡°Fine, but insult Carter again and he¡¯ll shoot you.¡±


    That was a claim he had little doubt over. Instead he chose to follow Remy at a comfortable gap of ten paces. It was close enough to see where she went, yet far enough to duck away if she changed her mind. Tig nodded to himself. Yes that would do.


    After sometime, he realised ten paces gave him another benefit. It allowed to observe her actions unperturbed by his own presence. The strangest being how she¡¯d duck out into an alley, appear seconds later, and continue on.


    During the third time she did this, he chose to follow her there and found her hunched over the wall, with one hand held out to steady herself and puffing. Beads of sweat rolled off her forehead and sunk into the wooden floor.


    ¡°Not a word.¡± She snapped when she saw him.


    He nodded fervently. He knew that if he asked any question it would be Carter that answered. So they continued, even further into the long and narrowing hall until they were forced to take one of many descending stairs.


    Those steps were even narrower with scarcely any light. Any wandering students heading up would make them hug the walls to let those few pass.


    The halls split into more halls, and those paths led into plazas with further halls connected to it. They had been wandering for hours when Tig asked the inevitable.


    ¡°Are we lost?¡±


    Remy froze up ahead. Her shoulders slumped.


    Tig sighed, ¡°I knew it. Let¡¯s ask for directions.¡±


    ¡°Only if they¡¯re soldiers.¡± She echoed back.


    ¡°But I haven¡¯t seen any blue hats around.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll find them¡­ eventually.¡±


    ¡°Why not ask that man back at the plaza?¡±


    ¡°You do it.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°You heard me.¡±


    Tig dropped a brow and lifted the other. She had other stranger habits which he had only realised after hours of staring at her as she walked. For one she seemed extra careful to not ever contact any others. She always walked with her head lowered and the moment any voice was seemingly thrown her way, she instinctively reached for Carter.


    Tig dared a guess, but to test it directly was too much of a risk. He nodded at her and spoke as he spun, ¡°Alright.¡±


    A devilish grin ticked up his iron jaw as he made away. His vengeance proved nigh.


    Minutes past before Tig reassumed the pathway Remy had fled into. Only now he was not alone. A man in a grey hat accompanied him. He was tall, slender, and with a mix of copper and silver for skin.


    He approached the girl without a word, making Remy take a step back.


    ¡°Well hello, good niss, I was told you needed assistance?¡±


    Remy tried to speak but her words stammered, ¡°C-c-c-cadet Remy Le Ricci.¡±


    ¡°Pardon me?¡±


    She saluted him briskly, ¡°I am a soldier.¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­ I see that. Do you need directions?¡±


    Remy nodded, her hands wavered furiously. Tig snickered in the back. He knew it. The test proved what he had rightly assumed and his day made immeasurably better. He leaned coolly against the wall as it played out.


    ¡°Come again, niss?¡±


    ¡°I s-s-said c-c-counten¡­ hic¡­ r-r-road.¡±


    ¡°Countenance Road? Ah, the navy infirmaries I take it. That¡¯s up from the main hall not down. Here, let me write you directions.¡±


    She bowed a number times and the full turn gave her an easy smile, scribbling on a paper as he spoke, ¡°I know there is a large populace of above landers here, but we don¡¯t exactly practice their customs. You need not bow, niss. Here.¡± He handed her a sheet, which she snatched and fled back in lightning speed.


    The full turn seemed fairly distracted by that as he made his way down.


    ¡°Is she ok?¡± he asked Tig.


    ¡°Oh splendid.¡± Puffed the boy.


    As the man left, Tig focussed on Remy who perched against the wall and puffing. She seemed to ¡®hic¡¯ after every second breath.


    ¡°Not... hic¡­ a¡­ hic¡­ word.¡±


    Tig smiled. He would not dream of it, instead opting to follow her up as the sound of her ¡®hics¡¯ made more and more glance her way, undoubtedly making terrible affliction all the worse.


    They made quick work to the main hall then trekked up one of several upper paths. By the presence of blue hats, Tig knew that had gone the right direction.


    What¡¯s more, Remy seemed to calm around here. He had almost taken to jotting notes about her. He would title it The Observations of Remy Le Ricci Vol. 1 perhaps his finest work.


    ¡°So you¡¯re calm around soldiers?¡± Questioned the writer.


    ¡°Soldiers ask little questions and deliver what needs knowing. They remind me of machines.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re all machines really.¡±


    She spun on her heel and puffed, ¡°If only that were true.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d rather everything be born mechanical?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± She shot back with little delay. ¡°My curse was being born fleshy. Of being expected to do what fleshy things do.¡±


    Her wording recalled memories of a deep chamber with four distant, golden eyes always locked upon him.


    ¡°What exactly does that mean?¡±


    She sighed heavily, ¡°You are no soldier, Trimbly. You ask too many questions.¡±


    They entered the main plaza and the numbers of questions he had only doubled.


    It was a cavern within the tree, the pipes he saw earlier were wide curving things that ran from the wooden floors to large cuts in the room that lay open to the outside. There, just at the edge, he saw a lift raise and click and several soldiers file out.


    He formed a twitching smile, ¡°We could have taken the lift.¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­¡± whimpered his murderer-to-be. ¡°We could have.¡±


    The rest of the cavern was none so grand. Bulbous lights ringed the top of it and an expansive lawn covered much of the bottom. Oaks and olives and shrubberies dotted it. A wooden path slightly above the lawn led to a singular building white and wide that formed the central structure of the plaza. It had two stories with curving eaves that mimicked the design of pagodas. The black tiled rooves seemed grey in the noon light.


    There was a mark on the infirmary, large and red. It was a cross that Tig knew to be the emblem of the Fourth, the patron of health.


    As the two of the made towards it, Tig noticed rounded wooden tables in the distance and a steaming food store somewhere on the far end, no doubt selling oily treats for full turns.


    Remy pushed open the door and peaked back at him.


    ¡°So ends the tour.¡± She groaned, stepping inside.


    The door swung shut.


    ¡°Right.¡± Said Tig. ¡°Tour.¡±


    Inside he saw his future. It was a busy, bumbling place. White hats ran about with clipboards hugged to their chests. Robes seemed to become blurs that sped past into various halls and rooms.


    A cart skated by him and a stretcher nearly missed him.


    Rows upon rows of seats were filled before him, most of bloodied half turns and their guardians.


    A hand tapped him on the shoulder. It was Charles, observing the sight with same repulsion he had losing his face a few days ago.


    ¡°Glad you made it, master Tig. See this? This is the work of the Trimbly¡¯s.¡±


    He flinched, ¡°Are they close?¡±


    ¡°No, I doubt they could breach this place, but the chaos they¡¯ve caused as of late is irreparable. I¡¯ve spoken to some here. Normally these navy infirmaries are for us blue hats, but with the viceroys of islands being targeted one after the other, well even the shortest lack of governance proves damnable. Someone will always get hurt.¡±


    Tig took a step towards them. The Observations of Mechanization Vol. 1 felt heavy at his side.


    ¡°Am I at fault for this?¡±


    Charles scoffed, ¡°You? Why you are just one of many injured Tig. Which reminds me, while you¡¯ve been gone with Ricci we¡¯ve found suitable arrangements for your companions.¡±


    ¡°You must be Tig.¡±


    The white hat who approached him was short and bronze skinned man. He had green glass eyes and overly large specs..


    ¡°This is Dr. Meratmarrag.¡± Said Charles. ¡°He¡¯s the one who had that flower you were searching for.¡±


    The doctor nodded, ¡°Yes, the Zanae Kara. That Timebender of yours is quite the physician for knowing of it. Though I take Nister Cantinio had a word in that.¡±


    ¡°Cantinio?¡± coughed Charles. ¡°Did you say Cantinio?¡±


    The good doctor laughed to that, ¡°I see his name proceeds him.¡±


    ¡°Are they cured?¡± asked Tig.


    ¡°Not completely.¡± Sobered the doctor. ¡°It¡¯s enough to nullify any short term effects but you need more if you are to completely cure them.¡±


    ¡°I see. So you administered the cure. That means¡­¡± Tig started with a whirl, ¡°They¡¯ve awakened!? Which way?¡±


    Charles hesitated before he pointed to his left with a step charged towards the boy, ¡°Third room down.¡±


    The man held him still before he could run off.


    Charles narrowed his black eyes, ¡°To say they¡¯ve awaken isn¡¯t quite right. Perhaps it¡¯s best if you waited.¡±


    The boy shook off the man¡¯s grip, ¡°No. I need see them.¡±


    Charles called after him, ¡°There is nothing worse than seeing those close to you in pain.¡±


    ¡°Then I have already seen the worst of it.¡± Clamoured the boy, already halfway down.


    Charles lowered his hand and tipped his hat, ¡°No. No you haven¡¯t.¡±


    Tig stumbled against the doorway side when he got there. He had ignored the several soldiers who tried to warn him off, easily shaken off their stumbling grasps.


    Now he barely stood with the Timebender besides him.


    Gemjo and Franco were sprawled on their respective beds and convulsing at dizzying speeds. Their cries proved a strange conglomerate of static and whistles. Tig took a step, the Timebender¡¯s raised hand stopped him still.


    ¡°What you see now,¡± began the Timebender, ¡°is the cost of slowing a living thing.¡±


    ¡°Are they¡­?¡±


    ¡°In immense pain yes. Every fibre, ever bit of their bodies is buzzing in phenomenal speed, uncontrollably, hungrily. It is both euphoria and torture. A horrible harmony.¡±


    Tig covered his jaw and whispered into it, ¡°Vene did this.¡± His jaw tightened. ¡°I did this.¡±


    He smelled lavender and cinnamon. Webly spoke behind him, ¡°We¡¯ve kept our bargain, Nister Tig, but it appears you haven¡¯t been entirely honest with us.¡±


    Tig¡¯s expression dropped. He snapped to a nearby Remy who gestured to what Webly had thrust to the side of him, cluttering his view.


    He saw his own iron jawed visage captured neatly upon yellow parchment.


    ¡°My men found these on a wanted board shortly upon entry. I realise this not the best time to inform you, but it cannot be avoided.¡±


    ¡°Yes it can.¡± Hummed the Timebender.


    Webly relinquished his grasp.


    ¡°You mean to protect him?¡± prompted the sergeant.


    His master nodded.


    ¡°And his companions?¡± asked Webly.


    ¡°I could care less.¡±


    ¡°Master!¡±


    The man clicked his head to Tig in mechanical order, ¡°I¡¯ve agreed to train and protect you, not them.¡±


    Webly gestured at a nearby man, ¡°I recognise the girl as the wanted Gemjo. The man, however, is only suspect to being this ¡®Franco¡¯. Call for confirmation.¡±


    ¡°Yes Sir.¡±


    Webly¡¯s marble eyes fixed of Tig¡¯s chocolate specs.


    Charles had just finished his approach when Webly spun to the man then another more rounded figure, ¡°Charles, Pratchet, you two will be assigned to watching the boy.¡±


    ¡°Why always us?¡± said the oncoming Charles.


    Webly smiled, ¡°You¡¯re the best at it.¡±


    ¡°Right right,¡± continued Charles, ¡°so we¡¯re the best at dusting the cabins and swabbing the decks to?¡±


    ¡°Charles.¡± Stressed Pratchet.


    ¡°Oh shut it, Pratchet, you¡¯re half the reason we get stuck in this mess.¡±


    A few of the other soldiers snickered.


    ¡°And you¡¯re the other half, Charles.¡± Finished Webly. ¡°Go, you have your orders. And Nister Tig, or should I say, Tiguak Trimbly?¡±


    That drew worried breaths even from the soldiers Tig knew to have glanced at the poster.


    ¡°You¡¯ve erred horribly in committing any crime with that name. But, I know that drunk coaxed you into it. Between that and the guard you¡¯ve acquired, I shall have you freed of your charges.¡±


    ¡°Sir!¡± snapped Remy.


    ¡°Not now, cadet.¡± Webly¡¯s brows lowered to Tig. ¡°You¡¯re family¡¯s complicated is that right?¡±


    Tig half smiled, ¡°If only ¡®complicated¡¯ did it justice.¡±


    Webly gave him a nod, ¡°Sven, Tobias, Ricci, I¡¯ll have you three contact Navy headquarters. Use General Tat¡¯s authority to have Tiguak Trimbly cleared of his crimes. That includes all the wanted posters pulled off from this city. Am I clear?¡±


    Two slender men in the back and Remy saluted.


    ¡°Yes sir!¡±


    ¡°I-I don¡¯t know how to thank you.¡± Started Tig.


    ¡°Try avoiding crime,¡± answered the man. ¡°And perhaps, become a doctor, a good one.¡±


    ¡°I will.¡±


    ¡°Then pray the next we meet be in better terms Nister Trimbly.¡±


    Webly gestured forward and his contingent followed leaving only Pratchet and Charles behind. Pratchet was a round full turn, stone faced with several dark striations curving around his left eye. Pink quartzes formed his eyes.


    ¡°Hold on.¡± Began Pratchet. ¡°If he is cleared of his crimes, why should we watch him?¡±


    ¡°Well those two aren¡¯t.¡± said Charles with a white chin thrown at the shaking duo.


    ¡°So why not have us watch over them.¡±


    ¡°Unlikely they¡¯ll act on their own. The problem is whether he should collude with them.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± Hummed Pratchet.


    ¡°Those close to me are suffering.¡± Said Tig with a tilt back at Charles. ¡°Nothing worse than that, correct?¡±


    Charles nodded.


    ¡°Well listening to you two bicker just might be.¡±


    Pratchet and Charles shared a glance and awkwardly shuffled.


    ¡°Right, sorry about that.¡± Said Pratchet.


    The silence did not seem to help. Gemjo and Franco remained shaking in unnatural speeds. For moments it seemed silent, despite the ever present roll of cars and calls of white hats.


    He felt a harrowing chasm in his chest. It happened because they followed him. Nothing more. Right now he was the opposite of a doctor. In fact he had been since he was eight. A curse. A blight. He was a poor fool whose only crime was being born. And the only criminal who made others pay for him.


    His satchel shook as he did and he felt The Observations of Mechanization Vol. 1 bump against him. He peered at it. Perhaps he could change. Unbuttoning the tannish cover, he took out the book and flipped through it.


    He nodded to himself. Even if it was the most difficult thing he ever read, he would conquer it. He had to start somewhere.

 Debt (Chapter 20)

    And, on the conclusion of this, the first volume of many, let it be stated that Mechanization is a curse.


    The book shut.


    ¡°Over.¡± Muttered Tig. ¡°Finally.¡±


    ¡°You? Finished? Hours how long has it been Pratchet?¡±


    The rounder man yawned with a quick glance thrown at his pocket watch, ¡°Ten hours perhaps.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps?¡±


    Pratchet waved his chubby hand, ¡°From whenever it was we started.¡±


    ¡°This is why we get singled for these tasks, Pratchet. We worship time. Our entire society thrives off of it, and we two can barely keep it.¡±


    ¡°Not our fault that.¡±


    ¡°Actually I think it is.¡± Wagered Charles.


    ¡°They¡¯ve stopped moving.¡± said Tig.


    The two silenced, and their eyes turned as slowly as their sockets would let them.


    The Timebender held out a bony hand, ¡°Not yet.¡±


    Sure enough, the two reassumed their mad convulsions.


    ¡°But, it is a sign.¡± Continued the Timebender. ¡°The process is working. They are recovering.¡±


    ¡°How long?¡± pressed Tig.


    ¡°It depends on them.¡±


    Tig recalled the third law, ¡°But time accelerates for as long as they¡¯ve been decelerated is that right? Then the length they¡¯ll be accelerated for should be known.¡±


    The Timebender rose a brow, ¡°Not if the duration should accelerate.¡±


    It was a point he could not contest. The Observations on Mechanization Vol. 1 briefly outlined the Laws of Chronodynamics, much of which Tig had hurriedly debased.


    ¡°Oi half turn.¡± Started Charles. ¡°Ten hours must be a pain for you and your half turn needs, better rest a bit, eh?¡±


    Tig shuffled, eyes strewn at his companions. No matter how much he wanted to stay by their sides, the latrines seemed awfully tempting. Even if his needs had diminished given his turn, he was bound by those parts that remained fleshy, ¡°Are you to follow me?¡± he asked quickly, his mind made up.


    Pratchet grunted at Charles as if he had already surrendered the answer. The porcelain mask swished side to side.


    ¡°No, go. You¡¯ll be a free man soon enough anyways. And I doubt you¡¯ll want to go anywhere other than here.¡±


    Tig nodded. Charles was a clever man when he wanted to be. A quick sidestep and he ventured down. How long? The question rebounded in his mind a hundred times. His chin lowered. There remained no answer.


    He spotted a signs leading to the latrines, and found a room white that was entirely empty except another half turn. He made to the first open urinal he saw and fumbled at the zipper.


    ¡°You¡¯re a chitik?¡±


    The voice came unexpected, beside him and past the dirtied separator. The boy was about his height, not as turned and possibly as young.


    His flattened nose and chocolate skin was unmistakable, ¡°And so are yo--¡±


    ¡°I should let you finish.¡± He laughed with a zip.


    Tig met him as the urinal drained in the background. He saw his eyes first, a rich orange, zipping and bright. While he held the same build as Tig, his face seemed the virtual opposite. His turn begun at his forehead. It was a light iron that crept down until it engulfed his top lids and carved an angular crest, splitting by the nose. His jaw still had skin and bones and flesh, while a bit of stubble poked out the end of it.


    Knotted black hair with saffron tips stretched behind him. That bundle turned, and the rushing water quieted to a stop.


    ¡°Am I the first chitik you¡¯ve seen?¡±


    Tig shook his head and spun the tap, ¡°Was I staring?¡±


    ¡°Or admiring.¡±


    Tig cracked a smile. The rush of water parted in static and the creak of his voice joined it, ¡°I¡¯ve this habit, you see.¡±


    The boy leaned by the counter and crossed his arms. The white of his jacket seemed to meld into the marble counter, ¡°They say those who stare, admire the spirits in things back in my village,¡±


    The flow ended, ¡°if only it was that. Your first assumption was correct. You are the first in a long while.¡±


    ¡°Then we are the same.¡± Said the boy, extending a hand of wood and stone. ¡°Anu.¡±


    The flow ended and Tig returned the shake, ¡°Tig.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re hand glows.¡±


    ¡°Yes it¡¯s part of my turn.¡±


    ¡°Fascinating. And have you studied it? Discerned the cause? It could have unseen implications to finding a cure¡ªah!¡± He leapt his feet and pulled at his jacket, stretching the white fabric. ¡°I study medicine here. I¡¯m still in the lower levels, sub twenty five, but I¡¯ve gotten promising results. You?¡±


    ¡°Medicine as well. Though I¡¯ve only just arrived, so none of what you said made sense.¡±


    He chuckled to that, ¡°Perfect, then let me give you a tour.¡±


    Tig¡¯s grin grew flat and his eyes wandered behind his goggles, ¡°Already had one.¡±


    Anu clutched his wrist before he knew it. ¡°Come on!¡± urged the chitik, drawing him towards the door. ¡°Let¡¯s give you another.¡±


    They were out of the hospital in seconds and running. Some soldiers parted far ahead to let them through. Others spied at them curiously. Tig drew his head down.


    ¡°Look up!¡± puffed Anu between steps. ¡°Can¡¯t run properly otherwise.¡±


    Tig frowned, keeping behind him all the while. He could not fathom Anu¡¯s intentions. It was preposterous, damnable and absurd in every way. Until he listened. That was when the world expanded. What once was clouded by Remy¡¯s back and some far-fetched fear became real. And it spread an eternity above.


    Kura was more than its long and crowded halls. It was a library. An unrestrained monster of texts and scriptures. Unnumbered books stuffed unnumbered rows all along the high halls of Kura. This continued to the main paths, down the descending trips and even into the main plazas where the two slowed for some breath. Small clockwork machines flew about collecting various books off the highest shelves. One zipped overhead and Tig narrowly ducked it.


    ¡°Hours what¡­ ?¡± It was a wonder why he had not seen them before.


    Anu scratched his stubble, ¡°Uh, ticks. They¡¯re the manufactured residents of Kura and the pets of librarians. If you ever need a book they¡¯ll find you it, granted that books lies in the areas you have access to.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± Said Tig.


    ¡°Watch.¡± Anu placed two fingers just under his lips and blew. It was a short, curving whistle, one that was followed by a tick that flew down to meet them.


    Tig studied it curiously. Its whole body was the size of his head. That is if a head, torso and shell could be considered a body. Two golden rimmed specs, centered by a fluorescent blue, constituted its eyes. The beetle shell and cap was a brass gold and three spindle arms jutted on either side, constantly twitching in insectoid motions. It clicked and whirled as it awaited commands.


    Anu levied a stone digit at Tig¡¯s satchel, ¡°What book you got in there?¡±


    ¡°The Observations on Mechanization Vol. 1.¡± he recounted woefully. ¡°Just finished it.¡±


    Anu nodded and flashed a brass watch he had hidden under his sleeve, one that, curiously, did not move.


    ¡°Bring me The Observations on Mechanization Vol. 2.¡± Commanded Anu.


    Tig shifted, ¡°You really didn¡¯t need to--¡±


    ¡°Nonsense! This is the perfect opportunity to show you how it works.¡±


    The tick buzzed to life and its head spun completely around. After a few internals clicks and clacks it shot in some esoteric direction.


    Tig¡¯s eyes followed its ascent for as long as he could before it vanished into the endless heights. He knew he had to read far more to become a doctor but he secretly wished that machine would get lost in its journey.


    ¡°Takes sometime but they come through. Oh.¡± He said lifting his watch, ¡°You¡¯ll need one of these.¡±


    The watch was a brilliant, gold inlaid thing. Tig scoured it for details. The second hand was near the five minute mark, the minute hand was stuck a little before two and the hour hand remained a sliver passed twelve.


    ¡°I¡¯m on the twenty fourth level, close to the twenty fifth should I pass the next test.¡±


    ¡°What¡­¡± Tig spied around, ¡°levels?¡±


    Anu smiled. His answer was a downward gesture.


    ¡°How deep do you think this tree goes, my friend?¡±


    ¡°The bottom of the ocean I assume.¡±


    ¡°And how deep is that?¡±


    Tig swallowed. No one knew. He didn¡¯t think anyone did.


    ¡°Do you¡­ know?¡± he ventured asking.


    Anu shook his head and his bundle became a metronome, ¡°Only librarians and those who complete all the levels truly know and those who do never return. If you¡¯re pursuing the same course as I then know that you¡¯ll need reach the sixtieth level before you¡¯re fully qualified.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s it? I reach that level and I¡¯m a doctor. Why, you¡¯re nearly halfway there.¡±


    Anu gestured forwards and the two continued, more ticks rushed overhead.


    ¡°It gets harder. And the tests you pass to get there determine what degrees you get.¡± Said Anu. ¡°Each level becomes a test of the previous level and the answers are not always at your level some are not even on Kura.¡±


    ¡°You mean you have to travel?¡±


    ¡°Anu!¡± cried an approaching girl, ¡°Was that your tick you sent out?¡±Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°That was certainly his whistle- sha.¡± Said a boy besides her.


    ¡°Cinder, Hau. Meet my new friend, Tig.¡±


    ¡°A chitik, hours.¡± Hushed Cinder. She smiled at Anu, iron plated cheeks rising high. ¡°Finally, one of your kind.¡±


    Tig noticed the visible bits under her grey robe were smoldering and bright. She had orange rings for irises and coals for pupils and everything else. She was a Tangata, an imperial people who had beaks instead of noses, black burning feathers and talons instead of feet. Her turn seemed to have shifted her beak into a glinting tungsten and her most her feathers into jagged obsidian.


    The boy beside her was fleshier to say the least. Tig wagered he were a cross between an Above Lander and an Imperial. Tannish skin, single lid eyes, lean black hair and round build. He had barely turned, much like Franco. In fact, all that was mechanized was his left ear, now silver and glinting. His grey robes were baggy, too big even for him.


    The three of them were locked in conversation and gleefully laughing. Tig shied away only to be snapped back into it by Anu¡¯s abrupt slap on the back.


    ¡°I intend to give him a tour.¡± Declared the boy.


    ¡°Well, don¡¯t want to stop that-sha.¡± Grumbled Hau. ¡°Promise to meet by the up spot-sha.¡±


    ¡°Where else?¡±


    ¡°Bring your new friend to.¡± Said Cinder.


    ¡°Our new friend.¡± Corrected Anu.


    The three of them confirmed it with easy smiles.


    Tig followed their exits and thought back, the figures at the dock began to make sense, ¡°So to really improve here, you need to travel?¡±


    ¡°Or money and lots of it. Knowledge is everything in the great tree. Some lose everything to it, others get rich. That¡¯s my plan by the way: getting rich. There¡¯s a tournament on the seventh sea in a month or so. The prize is a key the scholars will pay nine hundred cogs for, perhaps even a sprocket.¡±


    ¡°A s-s-sprocket?!¡±


    Anu smiled, ¡°You¡¯re a man of little fortune, much like myself. Indeed, a sprocket. Imagine it my friend. One of the lone turned remnants of the old king¡¯s living gold. Could last you a lifetime that, speed up your learning if need be.¡± His eyes wandered and fixed. ¡°Speaking of that, come this way.¡±


    Anu led him to another hall on the far side of the plaza. The moment he pushed the door open, a couple grey hats rushed by and nearly toppled Tig.


    Anu caught him by the hand at the last moment.


    ¡°You seem more aloof than most chitik I¡¯ve known.¡± Said Anu.


    ¡°I¡¯ve a lot on mind.¡± Said Tig. If only that was the half of it.


    ¡°Come on!¡±


    Anu pulled him forwards and the two ran haphazardly, skipping two steps at a time on occasion and quickly meeting each step near the bottom. The stairs spiraled and a door finished the end.


    Air howled by when it opened and the sight of a long, circular pathway revealed itself. Dozens of ticks zoomed by. A parapet covered the circumference. Tig ran to the railing and leaned into it. Four more storeys of similar layers led to a green middle area where a large oak sprouted and toped near the third level from the bottom. Hundreds gathered by that middle garden. Small tables and hazel gazebos dotted the verdant expanse. All of it bright and blinding.


    Covering the tops of his goggles, Tig peered up at where the light came. It was night and yet it seemed to be daytime in the chamber. In fact it had been that way all through out. Just as he had remained ignorant to the ticks, and the books, and the ceilings, Tig had not questioned the impossible light.


    ¡°Light bending.¡± Said Anu. ¡°There¡¯s a machine on the eightieth floor that fashions it. They say a clock engine bends light captured in a tiny crystal and illuminates the entire tree by itself.¡±


    ¡°Incredible.¡± Hushed Tig. He glanced at his hand and remembered the Gatekeeper. The blue glow swam in his chocolate specs and beyond that, books.


    Bookshelves lumbered on either side of him and even more shelves after those, continuing all the way along the circle. A quick glance at the next level and the next revealed a similar pattern.


    Anu patted his black coated shoulder, ¡°Worry not, my friend. If you managed to finish the Observations I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll pass to the fifth level at least. Down there.¡± He said pointing at the garden.


    ¡°How long have you been here?¡¯ asked Tig focussing on those greens.


    ¡°Two years.¡± He said coolly. ¡°Not much to do back home, not since then anyways.¡±


    That struck him hard. Tig stepped back, ¡°Perhaps I should go.¡±


    ¡°Why? We¡¯ve only just begun.¡±


    The door creaked as his back brushed it, ¡°It¡¯s my friends. They¡¯ve been hospitalized and I promised I¡¯d see to them.¡±


    ¡°Oh! Practical training. Care if I join you?¡±


    Tig hesitated. Perhaps if Anu strayed from the topic he would be ok. Gemjo was a northerner and she didn¡¯t know. He could ask the soldiers to stay quiet, blackmail Remy if need be. He pressed the door further and paused.


    ¡°Two years?¡± he began despite his better judgement. ¡°As in after you underwent the awakening ritual?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    ¡°Then you can call spirits?¡±


    Anu¡¯s black brows lowered, ¡°You can¡¯t?¡±


    Tig stumbled, the door balked against his weight, ¡°I well, uh, it¡¯s complicated.¡±


    Anu stepped close, ¡°You¡¯re a chitik but you can¡¯t call spirits? What village are you from?¡±


    ¡°Again.¡± He stressed. ¡°Complicated.¡±


    Something other than ¡®friend¡¯ seemed on the verge of flicking off his tongue. Tig could feel it.


    ¡°One more question,¡± Prompted Anu. ¡°What is your father¡¯s name?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s¡ª¡±


    ¡°No it¡¯s not. Even orphans are taken in by stray villages and raised.¡±


    The door opened further and two students passed him by.


    Anu was his opposite in every way, not just in his turn. If he made a choice he stuck to it. If he wanted answers he got them.


    ¡°Who, Tig?¡±


    Tig straightened his posture. A first name, that¡¯s all he wanted. Tig considered the unlikely scenario. Perhaps it was a common one? His eyes flicked to Anu and stayed there. He had to try.


    ¡°Toklo.¡±


    Half turned teeth grit and a hand clawed at Tig¡¯s face in blinding speed. Tig stammered back, forcing the door past its hinges. His hands had raised in self-defence, but a defence too late. The chocolatey filter he had over the world had vanished. Slowly, he felt at his bare lids. Found them warm, damp. His eyes exposed. Naked.


    ¡°The image of the blue moon inked in black.¡± breathed Anu. ¡°Mother Merivya¡¯s curse, the mark of the traitor child.¡±


    The man from six years a go had called him the same thing. He had insisted upon it until his final breath. So Tig insisted upon the reverse, ¡°I¡¯m no traitor.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re alive aren¡¯t you?¡± spat Anu. His stone palm slammed against the door. ¡°Can you say the same about the others? About the third of our people that perished?¡±


    ¡°No I--¡±


    Anu jabbed him the chest, ¡°Can you say the same about my father, Yutu, hunter of man?¡±


    Tig pushed him back and climbed the first few steps, ¡°I am not the one who killed him.¡±


    ¡°Who are you then? Why did you survive?¡±


    It was a question he asked himself the instant he smelled fire, when those awfully memories gripped him and made him wince at his own cruel thoughts. He only knew of the answer his adoptive family gave him.


    ¡°Tiguak Trimbly.¡± He said, his eyes wavering, ¡°And I am not them.¡±


    Tig ran the rest of the way back. His surroundings blurred in browns. It was strange thing to have a name that turned others into enemies. It was his curse as much as mechanizations was everyone¡¯s. Only he had not known it in Verace. Not as pronounced. He was protected there, guarded. It made him wonder why his family insisted upon him staying there.


    Perhaps it was to protect him.


    He slowed near the final ascent. Some blue hats pushed past him. No, they were wrong, they were murderers. They were monsters, red hats, criminals, villains and¡­ his family.


    No matter how hard he tried to escape that fact, it would always claw back at him. Cursed or not.


    ¡°Tig. Tig!¡±


    The voice was Charles and it was closing.


    ¡°Tig!¡± he repeated now seconds ahead of him. ¡°Hours there you are. Come quick!¡±


    ¡°Have they¡­?¡±


    ¡°Just come will you?¡±


    Tig followed him wordlessly. Now he could think of nothing other than Anu. There were no chitiks around that much was apparent. But what of Anu himself?


    ¡°Your goggles break, half turn?¡± asked Charles as he pushed the hospital door.


    Tig felt at his face and realised it still bare.


    ¡°They may have¡­ fallen off.¡± He lied.


    ¡°Right, hopefully those friends of yours recognize you without them. Didn¡¯t think I would till I saw you slump. One of kind that slump.¡±


    Tig managed a smile. Sometimes Charles could be clever, other times he became a fool who happened to know just what to say.


    Pratchet was by the door and yawning, he double took when he spotted them.


    ¡°Ah, Nister Tig, We¡¯ve been awaiting you.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re soldiers, Pratchet, not butlers.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± Said with a lazy salute, ¡°Nister Tig, sir.¡±


    ¡°Tig?¡± the voice came from within. It was riddled in yawns and creaks and one of a kind.


    Tig jetted into the room.


    Gemjo was frowning utterly and completely. More so at him than anything else.


    ¡°So I got poisoned, frozen, and sped up and your course of action was intrust me in the hands of the navy?¡±


    ¡°Army actually.¡± Corrected Pratchet.


    The Seawolf stretched, ¡°Same thing, different hat.¡±


    Tig ran and tumbled at the last step. He lifted himself to a knee, and with snot dribbling out his nose and eyes balling, he hugged her.


    Her tired frown quickly shifted to warranted shock. Her tail straightened out and stilled.


    ¡°What¡­ what is this?¡± she wheezed.


    ¡°I believe its called relief.¡± Spoke Pratchet.


    ¡°Right, well will you relieve me of it?¡±


    He pulled out of the embrace, sniffing madly.


    She blinked at him, ¡°You¡¯re eyes have moons in them.¡±


    ¡°Moons you say?¡± said an instantly curious Charles. He wandered to their sides and kneeled to Tig¡¯s sitting height. Even then he had to tilt his head to meet the boy¡¯s eyes. ¡°Oh my, blue crescent moons.¡±


    Gemjo¡¯s frown remained, ¡°The blue is positively shimmering off your snot.¡±


    Tig swept it with his hand and re-clutched her shoulder. Her half open eyes fell to it and stayed there, her jaw slowly dropping.


    ¡°Anyway.¡± He sobbed. ¡°When Vene did that to you I couldn¡¯t¡­ I ¨C it was my fault. If you hadn¡¯t met me you wouldn¡¯t have gone through any of that.¡±


    ¡°That much is obvious.¡± Sighed the Seawolf.


    ¡°You¡¯re not mad?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m alive aren¡¯t I?¡± said the Sea wolf. ¡°Besides it¡¯s not that I chose to meet you or that bumbling drunk. It just happened. Much the same way your murderous brother happened upon us. One moment we were running the next, incapacitated. And now if my luck wasn¡¯t rotten enough, these two idiots are here to arrest me.¡±


    ¡°For stealing a ship, Niss.¡± Said Pratchet.


    ¡°Why isn¡¯t he in chains?¡± she said nudging her head at Tig.


    ¡°He was granted clemency, Niss.¡±


    ¡°For?¡±


    ¡°Getting dragged into a stolen ship by a bumbling drunk, Niss.¡±


    By now, Gemjo brows had dropped immeasurably low, her voice equally so, ¡°Free me.¡±


    ¡°We do not have the authority, Niss.¡± Noted Pratchet.


    ¡°So what do you have? Blue hats, dumb names, and voices that¡¯d better serve pigeons?¡±


    Charles shrugged, ¡°She¡¯s right you know.¡±


    ¡°Charles.¡±


    ¡°I mean look at us? Soldiers? No. Cleaners, half-turn sitters, the lowest of the low. I say we free them and become vagrants.¡±


    ¡°Charles.¡± Repeated Pratchet, stretching the word.


    ¡°Stick it to that slave driver Webly I say. There¡¯s over a hundred levels in this god awful tree, let¡¯s get lost in one.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s this about Mutiny?¡±


    Charles turned crookedly to the brass man now behind him.


    ¡°Sergeant Webly, sir. I was only contemplating the hypothetical, unlikely scenario that on the occasion we should oppose you, how you¡¯d easily route us out. Squash our lowly existences if you will.¡±


    ¡°Your existence isn¡¯t lowly, Charles.¡±


    ¡°Sir¡­¡±


    Webly crouched low to meet charles¡¯ height. A wicked grin curled on the sergeant¡¯s pointed face, ¡°Yet.¡±


    ¡°Sir?¡±


    ¡°So this one requests clemency?¡±


    ¡°As a matter of fact, I deserve it.¡± Added Gemjo


    Webly nodded and produced a pad, ¡°Right then.¡± He started. ¡°Lets us record the facts shall we? What is your name?¡±


    ¡°Gemjo of clan Yuka.¡±


    ¡°Reason for being on that ship?¡±


    ¡°Fell asleep on the job.¡±


    Tig¡¯s happy expression quickly reassumed his usual cover of disbelief. There was no shame in her voice as she said that.


    ¡°Reason for staying?¡± scribbled the man.


    ¡°Wanted posters.¡±


    The pen stopped, ¡°You¡¯ve little faith in the military if you stayed away from us that long. Why is that Niss Gemjo?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re idiots.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± Webly flipped the paper. Tig held back a laugh as he saw it. Far from the list Webly had supposedly compiled, what lay before them was a number of fees relating to services on board and in the hospital.


    ¡°Th-th-thirty cogs!?¡± Choked Gemjo.


    ¡°You missed a zero.¡±


    Gemjo fell over, her steel arms over her eyes, ¡°Alright take it back. The cure failed. I¡¯m dead.¡±


    ¡°You know you could pay with service to the military.¡± Offered Webly.


    That was it. Tig knew it then. It was Webly¡¯s plan all along. He knew of the powers of the Sea wolf and long coveted one on his team. Tig nodded fervently. It was genius. Everything until then was a ruse. He turned to Gemjo expecting her response.


    ¡°No.¡±


    The genius plan failed.


    ¡°And do you have three hundred cogs laying around?¡±


    ¡°I will, in a few months.¡± She wagered.


    ¡°I doubt that.¡±


    Gemjo pulled Webly close and he winced at the strange drip on her arm, ¡°I¡¯ve a treasure stashed away on an island of owl creatures. I can give you a map. Three hundred cogs? Try three fifty.¡±


    ¡°And why did you leave it there?¡±


    ¡°We were sold off as slaves.¡± She said matter-of-factedly. ¡°In no way was I going to barter with slavers.¡±


    ¡°Wise choice, but your proposition requires extra work on our part. Why would we go then?¡±


    ¡°Well there is something--¡±


    Tig had pulled her low. ¡°Not that.¡± He snapped.


    ¡°Not what?¡± asked Webly.


    ¡°We¡¯ll pay.¡± Said Tig. ¡°One day, not now, consider it a loan.¡± His brows lowered and he remembered Franco. He spun to him and saw him huddled in the corner, eyes locked on the beige walls. ¡°Is the payment doubled with Franco?¡±


    Webly rose to his full height, his expression an immediate shift, narrow and telling, ¡°No. I owe a relative of his a great debt.¡±


    ¡°A Cantinio?¡± asked Tig.


    Franco spoke up to that, ¡°I¡¯m no Cantinio.¡±


    ¡°Franco¡­¡± began Tig with a rise.


    ¡°Forget about me Tig.¡± He spouted, his arms squeezing his knees. ¡°I betrayed you. This.¡± He said gawking at his own silver hands. ¡°This was the price of my failure. Just go, take Gemjo, even that Professor and leave me.¡±


    Tig took a step but Webly stilled him. The brass man shook his head and continued ahead, stopping shortly by Franco.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± snapped Franco.


    ¡°I knew your grandfather.¡±


    Franco flinched, ¡°You¡ªbut, so what? I¡¯m not him. Never will be with him gone.¡±


    ¡°He was afraid of heights.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Ever since he was a half turn he was deathly afraid of heights. He could never hold his liquor, terrible with women-- the absolute worst-- had a running stutter others ruthlessly made fun off and he got sick a lot. Hours, he¡¯d spend half his morning vomiting oil into the latrines.¡±


    ¡°But he--¡±


    ¡°He was all those things as well as a great man, the greatest I¡¯ve known in fact. And you tell me, with a man like tat as your grandfather, you¡¯d rather cower here? Good god man, you¡¯re only afraid of the sea!¡±


    ¡°Only.¡± Quivered Franco. ¡°Huh. Only afraid of the sea. I never thought of it that way.¡±


    ¡°If you have half the qualities of that man and that is your lone weakness imagine what you¡¯d be if you overcame it.¡±


    ¡°The greatest.¡± Started Franco, quiet at first. ¡°And not just the greatest.¡± He said standing. ¡°No! Greater than that. I, Francisco Santos Carlo el Cantinio will be the man to¡ªMffflmfffl.¡±


    ¡°Surpass Fron.¡± Laughed Tig, covering his mouth. ¡°Definitely that.¡±


    ¡°If that is his goal. I support it.¡± Hummed Webly.


    Charles ambled to Webly¡¯s side, ¡°Sergeant Webly, are you¡­ crying?¡±


    ¡°Tears of disgust soldier. An unnamed fluid appears drenched in my coat.¡±


    ¡°Um, sergeant Webly?¡± quirked Tig.


    ¡°What is it boy?¡±


    ¡°Suppose we have one last visit with Professor?¡±


    ¡°Whatever for? He¡¯s the bumbling drunk who got you in this mess.¡±


    ¡°A farewell.¡± Said Tig. ¡°Though a bumbling drunk he may be, he¡¯s also saved my life. I owe him a farewell at least.¡±


    ¡°Admirable.¡± Grunted the sergeant. ¡°Very well. One visit, chaperoned and before we leave. That should be within a week once we resupply. That work for you?¡±


    Tig smiled, ¡°Splendidly.¡±

 Rival

    A small man in a rounded frame lapsed his green eyes over a list of scratched names. He flipped the paper over and fixed on one name in particular.


    A couple of knocks intruded his mess of a room.


    ¡°Come in.¡± he squeaked in his shrill voice.


    The door clicked and a lithe copper women in a white robe sashayed in, ¡°Have you finished the list, Doctor?¡±


    ¡°Not yet, Miss Esther. But this name fascinates me.¡±


    The table creaked as Esther leaned on it back first, ¡°You say the same about every new registration.¡±


    ¡°But this half turn.¡± He said tapping the paper. ¡°He makes me wonder.¡±


    ¡°What is his name, doctor?¡±


    The stout doctor collected his papers into a stack and chuckled briefly, ¡°Why Esther, you of all turns would know.¡±


    Esther had the head of a mannequin, so when she grinned or laughed it appeared almost robotic. Her eyes were black and blue rings transfixed in white space, her head was bald under her white hat.


    Her fingers played an invisible piano upon the edges of the table, while that mannequin head toppled to the side.


    She practically hissed the words, ¡°And why, dear doctor, would I know that?¡±


    ¡­


    A simple week turned into the longest he¡¯d ever known.


    Dr. Meratmarrat noticed it first. Perhaps it was his job to notice. There were dents on his arms. Bruises by his unturned stomach. A broken rib, maybe two. All of which lay comfortably hidden under his black jacket.


    Just as the Timebender arranged, Tig saw to his two friends as part of his practical training. He quickly learned that meant as an assistant of assistants. He¡¯d fetch dressing for the wounds, little injections of toxin neutralizers and buckets of hot water and rags.


    On occasion, the Timebender would let him watch the dressing process but never partake in it, confining him to spend his time reading more and more books, so by the fourth day he had already finished volumes two and three of Observations on Mechanization. He was on his way to retrieve the fifth volume when Charles tasked him with the most unfortunate chore.


    A golden watch glimmered under his sleeve, it was sullied with dirt and scratches.


    ¡°This is ridiculous.¡± Complained Remy. ¡°Why must I accompany you?¡±


    ¡°Charles complained you got him lost. Twice.¡± Said Tig.


    ¡°Because travel within this tree requires it. How am I supposed to be create pathways that aren¡¯t there? Bring forth tunnels at a command? Tele¡ªHow did we get here?¡±


    ¡°We took the path labeled Main Plaza.¡± He answered.


    ¡°Impossible. I saw no sign.¡±


    Tig pointed up. There were signs upon every pathway, each indicating clearly as to where they would lead.


    ¡°How often do you look up?¡±


    ¡°Enough¡­¡± she trailed.


    Tig formed a line with his brows and mouth. Somehow his first gander into the wonderful world of Kura made painful sense.


    He slid his wooden fingers across his half iron muzzle and repeated himself, ¡°So did you catch that? Follow the signs, look up to read them.¡±


    ¡°You think me a fool?¡±


    ¡°So long as you carry Carter, I cannot. Right let me show you the first level.¡±


    Remy gripped his wrists before he moved further, ¡°You¡¯re dented.¡± She noted.


    He pulled it away. ¡°I fell.¡±


    She squinted at the arm and clutched her chin.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Calculating to trajectory of your fall to produce such a dent.¡±


    ¡°I tripped.¡±


    ¡°Unlikely. Unless you fell on a boot.¡±


    Tig pulled his arm free and hid it, ¡°Yes,¡± he said. ¡°In fact I did fall on a boot.¡±


    ¡°In what manner?¡±


    ¡°The falling kind.¡± He elaborated. ¡°So the first level. If you apply my steps of looking up and reading you should¡­¡±


    His speech fell away, his eyes locked on a trio traveling in the distance and closing.


    ¡°We should head back.¡± He decided.


    Remy seemed transfixed by the signs in the distance. The trio were closing. They would spot him any moment now. He had to act. So he spoke again before she could take a step, ¡°Bet you don¡¯t know the way back.¡±


    A twitch, a draw, and a click. It was worth it. Remy angrily marched the entirety back, armed all the while. Carter seemed to be her favorite and notably lethal counter.


    ¡°A tournament?¡± she asked moments before entering the hospital.


    Tig glanced at a sheet of paper she had been holding. A whole board of the adverts strayed steps away from the Hospital¡¯s front.


    ¡°Ah that. They say it¡¯ll be held in the seventh sea.¡±


    ¡°The prize is the key of Seven.¡± She said, fixing her goggles as she peered at the text. ¡°It could be vital resource to the army.¡±


    ¡°Is that all you think of, the army?¡±


    ¡°That or new parts for a¡ªahem, that is none of your concern.¡±


    He glanced at the edges of the parchment now sticking out her hands.


    ¡°Well if I won, I¡¯d sell it for a sprocket.¡±


    He awaited her aghast reaction at the mention of sprockets. All he got was a raised brow.


    ¡°Is that all you think of?¡± she echoed him. ¡°Money?¡±


    Tig pushed the door, ¡°Don¡¯t underestimate what money can do. With money, it doesn¡¯t matter what you do in life, just why you do it. I want that.¡±


    Remy stayed silent for minutes as they walked the long hall.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t mind if money truly did that.¡± she said at last. ¡°But it doesn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°How would you know?¡±


    Carter pressed against his back. She spoke in a whisper, ¡°I¡¯m rich.¡±


    The bare chested Franco stood crossed armed by the doorway to his room and the gun lowered.


    ¡°Cantinio.¡± Said Remy.


    ¡°Ah, the famous Remy Le Ricci, the one who took on Venezio Trimbly and nearly won.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± She said. ¡°Until she defended Tiguak Trimbly.¡±


    Tig peaked in the room to see if Gemjo was inside. He spotted her lazily sprawled and scratching her side. He smiled, lazy or not she had been fast returning to normal.


    His upturned lips quickly contorted as he spoke, ¡°I was just showing Remy how to properly navigate Kura. Wait.¡± He started, spinning to Remy with a finger levied at her. ¡°Did you just say my name correctly?¡±


    ¡°Is there any other way to pronounce it?¡±


    ¡°Hah! Franco.¡± Called Tig. ¡°That is how you say my name.¡±


    ¡°Tij?¡±


    Remy shook her head, ¡°No Ti-gu-ak, the ¡®g¡¯ is formed at the back of your mouth.¡±


    ¡°Ah.¡± Said Franco with a snap of his silver digits, ¡°So it¡¯s silent then?¡±


    Tig plopped his hand on his head. He sighed towards Remy, ¡°Forget it. It¡¯s hopeless, Remeaux.¡±


    Remy raised a hand to contest that when Gemjo cut in.


    ¡°Oi, you two, ditch the blue hat for a moment.¡±


    The two turned to Remy, then Gemjo and back to Remy again.


    ¡°You¡¯re conspiring.¡± Accused Remy. ¡°Definitely conspiring.¡±


    Gemjo snarled lazily, ¡°Who says we¡¯re conspiring, princess?¡±


    ¡°Princess?¡± muttered Remy.


    Gemjo raised to her wolf feet tiredly. Her tail swept the ground in her wake, ¡°Aye, you. Lil¡¯ niss noble. Ricci was it? Rich girl, huh? The only thing us poor folks conspire about is what we¡¯ve got to eat and whether or not we¡¯ll end up as scrap come the morrow. Now do you want to hear all that, princess?¡±


    Remy had already reached for Carter as she gobbed a response, ¡°As a matter of fact I--¡±


    Gemjo closed the gap between until her breaths brushed the tip of Remy¡¯s nose, ¡°What is that? Silver plated? Just how rich are you to silver plate a gun? Ah, that¡¯s it. You¡¯ve come to mock us, eh? And is that?¡± She audibly sniffed. ¡°Gunpowder perfume? Good talk. Well heard. If you want to stop us from conspiring, try getting a blue hat that reeks better than you do.¡±


    Remy¡¯s face had gone cherry bright when Gemjo finished. ¡°You know what?¡± She sneered. ¡°I will.¡±


    She puffed and turn extravagantly. Her stomping echoed well after her.


    Second passed before Gemjo glanced back at the other two and wandered back in the room, ¡°That¡¯ll give us some time.¡±


    ¡°You mean you planned that?¡± asked Tig, following her closely


    Gemjo scratched her ear, ¡°I wasn¡¯t having some blue hat listen in on us.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re conspiring then?¡± guessed Franco.


    Gemjo stopped short between the two stretcher beds, ¡°Ofcourse we¡¯re conspiring.¡±


    Tig pointed at the Timebender, still in the room and enjoying an oily tea, ¡°And him?¡±


    Gemjo shrugged, ¡°Future problems. Now, our escape.¡±


    Franco nodded, ¡°I¡¯ve thought of it too. We¡¯ll rent a ship.¡±


    ¡°Better steal one.¡± Said Gemjo.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    ¡°Steal?¡± scoffed Tig.


    Gemjo rolled her eyes, ¡°You have any idea how much renting a ship costs? Even a sloop requires a down payment of two hundred cogs.¡±


    ¡°Wait. Wait!¡± stammered Tig. ¡°We¡¯re not even sure we want to leave. Timebender, surely you have a say I this?¡±


    The old turn lowered his cup, ¡°This tea is delicious.¡±


    ¡°Useless.¡± Sighed Tig. ¡°Well I say we stay, at least until I can reliably heal you two.¡±


    The tea cup clattered against the porcelain and the trio turned to the Timebender, ¡°Gemjo and Franco are still poisoned. It is in their best interest to go.¡±


    ¡°An avid reminder, ol¡¯ chap.¡± said Franco. ¡°While I am terrified of the large, consuming, endless, dark¡ªyou know what, I¡¯d rather survive. If that means crossing that you-know-what, I will go. Tig, are you with us?¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± Tig lowered his chin. It was a damning choice. He had to become a doctor. He just had to and while travel did lean itself to gathering knowledge it did not equate to learning the traditional, safer way. Even if that way happened to have three very moderately sized obstacles.


    ¡°I can¡¯t.¡± he said shaking his head. ¡°Not yet. I¡¯ve still much more to learn. Maybe in a year, perhaps two, I¡¯ll join you.¡±


    ¡°Two years?! Hours Tig, we¡¯ll have toppled a quarter no half the Navy by then!¡±


    ¡°Right. Half. So you¡¯re leaving us?¡± said Gemjo.


    Tig nodded. It was decided, ¡°It¡¯s my only chance at doing what I need to do.¡±


    ¡°But what you don¡¯t want to do.¡± Finished Gemjo. ¡°I can¡¯t say I understand you, but I won¡¯t push you. Too much effort that. So if you¡¯d rather not get implicated, get lost.¡±


    Tig frowned, ¡°Gemjo.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s right Tig.¡± said Franco.


    Gemjo gave him a lazy smile, ¡°We¡¯ll call you back when it¡¯s time to change the bandages.¡±


    The Timebender nodded and the door shut behind him, muffling the voices that played after. Tig traveled the rest of the halls with hands stuffed in his coat pockets and his steps long and measured.


    His arms throbbed, his ribs burned but more than anything his head dizzied. There might as well have been fireworks there, cups clanking and the wizard tower always in the distance. He was back in Verace again.


    He thought of escape, that ever distant door, the outstretched bronze hand and the willfully stupid wish. What was it really if only that, a dream?


    Dr. Meratmarrag woke him from that dream. The small, strange faced doctor had been waiting by the door.


    ¡°Nister Trimbly. Have you made up your mind?¡±


    ¡°Yes Doctor, I¡¯m staying.¡±


    ¡°Excellent choice if I may say so. Young turns these days rush too much. I can arrange for your first exam at once.¡±


    Tig pushed open the door, ¡°I¡¯d like that. But give some time for now.¡±


    He steeled himself as he passed it and studied the grass emptily. Another day awaited him. Not escape. And all another day meant was more bruises and the slightest read of a book.


    ¡°Tig.¡± The word was spat, directed. Anu. Tig shivered up. They had followed him.


    Cinder had been punching her hands together as if that made the already fiery metal assailant any worse. Hau had his teeth grit and his chin upturned. While Anu stared, only stared.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to fight.¡± Called Tig.


    Silvers veins bulged on Anu¡¯s temple, ¡°Enough of your feeble wishes. Fight us this time. Show me that Trimbly blood that boils in your arteries.¡±


    Tig balled his fists, ¡°Doctors heal people.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve killed more than you¡¯ve healed.¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t killed anybody!¡± retorted Tig.


    ¡°Tell that to my father.¡± Anu snapped his fingers, ghostly winds swirled around him. Some of the soldiers in the courtyard stopped to watch. Always watching.


    Tig readied himself. He knew where the attacks would come. He could blunt them off with his arms to avoid any serious injury. He winced as the burning in his ribs got worse and he darted his eyes between the three of them. The problem was the other two.


    ¡°You¡¯ve an unpaid debt, Trimbly.¡± Said Anu stretching his arms to the side. ¡°And I mean to collect.¡±


    The blue winds that swished around him were spirits and every chitik used spirits differently. Anu¡¯s style reminded him much of his father¡¯s, that is, each blue spectre would deliver a blunt force.


    The spirits rushed. The other two charged. Seconds now, steps.


    Then silence as a shot had echoed through the chamber. Several of the on-looking soldiers had reached for their guns, heads zipping about.


    ¡°Who interfered?¡± roared Anu, levelling a finger at Tig. ¡°He¡¯s Tiguak Trimbly. The same Trimbly as the ones who filled that hospital.¡±


    A menagerie of angry eyes surrounded him. No wonder they watched.


    Her steps crunched before her. Smoke billowed form Carter.


    Remy Le Ricci spoke with her gun hovering on Anu and her back to Tig, ¡°I did.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re friends with the navy?¡± laughed Anu. ¡°Really? You need them to fight your battles?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t ask for it.¡± Said Tig.


    ¡°A soldier protects.¡± Answered Remy.


    Cinder and Hau had retreated by now.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go, Anu.¡± Said the Tangata. ¡°That¡¯s the same Ricci that fought Venezio Trimbly. She¡¯s strong.¡±


    The grit of his teeth was audible.


    ¡°No.¡± He barked with a running start. Anu was as fast as Tig and seemingly fearless.


    The next shot missed and Anu had Tig by the collar. He held the boy even as Carter pressed against the side of his head.


    ¡°Fight me, damn it. Fight me!¡±


    Tig fought back his grip. ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Why?!¡±


    ¡°Because I¡¯m to be a doctor.¡±


    Anu pulled him close, his grip tightening, ¡°You, a Trimbly? Becoming a doctor?¡±


    His head tilted to the side as Carter pushed against it.


    ¡°Unhand him.¡± Ordered Remy.


    ¡°Wait.¡± Said Anu with his orange eyes darting to the girl. ¡°I¡¯ve an offer. It¡¯s in his best interest.¡±


    The gun lowered. Anu continued, ¡°There¡¯s a sparring ring, upper levels. Fight me there, one on one. No Cinder or Hau nor your soldier girl. Do so and whether you win or lose I¡¯ll leave you alone.¡±


    ¡°You mean it?¡± wheezed Tig.


    Anu nodded briskly, ¡°I swear by my ancestors.¡±


    ¡°Alright.¡± Said Tig, letting his arms fall to his side. ¡°The ring it is.¡±


    Tig¡¯s boots scraped the floor as Anu thrusted him back.


    ¡°We leave at once.¡± Said the boy gruffly. ¡°Follow me.¡±


    Remy stood in front of him as the boy shrank to his friends.


    ¡°He¡¯s lying.¡± She put it bluntly.


    ¡°Perhaps he is.¡±


    ¡°Then why did you accept?¡±


    Tig glanced away, ¡°Because if there¡¯s even a chance he¡¯s not, I need to take it.¡±


    ¡°To become a doctor?¡±


    ¡°You knew?¡±


    ¡°The melancholy of one Trimbly is enough to permeate the ranks of us sevens, disappointing as that may be. Even to the point of distracting the Sergeant,¡± she said that with a sigh and reached in her coat, momentarily producing a slim notebook. Its cover was green, leathery and warm, ¡°Take this. If you are to fight that vagrant might as well use magic you¡¯re familiar with.¡±


    He spotted an inked pen alongside the book as he accepted it, ¡°Written magic. I¡¯m surprised you knew that to. Though I would have preferred a gun.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re too young.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m as old as you!¡±


    She studied him from top to bottom, ¡°Perhaps physically but you lack the same maturity.¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± Tig caught a distant Anu scowling at him and tapping his foot expectantly. ¡°Nevermind, it seems I need go.¡±


    Two steps and the fabric of his jacket tugged back. The silver glint of the hand holding it engrossed him.


    Remy dared not meet his eye, ¡°I¡¯m coming along. Know that should you¡¯re life be endangered I will interfere.¡±


    ¡°No, this is my fight. I don¡¯t want any others injured.¡±


    Her brow furrowed, ¡°I wasn¡¯t asking for permission.¡±


    The thought of involving her made him sick. He was the opposite of a doctor again and he wanted nothing more than to change that. He could think of only one way.


    He lowered his chin, ¡°I won¡¯t let him endanger me then.¡±


    Following Anu led them to the main hall then up another. This one, as Tig realised, lacked the long unending bookshelves that populated the lower levels. Instead, shorter paths blotted the sky at varying levels, painting the oak pathway in subtle shadows.


    The path they were on led up a slight incline and into a plaza with an open skyline. Tig spotted pagodas close by, jutting out the cover of a forest growing on a massive branch. They were bits of grey and browns in ocean of green. Ticking gondolas ran atop tracks spiralling along the tree¡¯s expanse.


    A fountain spewed in the middle of the mossy plaza and clockwork birds flew by in swarms. Yet another tunnel opened halfway across the space. Hordes of mechanized denizens travelled to and fro the elevated entry.


    They kept on it nervously. Every step onwards was a step into the unknown and one high and higher. The tunnel split apart a dozen times and on each occasion Anu made quick, practiced work of it, Cinder and Hau always close by. Most of the tunnels had tightly packed metal houses with lamps lit by them and within. The final tunnel became the exception.


    In place of the usual wall side structures stood ten angled roof manses with walled grounds. Five on each side.


    Each ground was marked by strange symbols Tig knew to be the language of the Above Landers. While the people themselves loitered around. Remy seemed to shrink as strangers glimpsed their way.


    ¡°Fighting schools.¡± She croaked, making herself scarce behind Tig.


    He could hear the coordinated huffs within the various gated schools. The flocks of turns had matching outfits based on which school they came out of. Some wore long red robes with golden trims, other bore glossy grey shirts and trousers, a white lion¡¯s head engraved on the back.


    And another group wore strictly white garments. Tight top covers and puffy white pants and, strangest of all, white straw hats with long similarily white ear like extensions.


    Tig cocked his head at one these turns, ¡°They look almost like¡­¡±


    ¡°Rabbits.¡± Sneered Remy.


    Tig found that odd how she said that, even as she seemingly cowered behind him as they paced, there was the purest discontent in her tone. So much so it was notably different from her usual discourse.


    He wondered just what she had against rabbits, but only wondered. He lowered his head as Anu vanished into the far hall. The sounds of sparring were evident in the kicks, cries and blunted impacts. Right now, he had to fight a fruitless battle.


    A pavilion opened before him. Three colosseums as wide as galleons sat underneath a cavernous roof supported by natural wooden arches. Light from the clock engine spilled from the very center of the ceiling.


    Anu had been talking with a half turn Above Lander by the left coliseum when Tig and Remy made to them. He was dressed in the white outfit Tig saw earlier.


    ¡°But Anu, we¡¯ve got practice here, brother.¡±


    ¡°This is important, Renshi. All I need is thirty minutes.¡±


    ¡°Half an hour?¡± Renshi glanced by way of Tig and nodded. ¡°If that is all, maybe, but no more you hear me?¡±


    Anu clutched his hands together and bowed deeply, ¡°Honor to you, friend.¡±


    Renshi bowed back, his long black hairs falling with him, ¡°And to you, brother.¡±


    When Renshi left, Anu made to main the door of the coliseum and gestured Tig to follow him.


    The height of the ornate iron doors was a testament to the high walls of the building as were the menacing spikes that dotted it at equal lengths.


    The room darkened as they entered. A bright light glimmered at the end of it. Gears and the distant of pounding of colossal clockwork played somewhere between the endless arches.


    ¡°Close,¡± said Tig as he saw Anu, Cinder and Hau engulfed by it. He hid the book Remy gave him within his coat and finished the last steps. Light blinded them as a dusty field expanded ahead. Rows upon rows of seats circled above the tall walls. All were empty.


    ¡°No one to see you fall. Pity.¡± Echoed Anu now at the center of it. His goonish companions fled to a far side.


    Remy, who had mostly recovered in the absence of strangers, made to a place opposite of Anu¡¯s friends.


    Tig lifted his jacket slightly and peaked at the green notebook Remy had gifted him. ¡°Rules?¡± He asked.


    ¡°None. Fight with anything you got. Be it magic, fist or weapon.¡±


    ¡°Well I have a rule.¡± Said Tig. ¡°No killing.¡±


    ¡°You think me your kin, Trimbly? I am no criminal. But,¡± said Anu, cracking his stony knuckles, ¡°I won¡¯t stray from teaching you lesson.¡±


    He raised his hand to that and Tig steeled himself.


    A series of finger snaps echoed and what followed was a bombardment of blue strokes through the air, each as strong as Anu¡¯s fists.


    Tig managed barely to block each of the hits, but the pain made him a blunted blade. An ethereal strike connected with his gut. He stumbled back. Steps resounded and when he reared up, something hard pushed his chin.


    The sight of Anu, one knee up, greeted him. Anu spat and closed the distance with a running punch. Tig knew there would be no delay, no moment to think. All he could do was block it with his elbows.


    The impact shook him. It was a heated strike, yet one of immeasurable anguish. Anu followed it with another then another. He was relentless yet slow.


    ¡°I could do nothing.¡± Cried Anu, drawing his fist back. ¡°Nothing when he was killed.¡±


    Another blow echoed loud. Stone against metal. The plates in his arms creaked horridly. Something cracked. There was pain in those punches. And not just for Tig. For each hit was a memory. Frustration. Anger. The terrible revolt of a creature lost in grief. In those punches Tig saw the image of a boy bloodying his fists on a wall, challenging the enemies he could never face.


    Then, tired of his own monotony, Anu aimed lower. Stone crunched against un-mechanized flesh. Wounds opened. Tig balked back.


    ¡°Did you know how my father spared yours? Huh? Did you?¡±


    Tig shook his head, his hand covering his churning gut.


    Anu paced ahead of him, fists quivering madly, ¡°Yutu, the great hunter of man. The elders tasked him with finding Toklo and when he did my father discovered a man who remembered nothing of his past ruthlessness, a man who seemingly begun anew in a far off border village. Yutu spared him.¡±


    Anu snapped his fingers and a blue fist sent Tig sprawling, one wooden hand held loosely over his cheek.


    ¡°My father showed mercy and not two years later that killed him.¡±


    Snap.


    Another blow, the other cheek.


    ¡°So why is it you try little to finish the job?¡± asked Anu.


    ¡°We¡­ are¡­ not our fathers.¡±


    ¡°Fight me.¡±


    Tig shook his head, ¡°No.¡±


    Anu¡¯s lip twitched in fury. He made to snap his fingers but stalled himself, ¡°They say even the wounded stone seal will fight when it enters the jaws of death.¡±


    Tig stood up straight. ¡°I said I won¡¯t fight.¡±


    ¡°Then I¡¯ll make you.¡±


    Tig clutched his jacket making Anu pause once again. A series of chuckles escape the Trimbly. He had heard enough.


    ¡°I take it you got everything you need out?¡± asked Tig.


    ¡°What are you scheming at Trimbly?¡±


    Tig smiled, a black pen tumbled between his fingers. He flipped open his jacket and caught the pen with the tips of his fingers.


    ¡°If you¡¯re done,¡± said Tig, lowering his chin, ¡°Then it¡¯s my turn.¡±


    His opponent realised it too late. Before he could snap his fingers or even think to move, Tig wrote two lines on the paper and shut it.


    Anu flinched, ¡°What did you¡­¡± He gasped and lowered his hand. His breathless expression shifted into one of outrage. ¡°You snake!¡±


    ¡°Minor binding spell.¡± Revealed Tig. ¡°Your fingers on either hand are now bound to your palms.¡±


    Anu puffed, ¡°I thought you knew nothing of our ways, Trimbly.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t. But I know you snap your fingers before you attack.¡±


    Anu took a step, ¡°Then I¡¯ll pummel you.¡± He tripped on the next, ¡°Gah!¡±


    ¡°Again.¡± Started Tig. Ashes fluttering beside him, ¡°Minor binding on your ankle.¡±


    ¡°Who trained you!?¡± He spat.


    ¡°The best.¡± Answered Tig. ¡°Though I¡¯d rather a simpler method.¡±


    Cinder and Hau were about ready to pounce. Hau more so, ¡°He¡¯s cheating- sha.¡±


    ¡°Anu, let us help you!¡± called Cinder.


    ¡°No. This is nothing.¡± Anu turned to Tig. ¡°You could have fought back all this time and yet you waited to fight me. Why?¡±


    ¡°Not to fight. To restrain.¡±


    ¡°So this entire time you were studying me?¡±


    Tig¡¯s eyes fled low. ¡°Yes and¡­ no. I haven¡¯t done anything wrong, but I did survive. Perhaps I thought I deserved your cruelty. Even then, know that fighting me will do you little good. Not for you nor your father.¡± Tig swished his arm to the side and his pen nearly escaped his grasp. ¡°It won¡¯t bring him back.¡±


    ¡°Silence!¡± snapped Anu, struggling against the binds. ¡°This is the only way to honor him.¡±


    ¡°There is no honor in this.¡±


    ¡°Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up! I don¡¯t want to hear that from a Trimbly.¡± He stumbled up, his ankle stretching unnaturally as he did. ¡°Nor¡­ will I lose to one!¡±


    ¡°Stop.¡± Cried Tig. ¡°You¡¯ll hurt yourself!¡±


    His orange eyes quivered, his exposed ankle contorted and he dared a step.


    He didn¡¯t make it.


    A red cape obscured the boy and a blade sounded against flesh, a hollow shunk. The glint of a steel edge flashed. Black blood dripped off the tip of it.


    ¡°I told you didn¡¯t I?¡± started the figure in red, turning his masked guise to meet the boy, ¡°I told you I¡¯d come, brother.¡±

 Guided by Silver

    The boy¡¯s body skid across the dusty floor leaving a trail of blood splotching behind him.


    Again. It happened again.


    Tig drew scores of shallow breaths and flicked his eyes from Vene to Anu. Remarkably, the boy who had just been impaled stumbled to a knee.


    ¡°I won¡¯t¡­ lose.¡± He said with blood oozing out his mouth. ¡°Not to¡­ Trimblys.¡±


    Vene took steps towards him, ¡°This one¡¯s a chitik.¡±


    ¡°Vene stop this.¡± Said Tig.


    His brother¡¯s mouth frowned and contorted, ¡°Look at you Tig, look what they did to you.¡±


    ¡°Vene I--¡±


    A bullet zoomed by. Vene spat and jumped into flight.


    ¡°You again.¡± He scowled, directing his voice far.


    Tig snapped to Remy by instinct, her gun was steaming.


    ¡°Venezio Trimbly.¡± She shouted back. ¡°You¡¯re guilty of multiple murders and the chaos caused by them. Today you answer for your crimes.¡±


    ¡°Guns make awful restraints. Tell me, soldier, do you have the authority to kill me?¡±


    Remy lowered her weapon.


    Vene snorted, ¡°Only in self-defence is that right? Or if I actively try to attack another?¡± Vene flapped his red wings and spied at Anu fleetingly. ¡°That one will die anyways. All I¡¯ve come to do is collect my brother.¡±


    ¡°Remy!¡± cried Tig.


    She grit her teeth, ¡°He¡¯s right, I can¡¯t shoot.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t shoot.¡± Bellowed Tig, turning back to his brother. ¡°I¡¯ll go, just leave them alone.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve changed brother. What happened to your fraught resistance?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing worse than seeing those you love suffer.¡± Tig eyed Cinder and Hau as he said that. ¡°Take Anu to Doctor Meratmarrag, he¡¯s the only one who can save him now.¡±


    Perhaps too frightened to disagree, the two ran around the flying Vene and made to Anu.


    Vene descended as they helped their friend up, his voice played before him, ¡°You¡¯ve seen it now haven¡¯t you? How this world treats us? Dejects us? We¡¯re killers, we live through fear.¡±


    Tig clutched his book and its thin bindings creased as he dug into it, ¡°I¡¯m no killer.¡±


    Vene met the ground and started towards him, ¡°No, I know that. Believe me, I¡¯m the only one in our family that understands you. They want you to fight. Me?¡± he said pointing at himself. ¡°I only wanted you to defend yourself. But now I think you should stay in Verace where we can properly defend for you.¡± He pulled his mask to the side and his long talons recoiled. ¡°It¡¯s what¡¯s best.¡±


    With Vene before him, Tig felt the horrible truth of it claw at him. No matter what, no matter how much he struggled, Vene was right.


    He saw Hau and Cinder helping Anu in his peripheral and shut his eyes, ¡°I want to be a doctor, brother.¡±


    ¡°You?¡± scoffed Vene. ¡°A doctor? Hours, you¡¯re a Trimbly.¡±


    ¡°I know, I just know. This is my path.¡±


    ¡°You are a Trimbly.¡± Stressed Vene.


    Tig narrowed his brows and faced the man, ¡°I¡¯m also Tig.¡±


    There was a pause as Vene searched Tig¡¯s eyes, blue moons and all.


    ¡°Tig, be serious. Who would entrust us with their lives? I would love to endorse your dream, but it¡¯s impractical.¡±


    ¡°I could name three.¡± Hushed the boy.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Three people who would entrust their lives to me, maybe¡­¡± he said glancing at Remy. ¡°Four.¡±


    A fiery pain consumed him as Vene grabbed his arm.


    ¡°My foolish foolish brother. You¡¯ll be home soon.¡± He slid his mask back and his steel talons grew. Air rushed as his wings beat. Tig could do little to refute his brother, the pain kept him from resisting. A moment now, Tig knew, a moment and he would be gone.


    ¡°Venezio.¡±


    The wings froze. Tig blinked and turned. The sound had come from a place without light.


    ¡°Leave him for now.¡±


    He swore he knew that voice, he could almost picture the slim figure of the woman who said it. Why she was there was another matter which he could scarcely begin to imagine.


    Yet it had to be that woman otherwise Vene would not have let go and not wordlessly so. It was in the way Vene glanced at him last that told him what he needed to know.


    I¡¯ll come back for you.


    He flew up a moment later and darted to where Tig thought he heard the voice. His retreat was marked by Remy¡¯s approach.


    ¡°Are you unhurt?¡±


    Tig laughed meekly, ¡°No.¡± his eyes wandered to the darkening tunnel. Anu and his friends, now gone, had managed to dent every part of him that was metal and bruise the bits that weren¡¯t.


    Remy sheathed her gun as she circled him, ¡°You fell on a boot.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t sound smug about it,¡± he hissed standing up.


    ¡°You lack logic, Trimbly. If you are repeatedly beaten to the point of incapacitation, no amount of tutelage will help you save any one. It seems you¡¯d need to either run from them or get strong enough to properly face them.¡±


    ¡°Then what? Hospitalize them?¡± Tig winced as he said that. The bloody blade cutting out of Anu flashed before him.


    ¡°Self-defence is perfectly legal.¡±


    Tig hadn¡¯t the words. He stormed out the coliseum door instead, The Basics of Anatomy pummeling his side.


    ¡°Where are you going?¡± asked the still standing Remy.


    ¡°To those who need me.¡±


    She paced until she was walking besides him. She seemed on the verge of speaking even as Tig wanted nothing of it. Still, her presence was a wanted one. Vene could have been out there and Remy was one of two people he knew who could fight the man. Of course if his assumption proved right and that woman was here, he¡¯d doubt even the Timebender would survive the encounter.


    Strangers stared as they rushed through the halls, but Remy continued all the same, ¡°If you suffer so under your family¡¯s name, why not join the army. Surely then you could properly dispatch those murderers.¡±


    ¡°But I don¡¯t want to dispatch them.¡±


    She cocked her head, ¡°But you suffer because of them.¡±


    ¡°Would you murder your own father?¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± she lowered her head and raised it a moment later. ¡°That depends. What did he commit in this hypothetical case?¡±


    ¡°Does it matter?¡±


    ¡°Based on imperial law, yes it does.¡±


    ¡°Well it¡¯s not about that. Look. Families are complicated.¡± His throat buckled to that, his favorite word. ¡°I don¡¯t love them, but I can¡¯t bring myself to harm them. They¡¯re murderers, yes, but they raised me.¡±


    ¡°Their name alone should give you reason to rebel.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s more than their name Re¡ªNiss Ricci, it¡¯s who they are.¡±


    Sea air greeted them by the open plaza. The shadows of gondolas blotched the sun kissed grasses.


    ¡°Then,¡± she started as she stilled, ¡°will you head back to Verace? My offer stands.¡±


    ¡°That was the plan when Vene was there but if he¡¯s truly left for now, I¡¯ve a more pressing matter.¡±


    ¡°That is?¡±


    Tig half smiled, ¡°You¡¯d accuse me of conspiring if I told you.¡±


    Her brows narrowed.


    ¡°Right, no point in hiding it. The south seas where the Zanae Kara grows. The others needed it for their treatment, but with Anu hurt I think I owe it to him to go.¡±


    ¡°So long as you do it legally.¡±


    ¡°And now you know my new plan.¡±


    Her brows eased and she saluted him briskly, ¡°Then I wish you good luck, Tiguak Trimbly.¡±


    He spoke up as she whirled abruptly, ¡°Where are you going?¡±


    ¡°A Trimbly is here, and you¡¯re safe for now, I need warn the others on the ship.¡±


    ¡°Ricci.¡± He said before she left again. ¡°Please, no matter what, don¡¯t kill them.¡±


    Still and silent, she strayed for longer than he expected before she gave him the nod he needed, ¡°Promise.¡±


    As he turned, he noted a crowd of temple students returning back to their quarters. They blocked his path, delaying his trip for some time. It gave him a moment¡¯s respite when he thought he had none and with nothing more to do than wait, his eyes fell to Remy.


    He watched her meld into the collaged crowds. Seconds surrendered to minutes and minutes a dozen more. Cogwork canaries fluttered overhead. He became ensnared by the peace of it. A fountain flowed nearby, loud and crystalline. Small half turns giggled by it, kicking the water gleefully while full turn women and men ambled about in fine corsets and black tailcoats. Some of the women carried ornamental umbrellas. Hats of every color mixed with those covers. Every color except red.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    Red was the color of his family, the shade that marked them different from all else. It was the one color he could not be, the one hat he could never wear. He took a step away from the plaza and a stranger bumped into him.


    He gazed at the thin half turn now steps away and caught him bowing slightly and running on the spot. He had a violet hat, open vest and puffed pants.


    ¡°Sorry ¡®bout that. Honest mistake.¡± He said smiling with gears clicking where his jaw had been. Lines stretched from his mouth over his eyes and grew brightly from the yellow lamps that were his eyes. His skin seemed a dark silver with a satin finish. Strands of copper wire looped from under his hat.


    Tig nodded and figure vanished behind the crowds. That turn seemed many things but not a scholar as his hat suggested. More so, he had a light on him. Tig stared at his own flickering blue hand and remembered how Anu had studied it a week prior in utter astonishment. He blinked. Anu.


    Tig spied in the direction of the lower tunnels as urgency returned to him. The path had cleared, and Anu needed help. If he was lucky, Gemjo and Franco would still be there.


    He ran to make up the difference. Casually strolling full turns became blurs as he rushed by them, and the flap on his open satchel pounded against the leather ceaselessly. Soon, the endless libraries appeared before him. Ticks dodged him nimbly and he navigated the halls in expert fashion.


    He was close now, minutes away. His heart beat ruthlessly but he did not care. When he slowed near the hospital, the obscured metalwork soldiers became defined and ticking. Their blue hats wavered about as he stared at them off-mindedly.


    They did not know. Venezio Trimbly had arrived in Kura and not one of them seemed the wiser. It made him question just what kind of ¡®defence¡¯ the Navy truly brought. He thought of Anu. Clearly they did not do enough.


    The hospital settled in his sights, and, as he entered he saw drip of blood leading the way. A small crowd buzzed around the room his friends had stayed in.


    Even seconds away he could hear ¡®Trimbly¡¯ uttered in worried breaths. He could see Anu inside with several white hats congregating around him.


    ¡°Tig?¡±


    He spun with her name on his tongue, ¡°Gemjo.¡±


    Franco stepped ahead of her, arms crossed and eyes bulging, ¡°He¡¯s here then?¡± asked the man.


    Tig nodded, ¡°Came for me and by the looks of it you know what he did.¡±


    ¡°Everyone knows, Tig.¡± spelled Franco. ¡°Hours it¡¯s only been a few minutes since he got here but the whole building¡¯s buzzing.¡±


    ¡°As will the city.¡± Entered the Timebender, pushing through the crowd. ¡°It appears I have let my guard down. The boy¡¯s been poisoned the same as these two. Dr. Meratmarrag¡¯s remaining medicine will only delay what is it to come, unless¡­¡±


    ¡°We find the flower.¡± Said Tig.


    The white eyes on the man narrowed, ¡°You are wounded.¡±


    ¡°Not by Vene, by them actually.¡±


    ¡°By the victim?¡± asked Franco.


    Tig laughed a little and rubbed the back of his head, ¡°A long story, a week-long in fact. But never mind that, I¡¯ve changed my mind.¡± He paced to where he could catch a glimpse of Anu and tensed when he saw Cinder and Hau weeping by the bed side. ¡°It¡¯s my fault he¡¯s hurt that way, so I¡¯ll take responsibility for it.¡±


    Gemjo grunted as she leaned against the wall, ¡°A determined fool. You¡¯re the opposite of me in every way, Tig.¡±


    ¡°Would my opposite kindly accompany me to the southern seas?¡±


    ¡°So the original plan.¡± Surmised Gamjo.


    ¡°Except for one key difference.¡±


    ¡°You?¡± yawned the girl.


    Tig shook his head, ¡°No, the locket.¡±


    ¡°Right the locket!¡± beamed Franco. He frowned immediately after. ¡°What locket?¡±


    Tig peered down the hall and spoke quickly, ¡°Back on the slaver¡¯s ship we met a witch doctor who gave us a locket. Said should we ever travel to southern seas to bring it.¡±


    ¡°And where is it now?¡± asked Franco.


    Gemjo shivered and Tig cast his eyes lows.


    ¡°The Professor.¡± He answered.


    Gemjo¡¯s lowered brow dropped further, ¡°You think that will make the difference? A piece of metal that happens to be cursed?¡±


    ¡°He owes us a debt so we should collect.¡±


    Gemjo sighed, pushing herself off the wall, ¡°Can¡¯t hurt I suppose. Except for the extra work it has me do.¡±


    ¡°The Zanae Kara is a rare flower even where it¡¯s from, perhaps our man will know more of where to find one,¡± argued Tig.


    Gemjo was already slogging down the hall, waving her steeling hands behind her and swishing her tail like a metronome, ¡°Yes, yes, you¡¯ve utterly convinced me.¡±


    Tig caught up to her, Franco a close second.


    ¡°I take it you¡¯re only going to avoid debating it?¡± Said Tig.


    ¡°Says a lot about my options.¡±


    Tig paused and caught the Timebender standing by the door.


    ¡°You¡¯re not coming?¡± asked the chitik.


    His mandibles stretched, ¡°I never said I would.¡±


    Tig tried to argue, but even then he couldn¡¯t, ¡°You¡¯re right. We¡¯ll be back soon anyways, just going to get that locket. It¡¯s just if Vene attacks, I--¡±


    ¡°Return when you wish to learn. That is all I have to say, apprentice.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± Laughed Tig. ¡°I¡¯m overreacting.¡±


    ¡°Mind reacting closer to the door?¡± bellowed Gemjo.


    Tig nodded and made towards her. Though he knew he¡¯d return, he could not help but glance back every few steps at the old bony man.


    Even as they pushed open the hospital doors and covered the grassy paths, the image of the Timebender standing there replayed in his mind.


    Leaving the Timebender there made him worry. He thought it was fear. He wished it was fear. Something in his gut told him it was simpler, worse. Emptiness.


    Tig became the guide for the two who had been hospitalized for a week. He had been through those halls a dozen times but for them the wonder of Kura was forged a new.


    The massive library, the unending ceilings, the realisation that they walked within a giant tree that knew no bottom made Tig wish he had more excitable companions. Had Gemjo been more than half awake and Franco not been deathly afraid of the blue expanse up ahead, perhaps Tig could have enjoyed the pleasure of reactions.


    For now there was little obstructing them, little giving them even the slightest pause as they trudged through the ever expanding tunnel.


    Until a screaming blue hat ran past him. Tig blinked, pointing back over his shoulder.


    ¡°Was that Charles?¡±


    Another man, much rounder and equally familiar ran by in similar fashion, screech and all.


    ¡°Ah and his bumbling companion.¡± Noted Gemjo.


    ¡°Why are they¡­?¡±


    More and more blue hats ran by, each, as Tig noticed, were members of the Sevens.


    He heard its buzz first when they made out the darkened tunnel. All three pairs of eyes rolled high.


    Tig swallowed hard. Either Webly lied or someone left the engine running. The shadow of caravel brushed overhead of them.


    ¡°The ship¡­¡± trailed Tig.


    ¡°Well there goes the locket,¡± said Gemjo.


    Tig spun to her, ¡°And the Professor!¡±


    ¡°Right and him.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s far,¡± said Franco. ¡°Even with a small clock engine we¡¯d require speed to get up there.¡±


    The ship seemed to float and more into the distance. It reminded him of his own endeavour. No matter how close he got it seemed further and further away. His iron chin dipped.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t even read the Basics of Botany.¡± He muttered. He remembered it was on the ship and sitting in that miserable room where the two beside him stayed. ¡°Wait.¡± He thought out loud, his head rising. ¡°By the Hours I have it!¡±


    ¡°The Basics of Botany?¡± asked Franco.


    Tig shook his head and plopped two fingers in his mouth just as Anu had done it. Then he whistled, a sharp, high pitched tone. He repeated that over and over in quick bursts until Gemjo seemed ready to render him unconscious.


    When he ended his mad recital, he gestured towards the dark tunnel behind him.


    ¡°Gemjo, take off your scarf, Franco, you sash.¡± Directed Tig, removing his own jacket. ¡°Jump when I say so and use your clothing as hooks. They¡¯re coming.¡±


    ¡°Who?¡± asked Franco.


    A distant buzz answered. Here and there some of the turns who had entered the tunnel ran out of it. Others ducked into halls.


    Gemjo stumbled away with her scarf in hand.


    ¡°No.¡± said Tig.¡± Stay there. We wait.¡±


    ¡°Again.¡± Said Franco. ¡°For what?¡±


    The buzzing became distinct. Dozens of shadows covered them and Franco¡¯s expression dropped. They zoomed close, seconds before impact.


    Tig yelled it then, cupping his mouth with one hand and flashing his watch with the other, ¡°Get me The Basics of Botany.¡±


    A hundred glimmering blue eyes flicked to where the ship was leaving and Tig turned to his companions. ¡°Jump!¡± he called.


    Six feet launched off the wooden floor and three pieces of fabric caught on to brass. The tick of countless clock engines followed.


    Tig shut his eyes as he felt his body jostle. A cool, rushing breeze washed over his exposed skin. Franco¡¯s frantic cries intermingled with the deafening buzz, and Tig opened his eyes.


    They were high. Ludicrously so. The turns underneath seemed like bottles, seconds later they were specs. Tig imagined what it might have looked like from below. Nearly fifty ticks escaping Kura, glinting madly in the evening sun.


    Of course nothing could best the view from above. The entirety of the tree came into view. It was glorious, gigantic, a monster even from up high. The coat tightened in his grasp. He managed a look at the other two. Franco was thrashing about madly while Gemjo¡­ He frowned. Gemjo was yawning.


    What came next took a crane of his head. The ship was close and nearing. Despite how larger the vessel was than the ticks, it lacked the same speed of the smaller creations.


    The railings flashed before them and they crashed against the deck, fabric and all. Tig stumbled up.


    Franco was hyperventilating besides him. Gemjo had already risen to her wolf feet, re assuming her scarf.


    ¡°So we¡¯ve made it.¡± She said with little surprise. ¡°That was something.¡±


    ¡°That!¡± breathed Franco. ¡°That was insane. I almost died! We almost died! Tij what were you thinking!?¡±


    Tig shrugged, ¡°It worked didn¡¯t it?¡±


    Franco¡¯s jaw waved up and down, ¡°Yes but¡­ but¡­¡±


    ¡°Now the locket.¡± Said Tig with a flip to his feet.


    He entered the cabins first with the other two behind him. Strangely the ship was empty of soldiers. He saw the odd hat here and there, but heard no voices.


    He made quick work of the stairs leading down then the second flight to the prison. He froze when he got there. The cell door was open.


    ¡°He¡¯s gone.¡± Hushed Tig.


    Gemjo brushed by him, plugging her nose to the stench of liquor. ¡°More importantly, who¡¯s driving the ship?¡± she asked in her nasally tone.


    They met each other in the eye. Tig considered the unlikely scenario, ¡°No¡­¡±


    Running, the trio traversed the cabins, crossed the whole of the main deck, and tumbled into pilot¡¯s quarter, which rested by the bow of the ship.


    The metal door guarding the end of a long glass sided path spun and three heads popped through.


    They saw his dirty blue coat first, the glint of the bottle on his arm rest second. His arm slid haphazardly and the bottle toppled low, spilling foul liquids everywhere.


    ¡°Hours damned. Another¡­ hic¡­ good drink. Oh.¡± His goggles eyes floated up wobbled at them. ¡°When in the Twelfth fine arse did you get here?¡±


    Tig stepped forwards his brows contorted in disbelief, ¡°You were a prisoner. You were locked down there and¡­ and¡­¡± He stopped short of a sitting figure fast as sleep and slumped against the wall. ¡°Is that Niss Ricci?¡±


    ¡°Oh aye, tried to apprehend me she did, so I gave her a quick knock on the head. Tap, shlap, thwap. Always does the trick that.¡±


    ¡°Unbelievable.¡± Scoffed Tig. ¡°You stole their ship¡ªa Navy ship.¡±


    ¡°A ship¡¯s a ship, mate.¡± Said man turning the wheel with one hand and madly swiping at his fallen bottle with the other. ¡°Who cares who owns it.¡±


    He spotted Gemjo in the corner of his eye and saw her crouching low to Remy and grinning, pen in hand.


    Tig felt at his own coat pocket. Sure enough the pen was gone. She was already mid scribble upon Remy¡¯s face when Tig approached her.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    ¡°Art.¡± She said.


    Tig frowned. The words ¡®Rich Witch¡¯ were now sprawled on the girl¡¯s exposed forehead. Gemjo tossed Tig his pen and she stood up abruptly.


    ¡°Still strikes me as odd.¡± She started. ¡°How¡¯d you best all those soldiers? They were running and screaming when we saw them.¡±


    ¡°Ah that.¡± The Professor reached in his coat and threw her a silver object, one she caught and held out with outright aversion.


    ¡°This?¡± she questioned it.


    Franco leaned by, scratching his chin, ¡°Seems like a locket. Oh! That locket.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t look at it, mates. Turns out the curse is one that brings out your worst fear should you stare into it. Frightening stuff, enough to send half a contingent of Sevens jumping off ship.¡±


    Gemjo handed it to Franco who promptly held it to his rounded eyes.


    ¡°How¡¯d you know it was cursed?¡± asked Franco.


    ¡°Licked it, mate.¡±


    The locket fell and Tig caught it just before it hit the ground.


    ¡°Remember we need this when he head to the south seas.¡± Said Tig.


    ¡°South Seas?¡± questioned the Professor. ¡°South seas it is.¡± He spun the wheel haphazardly and the ship tumbled sideways, launching the three to the wall. Tig expected pain, but was happily surprised when soft had broken his fall. He squinted to discern what and the words ¡®Rich Witch¡¯ balanced above his eyes, Remy¡¯s over goggled specs reflecting his own. And his lips¡­


    He gasped away, covering his mouth, and heard Gemjo snicker.


    ¡°Not a word.¡± He muffled.


    She smiled coolly and passed him to the Professor, ¡°Do you know how to drive this thing?¡±


    ¡°Me? I¡¯m a Professor, of course I know. I happen to know all that needs knowing.¡±


    ¡°And do you know where we¡¯re going?¡± she pressed.


    The Professor bobbed his head, ¡°Not at all.¡±


    Franco joined them then, map already held open before him. He scanned it quickly, and briefly glimpsed at the darkening sky.


    ¡°Dip low about three minutes.¡± Directed the Navigator. ¡°Come night we¡¯ll follow the Hare¡¯s star.¡±


    ¡°The Hare¡¯s?¡± hicc¡¯ed the Professor. ¡°That¡¯s my favorite mate.¡±


    ¡°Well it¡¯s also the one that¡¯ll lead us south.¡±


    Finally, Tig joined them, ¡°This is happening then? We¡¯re actually stealing this ship and heading for the Zanae Kara?¡±


    ¡°Look. Mate. I know two things above all else, savy? You get lemons, you throw them. You get a cursed locket, you scare off the crew of a ship and steal the ship. Simple.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± Said Tig. ¡°Then we get caught and arrested and executed.¡±


    ¡°Or we run.¡± Suggested Franco.


    Gemjo hummed in agreement, ¡°I like that idea.¡±


    ¡°We run, huh?¡± said Tig as he focussed on what lay before him, dirty glass covering all, caged between curving bronze frames.


    It was a sea of clouds, each cloud rushing by at dizzying speeds. A sky of embers fell away to one dark, blue and beautiful. Little specs of yellow and white glinted within it.


    Then he caught his own reflection trapped there in the dust pocked glass. His exposed eyes seemed alien, especially with the blue crescent marking the tops of his pupils. His black coat proved warn and cut up from the recent flight.


    He wondered who he was as that black image traversed the heavens. A Trimbly? A doctor? Or perhaps, as his eyes traced the black of his coat, a Pirate.

 The Ocean of Clouds

    The clock towers of Verace dinged at the twelfth hour. Wilma sat and read a letter. She gasped at the end of it.


    Light splashed against her lone window, and rivers ran like black veins below.


    The room she owned was a small, yet organised study. Her decade old gas lamp made a valiant effort to brighten it, and two cabinets stuffed with thick medical books hugged the side of the room opposite to her window. A neat stack of papers coveted the corner of her maple desk, while the lamp took up the other. The crisp print she held centered it.


    ¡°Martin!¡± she cried, lowering the paper.


    ¡°What?¡± echoed her brother from the other room.


    ¡°It¡¯s Tig, A letter from ¡®im.¡±


    Floorboards creaked and steps patted to her study. His patchwork face bounced by the half open door, ¡°A letter? After all this time?¡±


    She flipped the paper over, ¡°Says he¡¯s decided. And get this, he wants to be doctor!¡±


    ¡°Tig? A Doctor?¡± he said as he made to the table, squinting hard at the paper. ¡°Well, that is his terrible hand writing.¡± He flipped to her. ¡°When did he decide this?¡±


    ¡°Keep reading, will you? He¡¯s abandoned that plan of ¡®is.¡±


    Martin grabbed piece and puffed grumpily, ¡°Never thought he¡¯d stick to it honestly.¡±


    ¡°I did.¡± Revealed Wilma, smiling all the wider. A small portrait sat close to the flickering lamp. It was of Martin, herself and Tig, years before when Martin was still a half turn and Tig had barely turned. While her brother stood with immaculate posture, she had been too busy ruffling the head of Tig whilst half crouching to his height.


    He was the younger brother she never had. Lonely little Tig, their Tig. But Tig was alone no longer. He had loosely described how he planned on saving his friends. That made her smile.


    ¡°Talk about them more, you naff.¡± She muttered.


    ¡°Shall we write him back, Wil? I know what I want to write that runaway half turn, but you¡­?¡±


    She caught her own mechanized eye in the glare of the portrait and she leaned back, feeling at the rim of her hat with brass fingers, ¡°He¡¯ll know what I want ¡®im to know and if he¡¯s decided to be a doctor I know he¡¯ll do it right.¡±


    ¡­


    Tig sat cross legged on the prow of the ship. Winds rush through his black hairs and a motley gang of clouds skated to his sides.


    ¡°I think I know why all our ships crashed.¡± He decided. ¡°None had names.¡± He tapped the wood planks below him. ¡°She needs a name.¡±


    Chococogs crunched loudly behind him and he shook his head. Her back was against his, steel fur and all. He had found the spot shortly after waking and deciding he¡¯d explore that day. The spot in question was of a flat boarding that rested at the tip of the ship. On it he could he see the entirety of the sky they now flew through.


    And it was beautiful. Paint strokes of blue and white and grey ran across all he could see. A misty vastness flirted with the brief blotches of blue whenever the clouds parted and above it remained nothing but endless ether.


    Choco shrapnel fired his way, ¡°How about ¡®The Gem¡¯.¡±


    He rolled his eyes, ¡°How awfully humble.¡±


    More chococogs crunched, ¡°I pride myself on my creativity.¡±


    He leaned against her, ¡°Funny I thought it was your laziness.¡±


    ¡°The lazy tend to be creative.¡± she countered.


    Tig straightened his back, his eyes a quick drift to the planks behind him and her puffy tail covering most of it. He frowned at it, ¡°Does it hurt? The poison I mean.¡±


    She swallowed, ¡°A bit of pain here and there but nothing I can¡¯t handle. Why should I worry anyways? We got a flying ship.¡±


    ¡°For forty minutes a day.¡±


    ¡°Better than none. My point, dear chitik, is that the poison myself and that coward shares is just about dealt with, we ought to consider what happens after we acquire it. I suggest--¡±


    ¡°Sleep?¡±Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    She half smiled at him and leaned back forcing him into an awkward bend, ¡°Not just any sleep. The finest. Al¡¯Tof has the world¡¯s best resort. And where are we headed? Al¡¯Tof. I say we sell the ship and stay there, enjoy the rest of our days in comfort.¡±


    He pressed against her lean until their backs were straightened, ¡°I can¡¯t, Anu still needs my help.¡±


    ¡°Ok then we sell the ship, spend your cut on a smaller ship and send you back to Kura with the flower.¡±


    ¡°Somehow that seems far less reasonable.¡±


    ¡°Better than returning to a contingent of angry soldiers with an apology letter.¡±


    The boy let his head fall. She had a point. He hated it when she had a point. The press of her back vanished and thumps played against the deck.


    ¡°You¡¯re going?¡± he asked.


    Gemjo waved an empty sack and Tig grinned as he saw the chocolatey smears by her mouth.


    ¡°I¡¯ll need more.¡± She said. ¡°Besides there¡¯s a certain rich witch I plan to visit.¡±


    ¡°Please do try not to bring that up.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t.¡± agreed Gemjo. ¡°But I can¡¯t say the same about the mirror.¡±


    She tossed him the empty bag and he caught it by instinct. The bag he thought empty had one more chococog left. Tig reached in and held the round brown ball to his eye. It was a sweet made famous in Verace and one he fondly remembered being gifted to him by a girl just slightly older than him years ago. Wilma. Of course Gemjo could not have known that. Could she? He glanced as he thought that and realised she had left.


    He shrugged, threw the sweet up and snapped it with his iron jaw. Even though his tongue had gone mechanized he could still savor the milky flavour, still delight in the crunch of the hidden cashews. It tasted smooth and sweet, the hazelnut inside, a striking surprise.


    Instantly, he recalled the night when he got lost in Verace during the festival eight years old. The smokes, the banter, the colossal forest of moving full turns and only the glimpses of light escaping their figures.


    Then Wilma was there, crouching to him, smiling and her gentle hand held out and upon it a snack he could never forget.


    The flavor lingered even after he swallowed. The memory more so. Verace was many things, alien, unforgiving, the crunchy exterior, but Wilma and Marici were his hazel filling.


    Wobbly steps directed him to the stairs opposite to where Gemjo had exited.


    He saw the man¡¯s pointed hair first.


    ¡°Franco?¡±


    ¡°Stairs on a ship, Tij. Can¡¯t stand them.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve done well to come this far.¡±


    ¡°About that.¡± Said Franco finishing the last of the steps. ¡°I suppose this is a better time than any to apologise for what I did.¡±


    ¡°Franco--¡±


    ¡°No Tij, listen. I let my fear drive me the wrong way even if I opened that door. So I¡¯m sorry, truly.¡± He slammed his arm against his chest. ¡°In the good name of Cantinio, I swear I will see you repaid.¡± He made his way to the railing beside Tig and leaned into it, his arms crossed on the top. ¡°Back when we first met you said you wanted revenge. Was that against your family?¡±


    Tig nodded, staring high into the passing ether, ¡°I thought it was my duty to kill them, but now¡­¡±


    ¡°You want to save them?¡±


    ¡°I want them to stop, Franco. Stop killing, stop hurting, stop being monsters.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re all monsters to someone, Tij.¡±


    ¡°But they kill for money.¡± Argued the boy.


    ¡°As does a soldier, but we still celebrate them as heroes.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s different, they murder innocents.¡±


    ¡°Innocents? Do you mean Viceroy Mikaera, the man who let slavery go unopposed for decades and even cultivated the largest slave hub on the twelve seas? I¡¯m no expert but I¡¯d think those targeted are not as innocent as you may think.¡±


    ¡°And Gemjo?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fairly certain she called me a coward on my way here.¡±


    He cracked a smile to that, ¡°And what of you?¡±


    ¡°You know I¡¯m not innocent.¡± Said Franco as he pushed himself from the railing and made to the stairs, his hands in his pockets, ¡°And before you say it, there is of course the matter of Niss Remy Le Ricci.¡±


    ¡°The girl we unceremoniously captured.¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯d call being knocked out by a drunk captured.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± said Tig, joining his descent. ¡°I¡¯d call tying her up after the fact ¡®captured¡¯.¡±


    Franco chuckled and pushed open the door, ¡°Well there is that.¡±


    The masts creaked as they tapped the metal walkway. Muffled grunts echoed from the end of it. Tig let his hand slide across his face and sighed into it, ¡°Hours Gemjo what did you do?¡±


    The answer came the moment Franco spun open the door where the muffles came and Tig peaked in.


    Remy had a red scarf tied around her mouth while Gemjo stood above her, conspicuously lacking said scarf.


    ¡°You gagged her?¡± said Tig.


    ¡°She called me a dog.¡±


    ¡°That¡­¡± Tig shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t think she meant it the way you thought she meant it.¡±


    ¡°Either way, I say we keep her quiet the rest of the trip,¡± said the seawolf.


    Remy¡¯s muffles grew more frantic. She tossed her still goggled head towards the front repeatedly.


    Franco crouched to her height and tapped his chin, ¡°I think she¡¯s trying to tell us something.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d guess an insult about his eyes, my tail and your hair.¡±


    Franco blinked, ¡°What¡¯s wrong with my hair?¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t keep her gagged.¡± said Tig.


    A cruel smile formed on Gemjo¡¯s face. Her lids lowered halfway, ¡°You just want those plump black li--¡±


    ¡°No, stop there.¡± Interjected the boy. ¡°It¡¯s wrong is all. This is cruel. Unfair. We¡¯re no better than slavers if treat her this way. And- and Franco might be right here. What if she is trying to tell us something?¡±


    A thud sounded as the girl who had been flicking her head fell from her momentum. Her muffle became a whimper and Tig scarcely caught the hint of bronze in the reflection of her goggles. He squinted at it, tried to discern it. A bronze head leaning off the chair? Sleeping? Asleep?


    Tig turned to the front while the other two argued.


    ¡°Look.¡± Complained Franco. ¡°You made her fall.¡±


    Gemjo grumbled, teetering up to face him, ¡°That was her fault.¡±


    Franco leaned close, ¡°My dear seawolf we mustn¡¯t blame the helpless. Nor should we tie her up I should think.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s a soldier.¡± Pressed Gemjo


    ¡°She¡¯s a girl!¡±


    ¡°A rich girl!¡±


    ¡°A young rich--¡±


    Tig silenced them with a raised wooden hand. It had taken him too long to realise what Remy was saying, for among the bickering and ticking hid the blissful snores of a pilot fast asleep. Tig swallowed. Far too long.


    A bottle cluttered against the ground, and the ship pivoted haphazardly. Everything shook. Their bodies snapped to the wall like fleshy magnets and a mad cacophony of ticking, rattling and screaming filled the cabin.


    Tig spotted what grew in the cabin window in horror. It was a silver isle, and they were seconds away.

 The Strongest Woman in the World

    It was hot, dry. The burning wreckage a cog¡¯s toss away made it worse. Smoke billowed and fire crackled by a rocky coast. Palm and coconut trees with silver leaves grew between several stony islands, and the embers of the wreckage painted five shadows near the sandy ridgeline of the coast.


    ¡°We crashed the ship,¡± said Tig.


    ¡°We crashed the ship,¡± whimpered a lowered Franco besides him.


    ¡°We crashed the ship,¡± sighed Gemjo, next in line.


    ¡°We crashed¡­ the ship,¡± uttered the still tied Remy beside her.


    The Professor, the last of them, snorted awake. His eyes slowly went wide as he stared up at the inevitable sight, ¡°Mates. I think we crashed the ship.¡±


    Four heads spun to him and frowned.


    Gemjo said it first, ¡°You crashed the ship.¡±


    ¡°Did I?¡± he bobbed his head as thought back furiously. Then with a tilt of his chin, a frown and a shrug, he admitted. ¡°I did, didn¡¯t I? Well, we¡¯re alive, isn¡¯t that all that matters?¡±


    ¡°I understand your tendency to pass out,¡± began Tig, ¡°but to do so while midflight is absurd.¡±


    The Professor¡¯s risen rebuttal finger quickly wilted, ¡°Crash or no crash we¡¯ve got moving to do, mate.¡±


    Franco stood up, his legs wobbling, ¡°Indeed. If it wasn¡¯t for being stranded on an island surrounded by¡­ by¡­¡± He crouched back down. ¡°I think I¡¯ll stay here.¡±


    ¡°Drop that you dog!¡± screeched Remy.


    ¡°Dog?¡± questioned Gemjo, eyeing the silver gun with a newfound interest. ¡°Seeing as they won¡¯t let me gag you, know that I prefer wolf, mostly of the sea variety. Besides, how do you expect to use a gun in your condition?¡±


    ¡°I will arrest all of you!¡± roared Remy.


    ¡°Right, keep talking, bet that¡¯ll loosen your bind any moment now.¡±


    Remy shook wildly, tossing the tails of Gemjo¡¯s scarf about as she did, ¡°Wretched, ungrateful whelp. You would¡¯ve died without our help.¡±


    Gemjo lifted a brow, nodding briskly to the barrel¡¯s smooth curve, ¡°Thank you for that, truly. Glad you were there. But now that you¡¯re here, and with nothing better to do, tell me how to fire this thing.¡±


    ¡°That is not a toy.¡±


    Gemjo aimed at the sand, ¡°I take it I press this trigger.¡±


    Bang. She recoiled as sand dusted into the air.


    ¡°Bit of a kick.¡± She grunted, swerving the gun at a nearby coconut tree nestled between two stony crags. ¡°Who wants to bet I¡¯ll hit that coconut?¡±


    ¡°Preposterous, using firearms takes training, you could never hit something at that range and elevation without ever holding a gun.¡±


    The shot echoed, and a coconut cracked in the distance.


    ¡°H-How?¡± asked Remy.


    The sea wolf shrugged, ¡°aimed and fired.¡±


    ¡°You must be joking,¡± griped the girl.


    Gemjo poised the gun at another coconut, fired and watched as it emptied into the sand, darkening it.


    ¡°I think she¡¯s a natural shot,¡± said Tig.


    Franco held up a silver hand, summoning the courage to stand up once more, ¡°As much as I would love to see coconuts explode, we should really focus on our trouble at hand. We¡¯re shipwrecked on island that¡¯s barely marked on any maps. I say we salvage what we can and build another vessel. Why, the fire¡¯s not too bad. We should have something to work with once it douses.¡±


    Tig puffed in agreement. While the air was dry and increasingly hot under the rising sun, it was only a matter of time before the ship¡¯s mostly metal interior decided to give up burning. He glanced at Remy. Perhaps enough time to convince the others they could trust her.


    Then something creaked above and Tig heard the laughter of a woman, maniacal and loudening. He raised his eyes up.


    A sky whale the size of a sloop came plummeting through the clouds and, scarcely, he discerned a woman, kneeling upon it with her blade plunged deep into the creature¡¯s skull.


    It zipped through the air in frantic speed. Moments if only that, and the felled beast, woman and all, crashed into the flaming wreckage. Tig caught a glimpse of Franco now quivering to at the sight of the ship.


    ¡°Still ok, it¡¯s just bent,¡± said the navigator.


    The blade drew against flesh and two fur boots thumped against the stony floor. She took wet sloppy steps away from the it and upon the tenth step, the wreckage flared and moaned and bent.


    Franco, ¡°Perhaps it¡¯ll die down?¡±


    There was a boom. Debris and whale chunks scattered alogn the stony shore. The woman turned to it, smiling wildly and sniffed the burning debris with glee.


    Franco, on the other hand, was speechless.


    ¡°Shi shi shi.¡± The woman laughed. ¡°Made it in time I should think!¡± With her back to them she plopped her large two hander on the blades of her shoulders, loosely balancing it with the wrists of her hands. The instant she turned Tig felt his heart sink. She had black hair, brown skin, flat nose and dark eyes.


    ¡°She¡¯s a chitik,¡± said Tig, taking steps back, ¡°I-I should hide.¡±


    Gemjo spun Carter, ¡°Bit too late for that.¡±


    ¡°What have here? Travers? Explorers, nay, fans of mine?¡± Her dark blue coat waved behind her, the arms of it empty, dangling, and the coat seemingly held in place by her whitebear pelt collar. Her chest and arms were covered in bandages with plates loosely tied on near her abdomen. Sandy trousers covered her legs.


    Tig would have retreated more if he could, but he gave up once he realised the sea was there.


    Luckily, the woman stopped short as the Professor lumbered up to her and sniffed her.


    ¡°You¡¯re strong,¡± he remarked. ¡°Sober to.¡±


    ¡°Not for long, drunk one, the villagers here will treat me kindly for my kill.¡±


    ¡°Of that?¡± asked Gemjo pointing behind her. ¡°How much did they pay you?¡±


    ¡°Hundred cogs, a place, meals, and an invitation to a wedding. Are you looking for a crew, seawolf?¡±


    Gemjo shrugged, ¡°Depends, can I live an easy life in said crew?¡±


    ¡°Shi shi, not so, I¡¯d work you to the bone.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll pass.¡±


    The woman¡¯s brows furrowed. She knocked her blade into her left hand and pointed it at Remy, ¡°Why is this one tied?¡± the blade swished to Gemjo. ¡°Are you slavers?¡±


    Remy croaked at the unwanted attention, ¡°W-w-w-w-worse...¡±


    The woman cocked her head, ¡°Is she alright?¡±


    Tig and Gemjo both snickered, directing the woman to Tig.


    ¡°You¡¯re a chitik!¡±


    Tig flinched, ¡°I¡­¡± he tried to cover his eyes but to no avail.


    ¡°And blue moons, you¡¯re the traitor child.¡±


    He winced, ¡°What of it?¡±


    The blade lowered, ¡°Nothing really. Your name precedes is you is all. But answer my first question. Are you slavers?¡±


    Franco bounced to her side, ¡°No we are not, Niss lovely. We are travelers who just so happened to, uh, repossess a ship.¡±


    ¡°You mean steal.¡± Barked Remy in a moment of clarity. She shrunk as the woman turned to her, ¡°I think¡­¡±


    The woman nodded, ¡°Ah and she was on it. A rational thing to do then.¡±


    ¡°It is not.¡±The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    ¡°You wear a blue coat, Navy I assume?¡±


    ¡°A-Army.¡± squeaked Remy.


    ¡°That means you lot are a wanted bunch. Fascinating! Makes me interested all the more. Now you must join me.¡±


    ¡°All due to respect, Niss,¡± started Tig. ¡°We really must leave.¡±


    She had already turned, ¡°With what ship?¡±


    Tig glanced at Gemjo who shrugged in return. She had a point. So they followed the woman as she waded in between the narrow crevices that stretched along the crags.


    A gradual slope greeted them after a brief splash across a saltwater creek. Stony walls grew on to their sides and silver palms trees crept over the tops nervously.


    Steps into that new passage and the woman paused, glancing at Franco, ¡°Did you call me lovely?¡±


    Franco played a sly smile, ¡°What else do I call you?¡±


    She laughed and kept walking, ¡°I¡¯ll have you know that I¡¯d only love a man stronger than myself.¡±


    Franco ran up to her, proudly prodding his chest, ¡°Ah, then you¡¯ve met him. I am the man who¡¯ll topple the navy.¡±


    ¡°The Navy? You?¡±


    ¡°Franco Cantinio. Better remember the name.¡±


    ¡°Shi shi shi! Then remember mine, Cantinio. I am Inyande Ita, huntress of man, and the strongest woman in the world.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s quite a claim,¡± echoed Gemjo from the back.


    ¡°It¡¯s true.¡± said Inyande. ¡°And if it¡¯s not, someday I will be. I¡¯m the captain of the Wing Pirates.¡± She said pointing at the emblem of a small silver wing upon her back. ¡°Champion of the Bout of the Sixth, and a ranked huntress within the chitik chiefdom.¡±


    ¡°Hah! A captain and a champion, I shall do well to remember you then,¡± Franco¡¯s smile faded in that moment and he dipped his head. His words came in a whisper, quick and quiet, ¡°You remind me of her.¡±


    There was pain in them. Pain and in some, unknowable way, determination. He spoke up again before Tig could pry, ¡°Well!¡± he flared, ¡°Glad to have your guidance, Ita.¡±


    That was his signal perhaps. Franco¡¯s pain or whatever held him still would have to wait for another day. It was Remy who held his attention now. Remy who needed help. Tig slowed until he was besides the girl. While her arms were bound she could still walk. Gemjo was a little ways behind her, yawning as she deliberately lacked in pace.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry about this.¡± He whispered to Remy.


    ¡°About what? About stealing my ship, binding me or was it the gagging?¡±


    His eyes wandered up and he saw the slightly faded ¡®Rich witch¡¯ still sprawled on her forehead, ¡°That.¡± He conceded, ¡°Among other things. I didn¡¯t want to steal anything. It just¡­ happened.¡±


    ¡°Including how the ship just happened to crash?¡±


    ¡°That was the Professor.¡±


    ¡°You mean your companion?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not¡ªhe just does that sometimes.¡±


    ¡°How have you lived this far?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure honestly. Luck, the right people. The same people you¡¯ll be stuck with for a while so let me warn you,¡± He said leaning close, ¡°do not touch Gemjo¡¯s tail. She hates it.¡±


    Just then, the sea wolf popped her head between them, giving them a fright, Remy more so.


    ¡°Remember my delightfully fluffy ears?¡± said Gemjo. ¡°Well they¡¯re also delightfully sensitive. He¡¯s right though. Never touch the tail.¡±


    Tig nodded quickly and Gemjo slowed back without another word.


    Remy muttered under her breath seconds later, ¡°I¡¯ll be sure to shave it.¡±


    Gemjo popped back, pointing expressly at her ears, ¡°What did I just say?¡±


    ¡°Oh I remember,¡± remarked Remy.


    ¡°I¡¯m gagging her.¡±


    ¡°Wait.¡± Said Tig. ¡°If we are to travel together, even for the short term, we should try to get along.¡±


    ¡°She stole Carter.¡± Quipped Remy.


    ¡°She¡¯s rich.¡± Bit back Gemjo.


    ¡°Both, uh, valid arguments, but the point still stands. We¡¯re shipless right now. We can¡¯t fight amongst ourselves.¡±


    Gemjo sighed, ¡°Tig, a word?¡±


    The boy nodded and continued slightly ahead until he was out of an earshot of Remy.


    ¡°She¡¯s not one of us,¡± said Gemjo


    ¡°I know, but she saved my life.¡±


    ¡°Tig, everybody saves your life.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s not bad I swear.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s military and for all purposes we¡¯re pirates. We can¡¯t trust her.¡±


    A bottle swished and the stench of liquor directed them forwards to the Professor, ¡°What are you discussing mates?¡±


    ¡°Remy,¡± said two voices in exceedingly different fashions. Tig had answered with a sigh, while Gemjo let out the name with lauded disgust.


    ¡°Ah Her.¡± Said the Professor with a scrunch his nose. ¡°She stays. I¡¯ve got a debt to pay her.¡±


    ¡°You know her?¡± asked Gemjo.


    ¡°Bit of a wish. Secretive stuff, you wouldn¡¯t like it. She asked for this and that and seeing as how I am a man of my word, I agreed.¡±


    ¡°Wait.¡± Started Tig. ¡°Then did you knock her out on purpose?¡±


    The man¡¯s goggle eyes wandered, ¡°I may have. But it was the greater good, promise. And what is a promise if not a future made better with a lie. Which, and I¡¯m not lying here, where abouts is she?¡±


    Tig peaked over his shoulder and stopped. Gone. Remy le Ricci was no longer there.


    Tig spied in every direction. There little cracks everywhere in the great stone wall one could have ran into, so it seemed impossible to accurately predict which one Remy escaped. Dozens of paths led out from the main one.


    He asked the inevitable question, ¡°Where did she go?¡±


    ¡°Oh no.¡± said Gemjo with her lids half closed. ¡°We lost her. What do we do?¡±


    ¡°Gemjo be serious.¡±


    Her unimpressed mug was followed by her continued pace forwards.


    ¡°Professor?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s got me beat, mate.¡± He pointed at a crack in the wall then swept that finger to another then another. ¡°She could be anywhere. Hiding, or even run away by now. I say we go ahead and look for her later.¡±


    ¡°But--¡±


    The Professor slung his arm around Tig¡¯s shoulder, ¡°Mate, we¡¯re on an island. Where she got to run? The sea? I swear on this bottle that we¡¯ll find her¡­ not now though, right now I want some of that drink Niss Ita promised.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± Agreed Tig as returned to the trail. Even then as he resigned himself to the path they were headed, he could not help glancing back, hoping that Remy would return. The image of bloodied back replayed in his thoughts. He hoped she would return safely. Even if the odds were against her. She was bound, with no gun and worst of all she was a half turn.


    And half turns were fragile things.


    The high walls of their paths gave way to flat ground filled with yellow grasses. Shadows covered much of it and Tig craned up to see silver leafed trees that had a habit of forming umbrellas with its branches. His knowledge on trees labeled it as an acacia tree from The Basics of Botany.


    There weren¡¯t many bunched, but they were close enough to cover almost all the yellow grasses in cool shades. A dusty path led along the center of it. While it wasn¡¯t worked, Tig could tell it was used frequently by the fresh footfalls upon it. Birds rushed and some trees away he could see a small heard of mechanical gazelles grazing under an acacia. There he glanced an ever distant field, large and roaming.


    ¡°She gone, huh?¡± spoke Inyande as she walked backwards.


    Tig gave her an uneasy nod.


    ¡°Number one rule of keeping prisoners. Always watch them.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve done it before?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a pirate captain, cursed one. I¡¯ve committed many less than honorable acts. Well,¡± she said turning back, ¡°the prisoners in this case were children escaping the Trimblys¡±


    Tig lowered his head.


    ¡°The foolish imps wanted to return to their families so we acted as the villains and pretended to capture them.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± Said tig.


    ¡°What for?¡±


    ¡°You said Trimblys. I¡¯m a Trimbly.¡±


    By now, the others had been drawn to their conversation.


    ¡°So I¡¯ve heard,¡± said Inyande, ¡°but what our families do don¡¯t define us.¡±


    Tig smiled weakly, ¡°I wish everyone thought that.¡±


    ¡°And do you think that, Trimbly?¡±


    That was a difficult question. His question. No answer was right, nor was it wrong.


    ¡°I want to do what¡¯s right,¡± he said, ¡°but I don¡¯t know what¡¯s right anymore.¡±


    Inyande had been staring at him through the corner of her eye. The steel of her blade glinted in the scarce savanna light.


    She began as she studied the overhead leaves, ¡°There are things that¡¯ll tell you what¡¯s right in this world, cursed one. Your stomach, your ears, and your worst enemy. Follow this and you won¡¯t regret a second of your life.¡±


    ¡°You make it sound simple.¡± Said Tig.


    ¡°Because it is.¡±


    Grasses crunched and the five of them came to stop.


    Inyande smiled and cracked her shoulders, ¡°Ah my benefactors.¡±


    Three figures dressed in layered white fabrics slowed before them. White ponchos folded as all three pressed their palms together and bowed their heads.


    They were not full turns nor were they half turns. It was as if both their skins and limbs were formed of a constantly shifting sand. Hair to. While white sands formed much of their bodies, black sand formed the more notable features, that is eyes, nose, brows and curving marks upon their foreheads. Tig had to squint to tell what they were. Yet he couldn¡¯t, he had never seen their kind before. The Professor had.


    ¡°Synergists.¡± The bronze man named them.


    ¡°A whole village of them.¡± added Inyande. ¡°And our honored hosts.¡±


    The lead synergist spoke in grainy breaths, ¡°Are these friends of your Inyan¡¯dara?¡± They had no mouths, these synergists, but the moment they spoke they formed them.


    Inyande bowed her head, ¡°Yes, Oke¡¯dara.¡±


    ¡°Warriors?¡±


    Inyande bounced her head, ¡°I think so.¡±


    ¡°And the whale?¡±


    ¡°Slain and awaiting your collection.¡±


    The manufactured mouth tilted up in what Tig assumed to be a smile, ¡°Excellent work as always. We will send from it soon. Come,¡± he said facing the rest of them, ¡°I will show you our village.¡±


    They spoke little the rest of the way there, though, admittedly, Tig was curious. He had heard of sand shaping before, but never to such a degree. It was a difficult and daunting process based on some form of magnetism.


    To think then that a creature could manipulate it to form its body. Tig shook his head. There had to be a reason. He glanced up at the three ahead of them. Perhaps these were experts, elite guard sent to check on new arrivals.


    A bright and sprawling hamlet pictured up ahead. It was settled in a valley where the yellow grasses descended in layered flat levels, while huts made partly of metal, acacia wood and dried leaves littered each of the layers.


    A silver forest covered the surroundings of it and a river trickled through the various layers, pooling at the bottom.


    He saw small figures splashing there and noticed they were made of sand too. In fact, the entire village was that way. Distinctly feminine figures carried vases above their heads. While other synergists, these ones male, had their chest half exposed at an angle as they hoisted various carts up by the upper ridges of the town. There were more huts along the outer parts, colored gasses fumed out of them.


    Tig found himself staring at a passing by synergist, the sands on his skin in constant movement and shimmer.


    ¡°Strange.¡± He said aloud.


    ¡°What?¡± asked the lead synergist. ¡°That you have outside flesh. We find that strange honored¡¯dara. Ah mind the children.¡±


    Several small synergists ran up and started poking about the strangers, giggling all the while.


    Tig struggled against their writhing masses but found it oddly endearing. They were interested in him, even if it was out of curiosity for what was alien. He cracked a smile as those same synergists were attempting to touch Gemjo¡¯s tail.


    ¡°No.¡± she screeched, clawing them back with one hand and holding her tail up with the other, ¡°Back, back you cretins!¡±


    ¡°Mate, why do they avoid me?¡±


    ¡°Probably because you smell of liquor.¡± Said Tig.


    He sniffed himself and gagged, ¡°You¡¯ve got a point.¡±


    Oke spoke from the front, ¡°I suggest you empty that bottle. We do not drink here, honored¡¯dara.¡±


    The Professor sobered there and then, ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°The liquids are poisonous to our kind while we are still half turns.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re telling me, you lot don¡¯t drink? Not even a drop?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°What Hour do you worship if I may ask?¡±


    ¡°The Eighth Hour, the Hour of learning.¡±


    ¡°Explains a bloody lot that.¡±


    Tig chuckled.


    ¡°You amused by this mate?¡±


    ¡°Never seen you mad is all.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m infuriated. Tell ya what, I¡¯m scrapping my first plan here. Let¡¯s go look for Remy, yeah?¡±


    ¡°Wait honored¡¯dara.¡± Oke had changed his sandy expression. The black sands on his head shifted until brows were furrowed. ¡°I¡¯d hoped to employ you and Inyan¡¯dara at our temple after a meal, seeing as you are all warriors, but it seems I must do so now.¡±


    ¡°Is something the matter Oke¡¯dara?¡± asked Inyande. More and more synergists surrounded them.


    The sand man nodded, tossing grains from his head, ¡°Do you remember what we invited you for?¡±


    ¡°Yes the wedding, where are the happy couple by the way?¡±


    Oke shared a sorrowful glance with his two companions, ¡°Missing, both of them.¡±

 The Monster in White

    What began as a loved synergist celebration quickly shifted into a tragedy in waiting. It was an open secret that the bride and groom were missing, one that was only admitted in worried whispers and momentary frowns. The village chief, Oke, gave them details, a reward and where to start. Or rather, how to start.


    The small river boat bobbed against the shallow waters. A worn map covered much of the view until Tig lowered it, revealing a huddled Franco, rocking back and forth by the prow of the boat.


    ¡°What does it say, Tib?¡± asked the pitiful creature.


    ¡°I see several isles lined in a crescent, the largest being the one we left.¡±


    ¡°The border isles.¡± Named Inyande as she rowed the ship from the back. ¡°They¡¯ve guarded the fourth seas for centuries. It¡¯s partly why the trade princes allow the Synergists to stay here, untaxed.¡±


    ¡°And why this marriage ritual has the two travel along the crescent and back?¡± asked Tig.


    Franco shuddered, ¡°Awful awful practice that. They might as well be dead traveling along these waters.¡±


    ¡°Shi shi shi. Relax ¡®man who¡¯ll topple the navy¡¯ the synergists of Impeh village have lived their whole lives here. This ritual has been conducted with little fault for as long as they¡¯ve been here.¡±


    Her rowing stole Tig¡¯s backwards glance as did Inyande herself. She was Franco¡¯s opposite in every way as the waters brushed below them. She sniffed the sea air, practically lapped it up. Her two tightly packed fur boots were somehow balanced on the thin sidewalls of the boat. But she stood anyways, daring the sea to sweep her away. The Professor sat ahead of her, Gemjo ahead of him.


    Inyande continued, ¡°It¡¯s taboo for any among the synergist people to interfere with the happy couple¡¯s voyage.¡±


    ¡°Hence us,¡± said Gemjo, her eyes on the boy. ¡°Oi Tig change spots with me.¡±


    Tig crumpled the map, ¡°is he still sobbing?¡±


    She frowned immensely and Tig saw the slumped Professor coddling an empty bottle with his lips. His sagging cheeks and half closed goggles eyes were a testament to his melancholy.


    He spat the bottle back and breathed, ¡°I¡¯m not sobbing.¡±


    ¡°You might as well be,¡± quipped Gemjo.


    The Professor held up the bottle and examined it with one eye shut, ¡°I¡¯m bronze on the outside, cloaked in blues and blacks, but inside I am nothing but liquor. The good stuff. The insatiable liquid, my muse, my passion, my lover. It dulls the senses but awakens another.¡± His head fell back, and his hat almost slid off.  ¡°I feel myself sobering. I shudder at the clarity returning to me. I am doomed, mates. Bury me in the sea, let me drink one last drink.¡±


    Tig formed a line with his mouth. Somehow, he missed the drunk Professor more.


    ¡°Oke promised a drink should we succeed.¡± Said Tig. ¡°He doesn¡¯t have much of it, but it should be enough for you.¡±


    ¡°Ah the sweet nectar. I can taste it now.¡±


    The Professor raised the bottle and the glint of it against the raw midday light made Tig squint away.


    ¡°Right,¡± said Tig scanning the horizon. ¡°We should be approaching the first island now.¡±


    Though he had known that from the start. Each island was readily visible from the first, leaving only mists and heat to blur the otherwise clear sight. Silver trees colored those distant bulks the same strange grey that greeted them at Impeh. Rocky crags scattered the coast like broken chocolate bars.


    He could see hints of yellow grass as they quickly approached the unblemished sands.


    Inyande spoke up behind him, ¡°It¡¯s strange. There should have been nothing to stop the couple. None of the wildlife here are terribly aggressive and even then, synergists are fierce warriors.¡±


    Gemjo yawned, ¡°You find it strange, Captain of the Wing Pirates? Have we sailed into something dangerous here?¡±


    Inyande smiled as the boat slid to shore, ¡°The sea is Dangerous, seawolf.¡±


    Tig felt those words directed at him. Marici had told him exactly that a few weeks ago. He was right, of course. But it wasn¡¯t the monsters or storms that made it that way.


    He focussed on Inyande¡¯s long serrated steel blade as she leapt off. It was the people that made the sea dangerous.


    Inyande was tethering the boat to a nearby rock when Tig got off. A little further in he saw Franco kissing the sands frantically and the Professor aimlessly filling his bottle and emptying it.


    ¡°So why?¡± began Gemjo as she leaned by the ship. ¡°Why did they send five adventurers instead of one if there were no aggressive wildlife? Surely if it was that the couple decided to run, just you would do.¡±Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    Inyande finished her knot and stood up with a fix of her jacket, ¡°Isn¡¯t it obvious, seawolf? Because we are not alone.¡±


    Just as she said that, clockwork birds rushed from the treetops further in, a horrible screech followed it. Tig took a step back. He knew that sound.


    Inyande drew her blade, and Tig threw Gemjo a knowing glance.


    ¡°The Gents,¡± Said Tig.


    Gemjo nodded, ¡°I think so to.¡±


    Inyande was already pacing ahead, Franco quick to her side.


    Inyande called back at Tig as she quickened her steps, ¡°Here¡¯s an Ita tip, cursed one. If there¡¯s anything you fear, face it.¡±


    Another screech rung in the distance and hesitantly, Tig followed the moving troupe.


    He noticed his steps were alone and he turned back to find Gemjo still leaning on the boat.


    ¡°You¡¯re not coming?¡±


    The seawolf yawned, ¡°What for? You¡¯ve got the strongest woman in the world with you.¡±


    ¡°Yes, but we ought to help considering it¡¯s her ship we¡¯ll use to leave this place.¡±


    ¡°I can swim.¡±


    ¡°How about fly?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll bite the boat.¡±


    Tig sighed, ¡°Why did you come?¡±


    Franco echoed from the end of the passage, ¡°Tid, come one!¡±


    He flipped to the man and back to Gemjo again, ¡°alright well, y-you guard the boat then.¡±


    ¡°Most assuredly.¡±


    The stone walls rushed by him as he easily passed the panting Professor and caught up to Franco.


    Inyande was well a ways ahead, now crunching through yellow grass. Every so often he could see the glint of her blade between the shade of trees.


    Another cry sounded as they neared. It was louder now. Close. He remembered the Gents and their horrid forms. Back then he could do nothing but run away, now he was running to them.


    ¡°Stay back.¡± Said Inyande steps away.


    They saw her blade outstretched as they got there. A Red figure lumbered in front of her. Tig narrowed his eyes. He was right. Before Inyande stood the same long armed figure he had seen back on the Gatekeeper¡¯s island. It¡¯s red suite, hat, pants, all were identical.


    The Mad Gent rotated its owl face in twitching movements.


    Inyande¡¯s blade lowered. She took a step.


    As did Tig, ¡°Inyande what are you doing?¡±


    Unthinkably, she reached towards the creature, ¡°Look at you. Look at you! What a beautifully fascinating creature.¡± She stopped a breath away from the long creature and softly scratched the underside of its chin. ¡°You¡¯re a long way from home, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Home?¡±


    Inyande nodded with her eyes still fixed on it, ¡°The Mad Gents come from the same land as the Librarians.¡±


    ¡°The keepers that run Kura? But I thought they were examiners?¡± asked Tig,


    ¡°You ever see one?¡±


    He shook his head. Anu had not given him the chance.


    Inyande smiled at it warmly, ¡°Well, some rumors suggest they may have been crafted by those librarians.¡±


    The creature was not at all the monster that gave chase a few weeks ago. Perhaps it was Inyande¡¯s presence, or perhaps as Tig circled it and saw darken something under its arm, it was something else. It relaxed its shoulders and coo¡¯ed when Tig was to its side.


    Franco was standing on the other side, ¡°Good Hours, how did you nullify it?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve met them before.¡± Explained Inyande. ¡°Question is, why you lot thought he¡¯d be aggressive.¡±


    Tig blinked, zipping his head between Inyande and the beast. He remembered the tales Wilma told him then the reality of it. Screaming, chasing and running the mad Gents lived up to that name.


    Tig clutched his chest, ¡°Why last time they ch--¡±


    ¡°Look at them mates.¡± Interjected the Professor. ¡°Nasty creature that. Any sane turn would think it aggressive.¡±


    Tig nodded, pushing the man aside, ¡°Yes as I was saying--¡±


    The Professor shot him a narrowed glance. It was quick, practiced. Something he would have missed if he had blinked, but managed to catch at that crucial moment. Perhaps the man had truly sobered, for that glance was a commanding one.


    ¡°As I was saying.¡± Continued Tig eyes drifting to Inyande. ¡°We saw them before on another island and¡­ and we ran when we saw them.¡±


    ¡°Did they chase you?¡± queried Inyande.


    ¡°Maybe.¡± Shrugged the Professor. ¡°Bit of a blur that, but I suspect not. Judging by those limbs of theirs they would¡¯ve caught me, scratched me up good to.¡±


    ¡°Right, and, hypothetically, the only way we would¡¯ve escaped in that scenario is if we fell in a hole.¡± Laughed Tig. ¡°Hours blessed, we¡¯re not that stupid.¡±


    ¡°What he said.¡± Pointed the Professor. Curiously, the back part of the Professor¡¯s hand gone an enamel white.


    Then Tig saw the Gent staring at him with black piercing eyes.


    Inyande continued, ¡°Rumors say the Gents only attack those with keys.¡±


    Tig pulled his jacket tight, ¡°What keys?¡±


    ¡°Shi shi. You really don¡¯t know anything do you, cursed one? Woah¡ª¡±


    The mad gent had nearly fallen if not for Inyande¡¯s quick support.


    ¡°This one¡¯s injured.¡± She said confirming the boy¡¯s fears.


    Tig spied at the darkening wound. Judging by the stain that spread past the majority of its suite it had been bleeding for a while. Even then the creature was breathing.


    ¡°Lift his arm.¡± Instructed Tig. ¡°Remove the fabric to.¡±


    Inyande shook her head, ¡°What are you¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a doctor¡¯s apprentice, please, just reveal the wound for me.¡±


    She did so with very little delay and laid down the beast to boot. The creature, as Tig suspected, was not fully feathered as its face suggested. Rather, it had exposed pink skin throughout its body, darkened only where dried blood had clung to under its right arm. The others watched him work wordlessly.


    Tig wiped the blood away with his carry on towel then doused it thoroughly with a disinfectant the Timebender had prepared for him. Then when the wound was properly exposed and bleeding barely, he examined the extent of the cut.


    It was sharp, seamless and as a long as long as Tig¡¯s middle finger. Luckily, none of the visible nerves of the mad Gent had been severed, so he began dressing the wound with whatever rags he could muster from his satchel.


    The moment he tied it shut, footsteps crunched behind them.


    ¡°Why do you help him?¡± asked a distinctly female voice.


    She wore a sullied white robe with detailed blue designs. Locks of perpetually moving sand arched from her forehead and swept effortlessly over her shoulders. Three black and identical spirals on either side met at an angle at the tip of her forehead. Her black eyes batted.


    ¡°Why did you save that monster?¡± she asked again.


    Inyande balanced her hands on her hips and puffed her chest forwards. The captain of the Wing pirates had a confident smile about her and the way her eyelids were half lowered made the boy think she knew the synergist now before them.


    ¡°Greetings fair one,¡± started Inyande loudly, ¡°where is your betrothed?¡±


    ¡°The bride.¡± Hushed Tig.


    The woman approached them with her sandy hand locked and raised to her lips, ¡°They took him.¡± She said sadly.


    ¡°Who?¡± pressed Inyande.


    The woman lowered her hands, shaking all the while, ¡°Witch doctors.¡±

 Home

    Warm. Welcoming. Timid. These were the ways he thought of fire in a time before. He¡¯d watch the central bonfire dance in and out of the night, painting wavering shadows upon the carpets of snow.


    They sat on stone blocks, warming their palms against the crackling flame.


    ¡°¡­the final clockwork guardian, a giant woman taller than the highest frozen peak. Beyond her¡­¡±


    ¡°The Mad Tinker!¡± spouted Tig.


    Low grumbles played from the first speaker, ¡°You learn well, my son.¡±


    Tig smiled back at the bulking man and found the man still locked on the flames, licks of it spat out in orange and red against the man¡¯s steely eyes. ¡®To learn well¡¯ was his father¡¯s best and only compliment, and he savored it like every fatty bit of a stone seal stew.


    ¡°Hearing an awful lot from you tonight, Toklo,¡± said an old stony crone as she approached them with two steaming bowls in her hands.


    ¡°The boy needs to learn eventually.¡±


    Tig accepted the bowl that was handed to him, as did Toklo. Stone seal meat. He knew that pungent smell anywhere. He could detect brown chunks of the stuff as it floated to the top of the frothy yellow broth.


    The women had a perpetual hunch and a body formed completely of black rock. Her eyes were pearls and her hair, spiral of granite, ¡°Only you speak of such tales, Toklo. This night as well as a few nights ago. Could it be that you¡¯ve remembered?¡±


    Toklo shook his head, ¡°Merely pieces, Mother Merivya. Scattered bits here and there, though things I think he ought to know.¡±


    ¡°About giant women?¡± laughed Merivya. ¡°Surely it is time he learns the hunt.¡±


    ¡°No. Tiguak is not meant for that.¡±


    ¡°Father?¡±


    The man eyed him with an iron smile, ¡°We all have our callings, my son. Some are healers, others shamans, hunters, explorers. You are no hunter.¡±


    ¡°Do you mean for him to become an explorer, Toklo?¡±


    ¡°That path is his to decide. Look into the fire, Tiguak, see how ebbs and flows?¡±


    The boy nodded.


    ¡°That is who we are, fires. We are willed in the ways of others while burning whatever fuels us, makes us.¡±


    Toklo reached low, grabbed a twig on the ground and tossed into the flames, making it jump to the new addition.


    ¡°But know this, my son, it isn¡¯t what makes the fire that defines it, it is how it burns. Always burns.¡±


    ¡­


    The woman made entirely of sand and cloth stared intently at the owl faced monstrosity. Her expression painted by black bits amidst the tan shifted haphazardly. A crinkled frown, disgust. Lowered brows, shame.


    ¡°Witch doctors.¡± Repeated the woman. ¡°Eight of them, maybe more.¡±


    ¡°Relax.¡± Said Inyande, now standing by the bride to be.


    ¡°How can I? They took my mate. I am alone.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll find him, honored-dara.¡±


    Tig stared at them from a few steps away. His wooden hands were clutched tightly over the cut on the Mad Gent. ¡°Blood¡¯s gone down.¡± He reported. ¡°Should we take him?¡±


    Inyande shook her head, ¡°Too many travellers. We¡¯ll leave him some rations and keep onwards.¡±


    ¡°Off this island?¡± asked Franco.


    Inyande spun to the woman, ¡°When abouts was your mate taken?¡±


    ¡°A day ago?¡±


    ¡°Then they¡¯re not here. This is good fun and all, but it seems we¡¯ve a fight on our hands.¡±


    Franco seemed ecstatic at the notion, patting his arms his expressively as he howled like a dog, ¡°Fight? Now that I can do.¡±


    ¡°Me to.¡± Added the Professor. ¡°Given a drink that is. Speaking of, know of any taverns on this fine island?¡±


    The bride to be glowered at him, ¡°These are sacred border isles, we do not build on anything except for Impeh.¡±


    ¡°Right, awful island then. I¡¯m headed home.¡±


    ¡°You have a home?¡± started Tig, squinting at them man. Strangely, some of the bronze by the Professor¡¯s neck had gone an ivory white.


    ¡°Oh aye, lovely property, view of the ocean to. Great big cellar with the finest drinks in all the land. Drinks. Drinks! Hours damned I need a drink!¡±


    ¡°And what of Remy?¡± asked the boy.


    The man stumbled for a moment. His nose scrunched and he glanced away, ¡°Don¡¯t do that Tig, don¡¯t use my own task to bind me.¡±


    Tig stepped over his patient and jabbed the drunk with a finger to his chest, ¡°You said you owed her didn¡¯t you? You said you¡¯d find her later. Well is that now then? Is that the reason you¡¯re headed back? Or is it to steal the supposed liquor Oke promised?¡±


    ¡°Most definitely first part, mate.¡±


    Inyande balanced her massive blade on her shoulders, one brow raised, ¡°Shi. You¡¯re not thinking of taking our boat, are you?¡±


    The Professor side stepped Tig and fixed his jacket, pointing in the supposed direction of the ship and failing miserably at it, ¡°I would never steal that ship.¡±If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°Nor that you could, Gemjo¡¯s guarding it,¡± said Tig.


    Inyande nodded decidedly to that, ¡°Ah, a seawolf guard. Then that settles it. I¡¯ve known none better. But, so much as I trust in her ability to keep you away, Professor, I must insist we all leave as a company to the next isle.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re escorting me, Inyande-dara?¡± asked the bride.


    Inyande crafted a wide smile, ¡°And find your lover to, Chireke.¡±


    Tig noticed how Chireke shifted to that and dipped her head ever lower. A wrinkle formed on his fleshy forehead and he realised just who he had stepped over.


    His black hairs tussled as he faced the lot of them. ¡°And what of the mad Gent?¡± he asked.


    ¡°We leave him.¡± Answered Inyande promptly.


    ¡°What?¡±


    Inyande crouched low to his height, ¡°they heal very quickly. Your dressing will be enough. I know you doctor types refuse to leave your wounded alone, but right now our lives and that of the grooms¡¯ will be in danger should we be slowed by the gent. Don¡¯t worry,¡± she said, glancing over her shoulder at the wounded creature, ¡°he understands.¡±


    Tig shared the same sight, saw the same creature breathing slowly, calmly. It was alive. That was all that mattered.


    Hesitantly Tig nodded, ¡°I do to.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± Said Inyande, rising to her feet and covering her brow to her upwards squint. Sun strokes brushed her brown skin. ¡°We¡¯ll need that understanding while the sun still burns. Shall weyou¡¯re your guard in action then?¡±


    Nods from the boy, and the five of them treaded back to the coast comfortably. They heard snoring when they got there, saw the girl slumped awkwardly against the rocking ship with her mouth drooping open and a line drool oozing off the side of it.


    Inyande nodded with a smile on her face and her hands on her hips, ¡°She¡¯s asleep.¡±


    ¡°Behold,¡± said Tig, gesturing at Gemjo as if she were an exhibit, ¡°The world¡¯s greatest sea wolf guard.¡±


    Gemjo snorted awake momentarily, eyed the lot of them, shrugged and resumed her slumber.


    Chireke brushed by Inyande, ¡°And how much did the chief pay you?¡±


    Inyande¡¯s smile was twitching, her posture straight and absolute. Tig realised then that Inyande had a powerful ability. She hid her shame better than Franco, who had begun unceremoniously dislodging Gemjo from her slump against the rocking vessel.


    The boat departed a little after noon. Upon it sat the snoring Gemjo, the melancholic Professor, a quivering Franco, a rowing Inyande and just two regular passengers who sat face to face near the prow.


    Tig traced the intricate features of Chireke¡¯s face with his eyes.


    ¡°These Witch Doctors, why would they attack you? How could they attack you?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure, honored Dara.¡± She confessed. ¡°Just that it was them.¡±


    ¡°Call me Tig.¡±


    ¡°Tig-dara. When they came, Kwake bid me to hide.¡±


    Tig spotted the still sheathed dagger on her hip and cocked his head, ¡°You¡¯re a warrior, why did you hide?¡±


    Her gaze wandered, ¡°I don¡¯t know. I--¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll get him back for you,¡¯¡± echoed Inyande from the back. ¡°As I¡¯ve said, it¡¯s a promise. Now when we fight, I can handle who ever comes from the front and I know you can handle whoever should focus you, but if any should get near Tig or the Professor I will charge you with defending them, Chireke-dara.¡±


    ¡°Defending?¡± she asked. ¡°Me?¡±


    ¡°Right now, right here, you are a part of my crew. And that is an order.¡±


    ¡°Crew?¡± managed Franco. ¡°D-Do you mean us to? Because I¡¯ll have you know I¡¯m the c-captain of t-t-this here crew.¡±


    ¡°Acting captain.¡± Added Inyande. ¡°You¡¯ll have them back after our task is over.¡±


    From the way he was huddled and even lowering, Tig had a feeling Franco was in no mood to argue.


    ¡°Fine,¡± surrendered Franco, ¡°just get us to shore will you?¡±


    ¡°I will.¡± She paused before she continued, ¡°Chirke-dara, you were just a girl when I met you a few years ago, do you remember that? A group of pirates laughing and partying in Impeh village.¡±


    ¡°The first in decades.¡± Laughed Chireke, her eyes directed at Inyande in the back.


    Inyande spoke with a row, ¡°All after we saved the wise woman¡¯s son, Kwake.¡±


    Chireke frowned to that, ¡°I wanted to be like you-dara.¡±


    Tig could not see her, but he knew Inyande was smiling even then.


    Another row, an Ita-quality sigh, ¡°I know.¡±


    It had only been minutes before the next island neared. The craggy rocks weren¡¯t as apparent here and instead the lay of the land leaned more towards an open beach and small silver thickets above golden grass.


    Inyande¡¯s boots crunched the shoreline.


    ¡°Franco, Gemjo, with me,¡± She directed.


    Tig glanced at the snoring girl behind him. He saw her ears flick, and with her eyes still shut, she spoke, ¡°How did you know I was awake?¡±


    ¡°Shi shi. You sea wolves are aware of your surrounding in sleep. Hence why you make the best guards.¡±


    Her golden eyes pried open and she yawned yet again, this time stretching as she straightened her posture.


    She fixed on Tig and frowned momentarily, ¡°Did you really have to tell Tig that?¡±


    Tig blinked, his ears flashed red, ¡°Then back at that island, you heard me? You heard all of that?¡±


    A slow smile started to her cheeks, ¡°Whatever do you mean, chitik? What island?¡±


    ¡°That island.¡±


    She patted him on the shoulder and leapt off the boat, ¡°Oh you must be imagining things. Which by the way, I must be imagining your ears red right now.¡± He covered them just as she snickered. ¡°But ofcourse ¡®blood runs hotter than steam¡¯ eh?¡±


    ¡°You did hear!¡±


    As Gemjo strolled to Inyande¡¯s side, the woman peaked back at Tig and, with the utmost subtlety, she whispered loudly into Gemjo¡¯s ear, one hand cuffed over her mouth, ¡°Do tell everything he said while you were asleep.¡±


    Tig sniffed, rolled up his sleeves and stood up, ¡°Alright, I¡¯m going to.¡±


    A bronze and white hand held him back by the shoulder.


    ¡°Mate, there aren¡¯t many rules on the sea, but it when it comes to sailing, you always follow captain¡¯s orders.¡±


    ¡°But--¡±


    ¡°Especially, and this parts important, if that captain knows what she¡¯s doing.¡± Finished the Professor.


    Tig slumped his shoulders and sat back down. He saw Franco creep out of the boat one leg at a time, and he sighed extravagantly. This would be a long trek even if it was for only a few islands.


    The scouting troupe returned an hour later and they set off immediately after, tracing the coastline for island to island. No sign of anything. By the fourth island in a chain of seven they settled down for the night.


    Mooring the ship by a particularly trusty rock, the company found a quiet thicket where silver palms rustled overhead and yellow grasses brushed their backs below. The night had set, and the incessant chirp of copper locusts melded with the light crackle of flame. It was a quiet orchestra, a melody of metal and wood, flame and wind.


    Franco stood a few minutes away, charged with night duty. Tig could hear him yawn even then. The sleeping figures of Inyanda, Chireke and the Professor lay nearby.


    But it was not the brilliant starry sky, nor the gentle dance of silver leaves that stole Tig¡¯s fascination as huddled awake. It was the flame, his constant reminder.


    Gemjo sat nearby, huddled in a similar fashion.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been staring at that for some time,¡± she said


    Tig peaked at her half-heartedly, ¡°Have I?¡±


    Her ears twitched, her brows lowered, ¡°Intently.¡±


    ¡°So you knew then? Who I was? Even though¡­¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t born in the north.¡± She cut in.


    ¡°But you¡¯re a--¡±


    ¡°Sea wolf.¡± She finished him. ¡°Aye, and you¡¯re a chitik who doesn¡¯t know what sea wolves can do.¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t have much of a chance.¡± He laughed weakly.


    Gemjo leaned back, ¡°A chance huh? Well Inyande, she can¡­¡± She started abruptly, ¡°she can do something I thought only sea wolves could do. So maybe I didn¡¯t get that chance either.¡±


    ¡°Which is?¡± he asked.


    For a moment, the girl with golden eyes distracted him from the flame. Little splotches of orange glinted along her steel hairs. The caress of fire brightened half her face, while the other half became blue in the night. He realised he knew little about her. That he did little to learn.


    Gemjo puffed and smiled lazily before laying down, ¡°you¡¯ll see soon I think.¡±


    She turned over, tightened to a ball and her tailed curved with her. He ebbed away from her then, feeling distant as he hugged his knees tighter.


    The fire crackled. It reminded him of home. But not the home Anu knew, nor that which the Trimblys made for him. No, his home. The one by the great big bonfire, where he¡¯d sweat into tightly packed furs and enjoy stone seal stew. Where stories of bizarre clockwork beasts would entertain him and he¡¯d go drunk to the scents of incense and charcoal.

 Ritual

    Impeh village had eight alchemy workshops built hastily upon its ramshackle outskirts. Madam Kimbe¡¯s shop was the last amongst them leading to a small trail that snaked down to the shore. While the main rotunda of the village was populated by straw clad stone houses, the workshops were stations of bolted steel and iron, often wheezing foul fumes up into the savanna air.


    The residents of these shops, a motley collection of researchers, wizards, botanists and doctors were just as striking as their buildings. All the villagers knew the look. White robes, thick goggles and more so than not, frazzled hair mechanized or otherwise. Kimbe was the pinnacle of that.


    A flask shattered in the corner, green liquids bubbled. Chief Oke scrunched his sand features as a mess of vials and contraptions transpired before him. It stunk of disinfectant. A book fell from one of many stuffed racks and he could only wonder how the mad woman now staring at fluorescent liquids could live in such an enclosed shop. He squinted up. The only light proved the morning rays that spilled passed the ceiling gaps.


    ¡°So you let them go.¡± Said the old woman in a matter of fact tone.


    Oke straightened his posture as he saw her black eyes overly enlarge behind her bulging glasses. Strings of black sand dangled from underneath her white hat.


    ¡°I had to,¡± he claimed. ¡°No one from our clan can interfere with the tradition, so if warriors happened to travel by, then we could find the missing two without breaking any tradition.¡±


    Her flask lowered and she walked to a table that was brightened by a sun ray. She tapped the counter with the green filled flask. The light casted green hues along the palm wood surface.


    ¡°You think yourself clever, don¡¯t you?¡± Kimbe goaded him, no doubt taking great pleasure in their discourse. ¡°Using warriors as an excuse to cover your mistake.¡±


    She had walked to the bookshelves once he thought to respond, ¡°It was our only course.¡±


    ¡°Hah! Only course, my wrinkled arse. Think before you send a troupe of half turns out there, especially, a troupe of half poisoned half turns.¡±


    ¡°They are not us, Kimbe-dara.¡±


    ¡°See, that sentiment is exactly why I only run this shop one month a year and live in Al¡¯tof for the rest of it.¡±


    ¡°A sentiment your granddaughter shares no doubt.¡±


    Kimbe squinted at him, ¡°The same granddaughter you sent out to get married. And where is she now?¡±


    Oke shuffled, ¡°The warriors will save her.¡±


    She reached and tugged out a dusty leather clad book. It had the marking of a pink flower with petals upon it, ¡°If the blood of Zanae doesn¡¯t kill them first.¡±


    The door behind Oke brushed open.


    ¡°Oke-Dara, we¡¯ve a guest.¡± Reported the synergist on the other side. He was a thin fellow, never quite good at sandshaping.


    ¡°A guest, Indele? So soon after those warriors?¡± asked Oke.


    Indele nodded briskly, ¡°Blue hat, honored Chief. She¡¯s requested we contact the navy, But Inyande¡­¡±


    Oke held his sandy wrists behind his back and passed Indele with a weary breath, ¡°The village will be in greater danger if we protect her.¡±


    ¡°Chief¡­¡± started Indele.


    ¡°Call them, Indele.¡± He said as he shot Kimbe a glance. Kimbe had been a fast friend with Inyande, met her a few times outside Impeh to, so to lack even a retort mad him curious. ¡°Suddenly silent, Kimbe-dara? Perhaps it is your current employer keeping you that way.¡±


    A page turned and he realised it wasn¡¯t her predicament that bound her to silence, but rather the book she held now. A slow smile formed on her sandy cheeks as she faced the pages.


    ¡°Kimbe-Dara?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Huh? What? Me?¡± She shut the book silently and bade them away. ¡°Yes yes trouble with Niss Ita. Is that all? Then I must ask you to leave. I¡¯ll have your order prepared by the evening. For now I¡¯ve got matters to attend to.¡± She turned her book. ¡°Matters of a petal.¡±


    ¡­


    The fifth island blurred behind them. Tig could already spot the last two on the horizon, a sunny stretch brightening it gloriously.


    Franco kept his knees huddled, ¡°Sixth now, yeah?¡±


    ¡°Glad you can count Cantinio.¡± said the seawolf.


    ¡°No.¡± entered Inyande. ¡°We don¡¯t stop here.¡±Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    Tig stared at the woman who seemed forever locked on what he assumed was the seventh island. He got curious, so he tried what she did even leaned to get a better view.


    Slowly, seemingly the shape of the closer isle shifted out of the way as they passed the fifth without stopping.


    Tig stumbled up, rocking the boat. The others followed in a similar rise, even Franco.


    ¡°Hours.¡± Cursed Franco. ¡°How many is that?¡±


    ¡°Seven ships¡± hushed Tig. ¡°And I think I see another by its masts.¡±


    Black flags flew upon a forest of masts. Skull and bones pocked each of the black fabrics. Tig lowered his head. Those were jolly rogers, the universal sign of pirates and the witch doctor nomads before them.


    Inyande directed the boat towards the sixth isle without warning, making the Tig others struggle for footing.


    ¡°Assuming they are witch doctors, this seems to be the combination of a number of tribes,¡± said Inyande. ¡°Aggressive, populated. Not something five inexperienced travelers could face even with the aid of the strongest woman in the world. We need to plan.¡±


    Tig swallowed hard and pointed at the final isle, ¡°You mean to take on that?¡±


    ¡°We have to.¡± Confirmed Inyande.


    ¡°But we can¡¯t. I mean I can¡¯t. I can barely fight an unarmed boy my age, let alone a full turn witch doctor presumably a number of times older than myself and equipped with magic.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re afraid of their magic, cursed one?¡± asked Inyande.


    The shore neared and Tig answered honestly, ¡°quite frankly yes.¡±


    ¡°Magic is a skill,¡± said Inyande. ¡°It can be learned. If it can be learned, it can be countered. Do you recall what magic witch doctors employ?¡±


    ¡°Nasty type of spirits magic,¡± grumbled the Professor. ¡°They cast bits of themselves off and blast other things with deadly spells.¡±


    ¡°Not only on themselves, anything their school demands ¡®worthy¡¯ and witch doctors often place value in breathings things.¡±


    Steps echoed as Chireke gasped and fell back with a thud. When Tig turned, he saw her covering her sandy mouth, ¡°Kwake¡­¡±


    ¡°Luckily for us,¡± continued Inyande, ¡°Witch doctors love to cover their less selfless spells in extended rituals.¡±


    ¡°Why would nomads do this?¡± asked Tig.


    ¡°Does it matter?¡± said Inyande.


    Gemjo chuckled behind him, ¡°What?¡± she said to him as he glanced back, ¡°I like that answer.¡±


    Tig rolled his eyes, ¡°Alright, suppose I¡¯ll ask a meaningful question then. How do we fight unnumbered magic-flailing witch doctors?¡±


    The ship jostled as it met the shore. Inyande jumped off and touched him on his shoulder as she passed him by.


    ¡°Shi shi. We have one maybe two days. Gut feeling. In that time, your temporary captain orders you and your companions to get stronger.¡±


    ¡°Oi, that sounds tiresome.¡± Said Gemjo.


    ¡°Oh it will be.¡± Hummed Inyande.


    ¡°I¡¯m out.¡±


    Inyande smiled to that inevitable answer and a cloud of grey smoke puffed around her, engulfing her. Out came a black wolf with twisting clockwork legs. Her hair had turned into a slick coat, dark as oil. Pointed wolf ears twitched and led to her angled muzzle. She flashed a toothy grin.


    The wolf formed a few paw prints on the sand as it strut about and Tig found himself alternating between it and Gemjo.


    He struggled to find the words, ¡°So Inyande could--¡±


    ¡°Yup.¡± Said Gemjo.


    ¡°Even though she¡¯s not a--¡±


    ¡°Yup.¡±


    ¡°Magic is learned.¡± Repeated Inyande, shifting back to her regular figure. ¡°This includes the shapeshifting of seawolves, the intricacies of writing magic and even the monstrous spells of time priests, though hours forbid you lot ever find those.¡±


    Tig laughed nervously to that and peaked at Gemjo, who only frowned.


    Inyande took to pacing ahead of them, her greatblade perched on her shoulders, ¡°We¡¯ve got two days to make you lot strong enough to face a horde of witch doctors. To that end, I¡¯ll need to know how each of you fight. You first, sea wolf.¡± She said pointing at Gemjo.


    ¡°I can turn into an orca. Swim fast, sometimes run.¡±


    Inyande shifted to Franco, ¡°And you?¡±


    ¡°Me?¡± said Franco as he shot up for the boat.


    Inyande nodded happily and the man struck a flexing pose, his arms held low to exaggerate his bulging muscles, ¡°Well, the man who¡¯ll topple the Navy shall do so with his fists.¡±


    ¡°Cursed one?¡±


    Franco¡¯s arm sagged to how quickly she switched from him.


    ¡°I¡¯m a pacifist.¡± Shrugged the boy.


    ¡°Drunk one?¡±


    ¡°I hit things with bottles, mate.¡±


    For a moment Inyande went silent.


    Tig pointed at the Professor, ¡°He¡¯s really good with that thing.¡±


    Gemjo went to her side and nodded knowingly, ¡°Oh trust me, I ask myself how they¡¯ve lived thus far every day.¡±


    Seconds passed then minutes, all in utter silence save the wash of waves and brush of savanna air. Then, abruptly, Inyande flung her greatblade and stabbed the earth.


    She drew a breath and spoke in a voice loud enough to be a captain¡¯s, ¡°In two days we¡¯ll assault the seventh island. I, Tig and Chireke will distract the main forces should it get unpleasant, the rest of you will free the prisoners. Now to do this you must get stronger, so listen well. Chireke, spar with Cantinio. Seawolf practice shifting into a wolf. Tig with me.¡±


    ¡°And me mate?¡± asked the Professor.


    ¡°Almost forgot about you. Run laps around the island. And, before you protest, for every second I see you standing still, I¡¯ll deduct a shot from your reward bottle.¡±


    The Professor pointed down the sandy coast and back at himself.


    Inyande held out an open hand and lowered her fingers one at a time, ¡°One, two, three¡­¡±


    Tig chuckled as the Professor dwindled into the distance. His hurried steps were immediate, his subtle shriek strangely amusing.


    Franco sounded behind him, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Niss Ita, but I cannot fight a woman.¡±


    ¡°Nor could I bring myself to fight someone who is unarmed,¡± added Chireke.


    ¡°Consider it a test to see who¡¯s stronger in my eyes,¡± mused Inyande. ¡°Less you two are afraid to try.¡±


    Franco gulped and met eyes with Chireke. They nodded in silent agreement, though admittedly, for two different reasons.


    ¡°I won¡¯t hold back, Niss.¡± Started Franco.


    ¡°Nor will I.¡±


    The two distanced for their oncoming brawl and Tig caught Gemjo back to lounging by the boat.


    She had one eye open and glowering his way, ¡°Before you threaten me or reward me, let me say I¡¯ve always wanted to turn into a wolf. Truly. So whatever effort you think I¡¯ll put into this it is my own genuine pursuit. I just--¡± she yawned ¡°¡ªneed some time to rest up, to awaken my potential.¡±


    Tig spun to Inyande who, again, nodded and smiled. Training as she called it, seemed entirely implausible. Especially for two days. He then faced what he could only imagine to be a horde of witch doctors waiting an island away.


    Impossible. Absolutely impossible. He had heard the stories of witch doctors, the warnings to stay away. But then he had also met one such witch doctor. They were people and that only made it worse. But Inyande remained unphased.


    There was a hidden facet to the woman beside him, a confidence that exuded itself beyond even Franco. Here stood a woman who knew not when to surrender. Here stood a woman who would win no matter what. He watched as she wringed her blade¡¯s pommel.


    ¡°Two days,¡± she announced with a draw of it. ¡°Begins now.¡±

 Again

    ¡°Again.¡±


    He dreaded the word, hated it. It marked the moment sand brushed against his coat and taunting hands forced him up again. Painfully, he stumbled to his legs. Inyande paced ahead of him.


    Repetition, as she ruthlessly parroted, was the best instructor. It did not matter where his interest lay nor that he could not employ any form of spirit magic. When Inyande decided he¡¯d learn to fight, that would be his course.


    ¡°Cursed one, listen to the spirits. Really listen. You¡¯ve no chance in beating anybody without your completed arsenal. So listen.¡±


    Tig puffed through his nose, ¡°I¡¯m deaf to them. I told you already, my village was destroyed before the year of my awakening ritual.¡±


    ¡°The ritual is a formality, being a chitik is validation enough to use our magic.¡±


    ¡°Am I a chitik though?¡±


    ¡°Shi shi. You ask the strangest questions. Ofcourse you are a chitik, had you been anything else, I¡¯d have to hunt you as a huntress of man. Remember, our people are the only ones who may legally use our form of spirit magic.¡±


    Tig glanced at his steel and wooden hands, ¡°And you want me to unlock it through repeatedly beating me?¡±


    ¡°Until you fight back with it, yes.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t like this idea.¡±


    Her blow was immediate, low and met by his crossed arms. The ¡®idea¡¯ was not his. There had to be another way, surely. He pushed back her weight only to falter to another punch. He was to be a doctor for Hour¡¯s sake not a warrior. First Vene, then Anu and now Inyande, there seemed to be no end to those who demanded he fight.


    ¡°You defend a lot,¡± said Inyande with another punch. ¡°Perhaps you can use spirits for that?¡±


    Tig dug his feet into the sand soil beneath him and tried to listen. First he heard his heartbeat, an erratic thump. A chorus of birds came second. The pang of blades, the rustle of leaves and the static of the ocean, by all accounts he was still there, still on the sixth island on the border island chain. Nothing had changed.


    Except for Inyande¡¯s stance. He could already hear the hurried steps of a charge, a quick warring breath and the deep thud of muscled shoulder against scrawny mechanized arms. That, he could feel.


    Sand and soil and fallen leaves littered into his collar. The tops of silver trees covered the skies above.


    ¡°Again.¡±


    The boy sighed, not willing to get up, ¡°I don¡¯t understand, why not teach me it normally?¡±


    ¡°Because spirit magic can¡¯t be taught normally. It manifests differently for each chitik. Take mine for example.¡±


    He lifted his head to that and saw how she had ventured to her blade resting by a nearby tree and grabbed it. Swinging the monstrous weapon behind her back, she touched the bark of the moderate tree with her free hand.


    ¡°Are you familiar with an axe, cursed one?¡±


    Tig frowned, ¡°You must be joking.¡±


    ¡°It is a simple yet potent device. The long handle gives power to the head where the blow is concentrated. Normally,¡± she said eying the tree and lowering her blade, ¡°you need a tool designed in just that manner to fell trees, but even then it requires multiple strikes.¡±


    Tig sat up, ¡°You don¡¯t mean to chop that tree do you?¡±


    Inyande smiled, gripping her pommel with both hands, ¡°Just watch.¡±


    He couldn¡¯t do anything else. Her blade swirled in blue fire as she raised it and he became obsessed with it like a moth.


    Inyande swung.


    ¡­


    For a moment, Franco was distracted. He heard the birds first, the cracking of branches second. A knife pinched his throat in that half second lapse.


    ¡°Got you.¡± Said his opponent.


    ¡°Rematch, I was di¡ª¡°


    ¡°Distracted?¡± she said drawing her knife. ¡°I noticed.¡±


    Franco rolled his shoulder and raised his fists, ¡°What does that make us now?¡±


    Chireke held out her open palm and the sands forming it shifted into a tally chart. On one side, Franco noticed the character for his name on the other, what he assumed what she signed for herself. He nodded approvingly at the sandy lines underneath.


    ¡°You¡¯ve still got twelve wins to catch up to me, sand maiden.¡±


    She manufactured a frown, ¡°what happened to not fighting women?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re made of sand.¡±


    She rose a black sand brow, ¡°and what does that mean?¡±


    ¡°With all due respect, sand maiden, but I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever fancied women as sandcastles before.¡±


    ¡°Ah, the figure you mean?¡± she stood back and some of the sands beneath her rushed into her clothing. He watched in horror as those grains ran up to her chest and hips. Franco blocked the sight with his hands, his ears reddening behind him.


    ¡°No. Nope! Don¡¯t you dare try that.¡±


    She chuckled in her grainy tone, no doubt posing even then, ¡°What? Can¡¯t handle fancying a sandcastle.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not that! You¡¯re made of sand¡ªonly sand¡ªHours how does that even work? Why does that work?¡±


    He heard the added material rush back to the ground, and he lowered his hands with a sigh, thankful he had not caught more than a glimpse of what she did. There was a sandcastle building competition on the northern coast of Siblisey, one he¡¯d proctor on a yearly basis. He could already imagine the strange looks he¡¯d gather as he gave even stranger ones to the innocent sandcastles. He shuddered at the thought. He was sure that would have awakened something with in him.


    ¡°We have flesh to, honored dara.¡±


    ¡°You? Flesh?¡± He gestured at her madly as he peaked about in mild curiosity.


    She thumped her chest, ¡°Underneath the sand. We are too fragile to expose ourselves to the dangers of this world and so we hide,¡± she said gripping her knife. ¡°Like cowards.¡±


    ¡°Can I see it?¡±


    Her black eyes went wide and Franco sidestepped a cloud of sand ejected his way.


    ¡°Have some respect!¡± she spat.


    Franco pointed at her meekly, ¡°What? But its only skin?¡±


    Her eyes flipped up and down, ¡°Just skin, is it? Then why do you wear pants?¡±


    ¡°Pants? Why wouldn¡¯t I wear pants, that¡¯s just¡­ oh.¡±


    ¡°Pervert.¡±


    Pervert. Called pervert by a sandcastle. Franco slumped. A female sandcastle. He deserved that. ¡°You realise this will make it harder for me to fight you?¡±


    She readied her dagger, ¡°What? Because you haven¡¯t managed to break through my sands?¡±


    He shook his head, ¡°No, because you¡¯re getting married.¡±


    Her daggers lowered, her expression shifted, ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡±


    He glanced at the sky and smiled at it. The Cantinios were a traditional lot, always had been. There was no reason for that which needed none.


    ¡°Common sense.¡± He hushed. ¡°Why would I bruise a girl on the happiest day of her life?¡±


    Her glare was instant as was her charge. Franco found his silver fists holding back the inevitable thrust. She pushed into him, making him slide and his pointed hair wobble.


    ¡°Why do you assume it makes me happy?¡± she snapped.


    The dagger slipped beside his fist and he deftly twirled away.


    ¡°That¡¯s it, marriage, end goal. Have children, live a happy life, what more could you want?¡±This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    She swiped at him, ¡°Is that what you want?¡±


    ¡°Eventually yes.¡±


    ¡°But right now?¡±


    ¡°Topple the navy,¡± He puffed as he caught her hand. ¡°Thirteen wins.¡±


    ¡°Eleven.¡± Her sandy foot rammed him where he wished she didn¡¯t, and he fumbled back, clutching it, groaning. Pain. A horrid dulling sensation filled him and assumed every second thought. And of course, even at his lowest hour, the monstress did not relent.


    ¡°Second palm,¡± wheezed Franco, a moment before her assault.


    Chireke froze connected to his outstretched arm. Her dagger fell, her eyes went low.


    ¡°Only fair.¡± He panted. ¡°You played dirty first.¡±


    She was silent, most likely baffled. The Cantinio family employed a seven palm style, a style that had a different palm for every action including piercing.


    Now half his outstretched hand lay within her sandy stomach, he felt something smooth yet rubbery on the other side.


    ¡°Is that your true flesh, sand maiden?¡±


    Silence. Her expression, etched in black, had not shifted since contact.


    He continued, ¡°Look, if we are to spar, we should set boundaries. I promise not to touch your true flesh if you promise not to kick me in the crotch. Are we understood?¡±


    Her unremitting quietness dismayed him, and, wearily, he pulled back his hand. He paused. He considered the terrible scenario. What if that killed her? Sweat rolled down his temple. Yes it was entirely possible.


    ¡°Hours.¡± He gagged, shuffling back and covering his mouth. ¡°Am I... am I¡­¡±


    He blinked. The sand that covered her fell away.


    Her lose fit wrapping became baggy rags that fell upon white flesh. A smooth, hairless head tilted at him and assumed his attention, despite the rest of the lean figure that was readily visible. The nude combatant had little lips, pointed nose and wide black eyes that utterly enthralled him. He strayed there for far too long and before he could discern other parts, something heavy sent him skidding across the sand.


    He saw the shape of a large tannish hammer hovering nearby the slender creature before the hammer dissipated and reassumed around the synergist.


    He stood up, aching in two places.


    ¡°Eleven.¡± He mumbled.


    He took a step and winced at the pain in his crotch. He thanked the Hours when Chireke approached him instead, and he wagered a guess as to what she did, ¡°So you dedicate most of your powers to defending yourself, and when you don¡¯t, you¡¯re powerful?¡±


    ¡°And naked.¡± She added.


    ¡°A fair trade,¡± said Franco.


    ¡°To you maybe, shirtless-dara. But not something I¡¯d normally consider.¡±


    ¡°Hours!¡± blurted Franco. ¡°Can you still marry, after I¡ªI¡ª wait. That is the same in your culture, I assume?¡±


    Chireke ran a hand through her sandy locks, ¡°I don¡¯t plan on marrying.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t expect you to. I only wish to save Kwake, not marry him. Soon as I save him I running away with Inyande-dara. The Eighth blesses me with this opportunity and I mean to use it.¡±


    Franco nodded slowly, ¡°Hence why you want to impress her.¡±


    ¡°And I can¡¯t do that with an eleven win discrepancy.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll lie.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    Franco touched her on her shoulder and smiled with his eyes narrowed, ¡°You heard me, less you¡¯ve got no ears under that sand, know that I, Franco Cantinio, promise to get you on her crew. We¡¯ll use any means to make that wish of yours a reality. I¡¯ve seen you¡¯re true flesh, so it¡¯s the least I can do.¡±


    ¡°Please don¡¯t mention that, especially to Kwake.¡±


    ¡°I swear on my family name.¡±


    For once the synergist made a smile. Franco returned it, studying the constantly shifting sands. Every gesture a synergist made had to be conscious one. Whether it was a smile or any other expression. It was effort of beauty, a testament to their hardworking nature. He respected that.


    He let his hand slide off and he paced away, turning when at five paces. ¡°Ready?¡± he asked her.


    ¡°Ready.¡±


    ¡­


    They were at it again. Perched half-heartedly with her elbow on the boat, she yawned as she watched the fight. Her one hand pushed up her cheek up. Surely the two lug heads had something better to do then fight all day, even if the captain ordered it.


    Well, the synergist did go nude for a moment. That was something. She wondered if they knew she saw. She heard steps and spotted the Professor, sweat faced and panting, pass her by.


    Her eyes followed him to the very edge and relapsed to the lug heads. That was the third lap now.


    Why did they try so hard? It was confounding. Not only did they go at the behest of a woman they barely knew but they accepted that they¡¯d be facing an army of witch doctors in a day and half¡¯s time. She leaned further on the boat.


    She had a plan of course. Same as before. Her golden eyes wandered to the large boats on the horizon. Steal a boat. Though Tig, the righteous sod, would never approve. But he did not need to.


    She grinned to herself and practised the lines, ¡°Ohh, Tig, the prisoners are on the boat. Whatever shall we do?¡±


    ¡°Tig¡¯s gone with Inyande, mate.¡±


    Her feet splashed the ground as she spotted the drunk there, ¡°What? How? You just passed me, I saw.¡±


    ¡°I ran a little faster, mate.¡±


    She lowered her brows and squinted a moment later. The Professor, who had supposedly ¡®ran a little faster¡¯ was upright, composed and strangely more white than usual. Than ever. Splotches of ivory fur had engulfed large section of his bronze face.


    ¡°Something happen to you?¡± she queried.


    He touched the white largest white spot by his cheek and swooned, ¡°You like the new look. Bit of tin, yea that, happens right when I get exposed to too much sun.¡±


    She splashed to him, pinched her nose, and leaned close. ¡°That¡¯s fur.¡± She said with some expertise on the subject.


    ¡°Tin fur. Excellent stuff.¡±


    She reached for it, and he backed away.


    ¡°But I¡¯m, uh, rather shy about it.¡± He brushed his cheek a few times and pleasantly shivered. ¡°See? Brings something out of me.¡±


    ¡°Why are you growing fur?¡±


    ¡°Why do you need Tig to go with you?¡±


    She crossed her arms, ¡°Out all of you lot, he¡¯s the most sensible.¡±


    ¡°Sensible? Mate. The boy¡¯s born to a family of assassins and wants to be a sodding doctor. No, I don¡¯t think that¡¯s it.¡± The Professor swayed about her. ¡°Hours I hate being sober, makes me think too much, so let me drink upon the spirits of thought, yeah? I deduce that you¡¯re affiliation to Tig stems from your similar beginnings.¡±


    ¡°And what beginnings do you speak of, Drunk?¡±


    He pointed at her neck and she reflexed to touch it, realising her scarf was gone.


    ¡°The lonely kind.¡± He answered, circling her. ¡°Trust me, I know that kind better than most.¡±


    ¡°I do not want a lecture from a drunk.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sober.¡±


    ¡°Not for long.¡±


    ¡°Hours if only. Tell me then, in this beginning-- which shall not be named¡ªwhich Hour did you pray to?¡±


    Her ears twitched and her head lowered, ¡°None of them. No Hour exists in a world as awful as this.¡±


    The Professor paused, ¡°I think the world¡¯s rather spectacular.¡±


    ¡°Why? Because it has drink and attractive single mothers?¡±


    ¡°That,¡± He mused, ¡°and because you never know what might happen and who it might happen with. You could steal a ship over yonder or go with that plan Ita-what¡¯s-it has so lovingly crafted.¡±


    ¡°You agree with her?¡±


    The Professor held his forehead and tilted his chin up to the heavens, ¡°Gut feeling, mate. There are those who know exactly what might happen, those painfully aware of it at every moment even though they wish they weren¡¯t. Unless they were distracted of course. Perhaps,¡± he said glancing back at her, ¡°With a little drink.¡±


    ¡°Oi,¡± cried Franco in the distance, ¡°aren¡¯t you supposed to be running?¡±


    ¡°Two minutes. At least a hundred and twenty drops.¡± Reported Chireke.


    ¡°Hours!¡± cursed the Professor as he began his run again. He turned halfway down the coast and jogged backwards. ¡°We¡¯ll talk again.¡± He promised.


    The fighting of lugheads resumed in her ears, and Gemjo slumped and frowned. She hoped not. When he was gone, she found herself squatting by the shallow water, staring blankly at the breathing waves. She caught her momentary reflection in the evening light. Particularly her neck.


    She snarled and stabbed the sand with Remy¡¯s gun, forming ripples in the water. The past did not matter. It couldn¡¯t be changed so why would it? It filled her with an unease unlike any other. Why the drunk of all people made her think of the foul concept was beyond her.


    ¡°The past.¡± She muttered as she spotted her own tail in the remnants of the reflection. Inyande had asked her to turn into a wolf. She wondered if the she-chitik knew what she asked of her. To turn into a wolf required months of training if not more, that is, she assumed it did.


    The usefulness of it varied to. Wolves were fast, agile, but they lacked the coordination of her two legged form. Worst of all, it gave cretins like Remy justification to call her a dog. She spat in the water. She hated that. She had a feeling they¡¯d run into the ¡®rich witch¡¯ once again and more likely than not trouble alongside her. While elated by her sudden disappearance, the reality of it quickly dawned upon Gemjo during their travels through the border isles. Remy was military and military loved to make reports.


    She scuttled forwards to dryer sand and drew a crude boat in it with the pistol. Assuming Remy did call upon the navy the time they had would be limited, so escape by witch doctor ship was ideal.


    She frowned at her mock creation and destroyed it heartlessly with a scribble of the gun. She peered low at the dueling duo and considered the alternative if the Professor was right. A new image formed at the end of her scribing finger.


    Three stick figures emerged by the ship then a dotted trail and at last a box with lines through it, a prison.


    ¡°Second plan,¡± she hushed aloud. Sneak into the camp, save the prisoners and get out. It seemed simple, but there would be complications. They had little indication as to where the prisoners were held and little measures should they be caught.


    The one factor that remained was speed. Four legs instead of two. They needed her. She raised slowly to her feet, thinking little of the past and cracked her knuckles.


    ¡°Wolf.¡± She said focussing. ¡°Time to turn into a wolf.¡±


    ¡­


    The day passed and then another. Two figures brawled between silver trees and scarce light.


    ¡°Again.¡±


    Tig puffed and wobbled up. The sun had set long ago and what little warmth remained came from the boy himself. Inyande had struck him down a hundred and seventy six times, something he recounted most bitterly. Even then, he hadn¡¯t thrown a single punch.


    ¡°Not even a pinch of spirit magic?¡± tried Inyande.


    He shook his head.


    ¡°Odd,¡± she said, tapping her chin, ¡°the elders taught me through punching me, so I thought that was how it worked.¡±


    ¡°Wait, you¡¯ve never done this before?¡±


    ¡°Shi shi. Of course not.¡±


    Tig dragged his hand across his face, ¡°Of course.¡±


    ¡°But I¡¯m sure that¡¯s how it works, if it¡¯s not then I¡¯m sorry, cursed one, but this may not go as I planned.¡± She paced towards the slight open pathway that led to the beach. Tig stood between her and that path and she patted him on the shoulder before properly passing him. ¡°I¡¯ve decided. You¡¯ll go with your friends tomorrow to see to the prisoners. Might even be good for you considering your hopes of becoming a doctor.¡±


    ¡°What of you?¡±


    ¡°Chireke and I should suffice,¡± she smiled at him, ¡°We¡¯re going to save her Kwake, yeah?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°Then apply some of that grit you¡¯ve gained from being beaten two days straight.¡±


    That grit as she called it was nothing more than a remnant of his days under Trimbly tutelage. He recalled the hours upon hours of brutal sparring until after years of it, all but Vene gave up. It was a past he could not escape.


    Shadows passed overhead as the beach came into view. A fire flickered nearby. Night bugs chirped in curious statics and moonlit waves quietly crashed.


    He saw Gemjo, Franco and Chireke seated by the crackling flame, and he whiffed the stench of fish skewered above the pyre.


    ¡°Tomorrow, huh?¡± asked Tig as the sands crunched beneath him, the banter of those seated quickly approaching him.


    Inyande gave him a quick over-the-shoulder glance and spoke, drowning out the callous jabs at Franco¡¯s cowardice, ¡°Trust in me a little, my distraction will be impeccable.¡±


    A cover of night hid much of what lay outside the fire and Tig spied in the direction of the seventh isle fruitlessly. He feared what he would become of him if he didn¡¯t go more than what lay there. Leaving Kwake to die was as good as murder even if he¡¯d never met the man. Just as he was charged with deaths of the chitik when the Trimblys attacked. Poor, feeble Tig, watching as those he could do nothing for were slaughtered like seals.


    Fire splashed against his face and greetings bumbled his way. It did not matter whether they were Trimblys or witch doctors, one reality remained painfully clear. If he did nothing, then he would back at his village. Alone, weak. It would all happen once again.

 A Bit of Worldbuilding

    On the first of the month of medicine, the fourth in the year, the monthly edition of The Empire¡¯s Hand manifested on the floor mats and mailboxes of every subscribing patriot. It was a crisp black and white print written in brow rising prose and splattered with questionable photography. There were scenes of red-hatted protesters in the narrowing streets of Jing Mon Ceros, officials vying for the empress¡¯s favor by the crystal palace, and, most striking of all, an in action piece of Venezio Trimbly about ready to murder a chitik boy. The caption described it as proof of the Trimbly¡¯s villainy in Kura, yet most found it odd as to how that particular picture was captured to begin with.


    Every turn knew photographs took an awful lot to conjure what with the need of time-light manipulation, something that took ages to prepare by written magic, even longer through clock engines. ¡®In-actions¡¯ were matters of coincidence, a lucky shot or a perfectly timed encounter. It was easy to become a skeptic and even easier to draw the conclusions. It was an obvious fake! A photo-realistic drawing. The work of sensationalists not journalists. But the fear that lone picture brought was real. Not one objected to that. Fear or the thought of it remained the truest feeling The Empire¡¯s Hand proliferated. The readers lapped it up, morbidly curious as to how it would all end. ¡®You could be next¡¯ as one title read.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    There were other stories that most the usual patrons skimmed through or tossed aside before reading. Slave riots in the Hungering City, horoscopes based on Hour worship, a tournament on the Seventh Sea and a whole slew of inventions penned by mechano-biologists.


    The last pages were read even less than the side stories. Ship and job advertisements made it up, with an entire page dedicated to the Navy, half another for the army. And at last, a single line was scribbled right before the final margin where the date was inscribed.


    Most would have missed it, but for those who read on religiously it was a reward in the form of a promise.


    On next month¡¯s edition: Interview with the Mad Tinker.

 Just Use a Gun

    There was little argument when the company of misfits and their makeshift captain landed on the seventh border isle, only wordless agreement. Chireke and Inyande departed to do their part while Tig and his companions hid behind a massive toppled log to do theirs.  It had been hour since then and still, nothing. Inyande said to wait for the signal. But she never said what the signal would be.Not even the slightest commotion alerted them.


    Tig made a point by facing the crouching Gemjo. She shrugged, level to him and he turned to the Professor who was slumped against the log. Strangely, he seemed whiter than usual to Tig. Really white, as if the bronze on his face had turned to tin. More so, his nose had gone pointed and cone shaped, poking ahead of him.


    ¡°What?¡± asked the metamorphic man, willing his goggle eyes lazily to Tig.


    ¡°Nothing, you just look different.¡±


    ¡°As do you. No, never mind, you look exactly the same. You done comparing, mate?¡±


    Gemjo tipped her head at him and loudly hushed so the Professor could hear her, ¡°He gets prissy when he¡¯s sober. Might be something he¡¯s remembering I think.¡±


    ¡°Oi, you suggesting I¡¯m a problem drinker? I am not a problem drinker.¡±


    ¡°No, you just drink your problems away,¡± said the girl.


    ¡°Exactly! Wait. That¡¯s the same thing.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re a problem drinker?¡± asked Franco, peaking passed Tig¡¯s shoulders.


    ¡°Most definitely,¡± agreed a grinning Gemjo.


    The Professor made a frown at the girl, ¡°I am offended. Truly. Do you know, mate, I¡¯m starting to think you detest me.¡±


    ¡°Me? Detest you? But your permanent alcoholic aroma is simply divine.¡±


    The Professor tapped his chest and eyed Tig, ¡°Oi, mate. She¡¯s going to get me killed.¡±


    ¡°In all fairness, the original plan was to abandon you,¡± said Tig.


    ¡°What?¡±


    Franco nodded, ¡°I would have done the same.¡±


    ¡°Hours.¡± Cursed the Professor. ¡°Just when did the world start hating me? Or perhaps it always has. Must be that I think. I was merely blissfully unaware before. But now? Hours! I can¡¯t handle this¡­ this clarity! How do you lot do it. Wretched thing soberness, sight¡¯s all focussed, mind¡¯s not buzzing. Hours damn it all I need a drink.¡±


    ¡°Problem drinker,¡± affirmed Gemjo.


    The tall and practically tin man stood up, ¡°I¡¯m going.¡±


    Tig pulled him down with a snatch of his coat, ¡°No you¡¯re not. Signal remember?¡±


    Franco tapped him on the shoulder. ¡°What is the signal?¡± he asked before plainly grunting. ¡°I take it you don¡¯t know. Well, assuming it¡¯s something unmistakable we should hear it soon, why it¡¯s been an hour already.¡±


    ¡°What then?¡¯ said Gemjo. ¡°Say we get a signal, what do we do?¡±


    ¡°We run to the cages,¡± answered the boy.


    ¡°And where are the cages?¡± she asked back.


    He smiled dumbly.


    ¡°Right we don¡¯t know,¡± she sighed before pausing abruptly. She took a sniff of the air and quieted, ¡°There¡¯s a witch doctor close by.¡±


    Franco attempted to stand up before Gemjo tackled him down.


    ¡°Don¡¯t look.¡± She snapped, holding him down with her weight. ¡°He¡¯s close, just know that.¡±


    Tig gulped and glanced away. Admittedly, he had taken her command in a separate angle. Her tail flicked by and he felt the distinct urge to touch it, but shook his head shortly after summoning all his willpower to control himself. Fluffy may it be, that tail was a mine waiting to erupt.


    She sat on her heels, the tail lowered. ¡°We capture the guard,¡± she continued. ¡°Then we question him to give us the location. After, we head there, quiet as larks, and steal away the prisoners.¡±


    ¡°Question,¡± said Franco, raising a hand, ¡°What if they¡¯ve used locks or iron manacles?¡±


    ¡°Witch doctors don¡¯t use iron manacles.¡±


    ¡°But if these ones did?¡± pressed Franco.


    ¡°I know witch doctors,¡± she said. ¡°There are two rules amongst them: one, you cannot trust them, and two, they hate iron.¡±


    ¡°Bronze manacles then? Lead? Any metal really.¡±


    She shook her head, ¡°They won¡¯t, just trust me.¡±


    Tig nodded as she glanced his way, ¡°Ok, so wait for signal, rush in, knock out that guard and question him till he gives up his answer?¡±


    Franco spoke up before she could answer, ¡°The distraction¡¯s going to need to be awful big for this plan to work. Who¡¯s to say a dozen witch doctors won¡¯t rush to the poor fellow¡¯s aid once we jump him?¡±


    ¡°And should he be strong?¡± added Tig. ¡°I mean this entire plan revolves around us taking him out.¡±


    ¡°He has a point.¡± Said Franco.


    Gemjo pushed her arms apart between them, ¡°Quiet! Both of you. We got no plan ¡®cept mine, don¡¯t think any of you¡¯ve thought of anything brighter.¡±


    ¡°If Ita was here, she¡¯d think of something,¡± said the Professor this time.


    She growled at him, ¡°She gave us her genius plan. ¡®Wait for the signal¡¯ that was it. Hours, had you not made me question myself we would have gone with my original plan.¡± Her eyes darted to the towering masts some minutes away. ¡°We would have been on the sea by now.¡±


    Tig forgot about her swishing, fluffy tail for a moment, ¡°Hold on, by plan did you mean to steal a ship?¡±


    She formed a line with her mouth, ¡°And if I said yes?¡±


    ¡°Gem¡­¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t give me that look. I¡¯ve thought this through, Take a ship, sail away and sleep. Only I¡¯d do the sleeping ofcourse-- I¡¯d deserve it after the thinking I did. You lot would handle the other duties.¡±


    Tig¡¯s eye twitched. He had thought for a while now on the subject of sailing with his disreputable companions. One slept all the time, the other became immobile near water and the last bumbled about idiotically with a penchant for passing out when it mattered most. Had they not immediately wrecked ever ship they¡¯ve gained, all of the less than spectacular but necessary duties of sailing a ship would fall onto Tig.


    Tig spoke with a long drawn breath, ¡°We¡¯re not stealing a ship.¡±


    There was a tired growl to her voice, as if she had expected him to say that, but loathed hearing it all the same.


    She asked the inevitable question, drew it out as long as she could to, ¡°Why?¡±


    The answer was abrupt and loud, a low crackling boom. Then another and another. Tig covered his face as winds slapped him wickedly. He steadied to a rise, spurred by something bright and blistering. He lowered his hands when he realised what it was.


    Fires kissed the still rising sky. Smokes misplaced the once towering masts and the air rippled in heat.


    ¡°The signal,¡± hushed Tig.


    ¡°The ships¡­¡± trailed Gemjo.


    The Professor patted her on the shoulder and leapt over the log, scarcely looking back as he voiced the words, ¡°Told you.¡±


    Franco mirrored the man¡¯s jump as did Tig who nearly tripped over the mossy thing. A flat beach melded into golden grasses where a witch doctor, black hat and all, stood numbly watching the fire show, heedless to their approach.


    As Tig¡¯s steps drew him closer, he noted how the guard had metal bones and limbs and body in place of artificial muscles and sinew. That was the trademark of witch doctors, creatures that pushed the boundaries of their mechanical carapaces.


    Most witch doctors seemed to be mechanized variants of half to full skeletal things. Oft dressed in ragged black coats and soot stained bandages. This man, though notably shorter than what he expected, was the spitting image of the bone men.


    ¡°Stop.¡± Urged Franco.


    The witch doctor¡¯s eyes were upon them. His slight-agape mouth told Tig their surprise approach had worked, however idiotic it happened to be. Tig sighed, rolling up his sleeves. Well, it could not get worse.


    ¡°Surrender fiend! We¡¯ve come to capture you!¡± roared his shirtless companion.


    Tig caught his forehead with his palm. Franco had a habit of being loud and he made no attempt in hiding that. Even if their plan required discretion.


    The Witch doctor flung his arm and Franco went skidding across the sand. Bright turquoise lights swirled around the witchdoctors bony hands when Tig relapsed to him.


    ¡°Terrible plan,¡± moaned the down Franco.


    ¡°Help!¡± bellowed the witch doctor. ¡°Dere be intrudahs! Help!¡±


    Seconds passed and nothing came of the cry. Another boom echoed from the ships, and Tig faced Gemjo with a nod, ¡°So at least one of our claims were wrong.¡±


    ¡°Well, then, go fight him,¡± gestured the girl.


    ¡°What me? You go fight him. You can turn into a wolf now, can¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°What kind of wolf fights that thing?¡±


    The Professor lumbered besides them, ¡°A moderately sized skeleton, mate?¡±


    ¡°Not the point. I can¡¯t do it.¡±


    ¡°But you said you truly cared about learning it,¡± said Tig.


    ¡°In two days? Be realistic chitik. Yes I¡¯ve had success, I¡¯ve even changed before.¡± Her tail swished and she glanced away. ¡°But I can¡¯t hold it.¡±


    ¡°Now¡¯s your chance! You don¡¯t need to hold it, just charge.¡± He readied his book. ¡°So long as we don¡¯t injure him, I¡¯ll even help. So change into a wolf and--¡±


    ¡°Intrudahs! Intrudahs!¡±


    Tig sighed, whirling to the man, ¡°Would you shut up!¡±


    ¡°No. You shut up,¡± yelled back the witch doctor. ¡°How long ya been fightin eh? First rule, dun talk about what ya going ta do.¡±


    The witch doctor swished a hand and Tig¡¯s book zipped out of his grip.


    ¡°Mates, I¡¯ll hold him off!¡±


    Their opponent swung his arm at the running Professor and as quick as he did so, the Professor jumped out the way. A tumble of sand and yellow grasses dusted up behind him.


    ¡°He dodged it,¡± gasped Tig. ¡°It can be dodged.¡±


    The Professor happily proved his assumption as the newly tin shaded man hopped the various blows.


    ¡°I¡¯ll do it.¡±


    Tig blinked at her, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, you¡¯re going?¡±


    ¡°Hours,¡± She sighed, begrudgingly, ¡°If it can be dodged then I can take him. Don¡¯t say I didn¡¯t try.¡±


    He was sure something must have happened on the previous island. This was not Gemjo. Not the same lazy, half heart seawolf who had unwillingly been a part of his journey. She yawned as he thought that and squashed all his doubts.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    She had lowered to a starting position, her hands spread far apart upon the ground with one knee dropped and the other risen slightly ahead of it.


    ¡°We can¡¯t run,¡± she said, facing forwards. ¡°We can¡¯t steal a ship and we certainly can¡¯t hide. This is our only option,¡± she took a breath. ¡°You got this, Jo. You can do this, ¡®Jo.¡±


    ¡°Jo?¡±


    Gemjo erupted into a dash. With dirt flinging recklessly in her wake, she decimated the distance and nimbly shifted forms into that of a silver wolf.


    Lithe, magnificent and glistening in hues of sunrise, that form became a sight that stole his breath away.


    The witch doctor turned, but too late. She¡¯d be upon him, teeth into bone. Or so Tig thought. A second before the wolf leapt on the witch doctor, it shifted into a startled girl who tripped and landed with her rump to the air. The Witch doctor swatted her away with his magic and Tig watched her tumble a stone¡¯s throw to his left.


    Tig ran to her as the Professor engaged the witch doctor in a renewed melee, bottle against bone. Unlike Franco, Gemjo made no sound nor movement. Tig feared the worst.


    He shook her when he reached her, adamant to disprove the worst possible scenario. She had been sprawled on her side with her head away from him. He remembered the Hungering city. A wash of dread stuttered his movements. He had to be sure.


    ¡°Gemjo.¡± He started. ¡°Are you¡­ you dead?¡±


    ¡°Shh.¡± She whispered back. ¡°Dead people don¡¯t speak.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m acting dead. Play along. I may just get out of it this way.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t be serious. The others need our help.¡±


    ¡°You do it to.¡±


    Tig stood up, shaking his head, ¡°No, even now the Professor is fighting for us. Franco is fighting, Inyande is fighting for us, Chireke is--¡±


    ¡°I get it,¡± said the dead girl. ¡°We¡¯ve got people fighting for us.¡±


    ¡°But who are we fighting for?¡±


    ¡°Ourselves. Obviously.¡±


    The distant tussles of sand and steps faded in his mind. He did not want to fight. In fact injuring others was paradoxical to his calling. Doctors threw no punches, fired no guns, nor manifested any death spells, they healed. Yet had he done nothing it would be the same as committing the act. Anu was right in that regard. And perhaps Inyande to. Though she hadn¡¯t said it, she wanted him to fight. Her attempts at awakening spirit magic had attested to that. Yet more than anything, he realised his own uselessness. He was just a boy who jumped on a ship, just a boy who wanted to be a doctor. He had not saved anyone yet. But he could now.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to fight.¡± He said, practically choking on the words. His eyes raised over Gemjo¡¯s scattered form. ¡°But if I have to defend you, I will.¡± He turned and saw the witch doctor now staring him. The Professor seemed thoroughly beat besides the guard with the shattered remnants of the bottle¡¯s top remaining in his tin hand.


    The witch doctor grunted at him, ¡°Ya dun seem strong.¡±


    Tig laughed nervously to that, ¡°I¡¯m not. Can hardly fight.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± said the witch doctor with a nod.


    Tig swallowed hard. He expected his defeat due shortly. A moment of bravery and he be kicked aside as the others were who were far stronger than he. Tig prepared for it, recalling just how the Professor dodged the other attacks and, if not that, then how he¡¯d best brace the fall.


    The witch doctor shuffled, Tig tensed and, instead of his inevitable clash, his menacing opponent cupped his hands and shouted, ¡°Intrudahs! Intrudahs!¡±


    Moments passed as he repeated the lines and Tig realised he had be deemed a non-threat. In some ways he was offended, but otherwise relieved by the momentary reprieve. . He decided to employ the break to his advantage. His eyes rolled away from the witch doctor and he found the book on the beach. It was too far. Any movement would alert the witch doctor and he¡¯d be done after a single spell.


    ¡°Intrudahs!¡±


    He considered his options. A melee seemed unlikely. The man had easily dispatched a bottle swinging Professor. Written magic, his only other course, was now lying on the shore, too far from his grasp. He balled his fists. There was nothing he could do, nothing he could¡­


    Something stirred on the sands. The witch doctor had not noticed and Tig tried his best to pretend he had not either, instead keeping his eyes level on his opponent. Franco. He was still able, and knowing Franco, that meant he would come, but however strong Franco was, Tig knew his shirtless companion would never reach their foe. He had the strength surely, but not the speed of Gemjo in her wolf form, nor the Proffesor¡¯s inexplicable nimbleness.


    He needed either speed or evasion and both were unlikely considering how he¡¯d be recovering from the first blow. Tig lowered his chin and clutched it in his hands. Speed or evasion, he thought again, or, as Tig considered cleverly: discretion.


    ¡°If only I could hide him,¡± he hushed the words, ¡°but how?¡±


    Again, he peaked at his book. A simple invisibility spell would do. He still had his pen, but the parchment alluded him. If only he could write on something else, let something that wasn¡¯t paper flicker away as payment for his spell. The witch doctor balanced in his sights and a gear clicked in his head.


    He could.


    He rolled up the sleeve on his right arm and found a patch of iron flesh that had been bruised from his confrontations with Anu. He winced as his pen pinched the exposed iron. Franco was fast rising. The witch would notice at any moment.


    Tig repeated the words as he drew the symbols. ¡°Minor invisibility. Minor invisibility. Minor invisi¡ª¡±


    A sharp pain shot through him. His arm burned, and the finger width of flesh vanished from his arm, revealing the inner gear work of his arm. Then, his body and that of Franco¡¯s vanished at once.


    The witch doctor paused mid ¡®Intrudah¡¯ and glanced about frantically. If he hadn¡¯t noticed Franco before, he surely discerned the lack of him.


    But Tig saw it all the moment he cast the spell. He scooped up his book in that moment¡¯s silent and watched as the trail of footsteps grew urgently towards their shared opponent. The spell had made their movements silent.


    But even then, the witch doctor was formidable foe. His pearly eyes rimmed with brass irises snapped to the last of a dozen steps. His bony hand raised. Tig flinched.


    Franco would not make it.


    Tig flipped open his book and scribbled a line. The bone hand lowered. The book shut.


    As if his feet were tied just he attempted a counter attack, the witch doctor fell forwards and met something unseen and heavy that interrupted his fall. There was a gasp, a crunch, and a rustle of dirt. The illusion vanished and Tig saw Franco with his fist planted in the man¡¯s bony gut.


    Seconds after withdrawing his hand, Franco laughed heartily and planted his arms on his hips, ¡°Hours! Invisibility. Good thinking, Tij. How did you like my Fourth palm by the way? That was Compress? Compress to Impress, I say! Hah!¡±


    Tig smiled weakly as he held the book with one hand and covered the hole in his arm with the other, ¡°You¡¯ve outdone yourself, Franco.¡±


    Tig saw Franco prodding the squirming witch doctor and decided to approach him. The Professor did the same with a grunt and sad glance thrown at his shattered weapon.


    And Gemjo merely turned half-heartedly and frowned at Tig in particular.


    ¡°You used their magic,¡± she said plainly. ¡°Just now, you used witch doctor magic.¡±


    Tig scarcely met her eye, ¡°I wrote something on my arm. I hardly call that magic.¡±


    ¡°You casted greater invisibility,¡± she said as her ears twitched. ¡°You went both invisible and silent.¡±


    ¡°When did you learn that, Tib?¡± asked Franco as he held down their captive and tied his arms with his red sash.


    The pain in his arm dulled and he stopped ahead of the crouching Franco.


    ¡°Just thought I try using my skin as parchment, I never though--¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t do it again,¡± warned Gemjo. She stretched as she made to her feet.


    ¡°I don¡¯t see why not. It just saved us didn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Lift your hand,¡± she said with a nudge of her head.


    The approaching Gemjo blurred in his sights as he revealed the gaping wound.


    Franco peered at it, ¡°She¡¯s right, on both accounts. You¡¯ve cast your flesh, that¡¯s witch doctor magic. Tig, as much as I am impressed I¡¯m also concerned. As you¡¯re captin ofcourse.¡±


    Tig covered the wound with his coat sleeve, ¡°Enough about me, what of the man?¡±


    ¡°We question him,¡± said Gemjo, crouching low to meet his bony face. ¡°Oi, hand-dancer, pray tell where we might find your prisoners?¡±


    ¡°Ya be seein it soon enough, mon. Just wait. When me bruddahs get here, you be sorry ya tink ta mess wit ol¡¯ Kenki.¡±


    Franco cracked his shoulders and readied his fist, ¡°I¡¯m punching him.¡±


    ¡°Wait,¡± said Gemjo. ¡°You said they were your brothers? Then maybe they¡¯d consider a trade.¡±


    ¡°What? With you? Two prisonahs fa me. Nah nah, I dun tink so, mon.¡±


    Tig met Gemjo with an equally quizzical look she gave him, ¡°Two?¡± they spoke at once.


    Sand dusted up and several footsteps crunched the grasses.


    ¡°Hah! Dey be here!¡±


    Four more witch doctors paced to the grasses, having cleared the forests. One stood in front of the other three.


    ¡°Kenki!¡± he called. ¡°Who be messing wit ya, little bruddah.¡±


    ¡°Weaklings, Big Bruddah. Dough, be warned of da short, he be knowing our magic.¡±


    Tig stood up, book in hand. His fast thinking had won them their victory. He could do the same here. He smiled to himself, felt something new and heated rushing through his system, as if he could take on the world. Marici was right. Written magic was his first line of defence.


    He flipped open the book, willing all four witch doctors to the sight of his all-powerful pages.


    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± taunted Tig, ¡°And if you don¡¯t release your prisoners I¡¯ll do the same t-to you.¡±


    The head witch doctor sighed and flicked his hand. Tig¡¯s book was flying a moment later. His shoulder slumped as he followed the book¡¯s ascent.


    ¡°We¡¯re doomed.¡± Said the boy.


    A pistol clicked. ¡°Plan two,¡± said Gemjo.


    Three of the witch doctors backed as she levelled her gun.


    ¡°Really?¡± said Tig. ¡°You think nothing of my magic but you back to a gun?¡±


    ¡°Oi, dat ting be dangerous, Niss,¡± said one of the back three witch doctor¡¯s.


    ¡°Yeah, drop it ok, befa ya hurt someone.¡±


    The head witch doctor tipped his black hat forwards and grumbled a laugh, ¡°Relax, I bet she dun even know how ta aim da ting.¡±


    The others joined his laughter, stepping forwards even. They howled and hooted, chuckled and snorted. Even Kenki joined in, spawning a myriad of nerves upon Gemjo¡¯s brow.


    Then the pistol fired and the laughter stopped, the last being Kenki¡¯s own awkward chuckle. The witch doctor¡¯s hat tumbled behind him, revealing his smooth silver skull top.


    ¡°Oh you¡¯re right,¡± said Gemjo as she pressed the still smoking gun barrel against her cheek and posed. ¡°My aim is absolutely terrible, why I swear I had been targeting your head just then.¡±


    The newly enbaldened man frowned. He held up a skeletal hand, and masses of gold and silver chains danged from it.


    ¡°Stay back.¡± He instructed the others. ¡°I be handling dis.¡±


    The other three became cheer doctors.


    ¡°Ya get her, boss.¡±


    ¡°Pistols be cheats!¡±


    ¡°Here, here!¡±


    Gemjo slid back. ¡°I should have stayed dead,¡± she said.


    The witch doctor vanished and reappeared before them, he knocked down Franco with a punch and the Professor with another. Tig tried for his pen, but he faltered as he saw the man grip Gemjo by her collar, punch the air out of her, and toss her aside.


    Sand bit up into the air as a sliding Franco caught Gemjo. He place her down gently and Tig glimpsed Carter fall off her unconscious grip.


    ¡°You¡¯ve an awful lot of confidence to think you could beat me that easily.¡± Started Franco. ¡°Oi Tif, move away will you?¡±


    Tig nodded as he backed from the witch doctor. With just the curl of a finger, the new opponent freed his younger brother and bid him away from the fight


    The witch doctor laughed humorlessly, ¡°I tought noting of it, heretic. I acted, you responded. But it¡¯s good ya didn¡¯t fall ta dat.¡±


    Franco took up a stance, curious one to, he began taunting the witch doctor to move forwards with a circling palm.


    ¡°Do you even know who I am?¡± began the man.


    The witch doctor cocked his head, ¡°What is dis?¡±


    Franco thumped his chest with his thumb before reassuming his stance, ¡°Franco Cantinio, and don¡¯t forget it. I¡¯m the man who¡¯ll topple the navy.¡±


    The witch doctors snickered from behind.


    ¡°Oho, da Navy ya say? Da admirals to?¡±


    Franco nodded, ¡°All four yes.¡±


    For a moment the witch doctor lowered his arms, ¡°Had dis been a different set of circumstances, we would have been allies. But wit our ships burning and you da most likely suspects, I must reconsidah. Sa know dis, Cantinio, if ya can¡¯t be besting me, ya be hopeless against da admirals. Dey be strong.¡±


    ¡°So I¡¯ll be stronger.¡±


    The witch doctor puffed and raised his fists, ¡°Sa be it.¡±


    They met in a field of sandy grass where morning lights splashed their metals and the smoke poisoned the air. A wispy smog rolled into their conflict and each movement thereafter ripped the misty cover, spawning momentary outlines of every attack.


    Tig could do nothing but watch. The first few throes were swings and dodges and a dance of footwork, Then the battle began in earnest. While Franco followed with several quick swings to the man¡¯s gut and sides, the witch doctor focussed on mighty blows that disturbed the very air as he acted.


    Franco¡¯s movements became the contrast, sharp and calculated, and scarcely bothering the surrounding. But it was not enough. The witch doctor connected a blow. It was a centered hit, one that forced Franco a few steps back and covering his gut carefully. The man pressed his advantage, lurching to Franco even as he held his gut in utter pain.


    The smoke blew around the witch doctor and Franco drew apart his hands.


    ¡°Fifth Palm: Pull.¡±


    Having run too fast to stop, the witch doctor tumbled into Franco¡¯s ploy. His palm had pulled the man¡¯s body into an all too ready knee. The impact was jarring, the man¡¯s reflexive gag worse.


    Franco began bouncing from foot to foot as the man faltered back.


    ¡°We¡¯re even,¡± declared Franco.


    The man spat out oil, ¡°We be seeing about dat.¡±


    Blue lights flickered around his hands. Tig knew it instantly. Spirit magic. The smoke around them seemed to move unnaturally. He spread his arms and the smoke formed a ring a rowboat in width.


    ¡°Ya be a worty opponent. Dat be an important distinction when it comes ta our magic.¡±


    Tig winced as he saw black smoke rise from the witch doctor¡¯s informal collar.  Sparks danced one his bony fingertips and from it came fire. The flames flickered and grew over his hands before he slowly drew a circle with the seething stuff.


    Franco shifted, arriving at the same conclusion as Tig. This was no time to think. He lunged at his foe as the circle vanished and connected a blow, palm against chest.


    More smoke simmered into the air and Tig stared on in horror as he realized that smoke came from Franco unmechanized flesh.


    Franco¡¯s painful cries followed as he stumbled some steps back. Though it was strange. While fire clearly swayed behind the man, his flesh remained unscathed by it.


    ¡°How ya like dat, eh?¡± began the stomach clenching witch doctor. ¡°Dat be da curse of Tangata, da eva burning willow. Most turns become immobilised in tree minutes. I wondah how long ya be lasting.¡±


    Franco coughed up some unknowable liquid. ¡°Long enough,¡± he said wiping his mouth.


    ¡°Oho. Well den dis will be interesting.¡± The witch doctor traded his stance for another. Now he had one palm out while he held the other near his chin and chest. His knees bent and he kept his legs far apart, ¡°Second form.¡±


    Crystal waters spiralled around his arms and fingers, it turned white in the places of turbulence and spat mist carelessly.


    Franco quivered to the sight of it, ¡°That sound.¡±


    ¡°Aye, dis be da sea. Now my attacks be imbued wit it, be ready.¡±


    ¡°The sea?¡± said Franco, struggling to the word. He fell to a knee, weakened by its mere mention. Tig knew that was it for his brash companion. The Witch doctor had picked at the scab that was his fear and Franco would be defeated by it.


    Gemjo¡¯s voice echoed behind him, ¡°Hours what ha¡ª¡±


    A hollow thud drew his attention. His journal had bounded off the sea wolf¡¯s skull, having finally fallen. His eyes trailed the once more unconscious Gemjo and found the gun. That was it.


    Marici was wrong after all.


    The witch doctor had nearly completed the spell when Tig slid to the gun and picked it up. He fumbled at the workings of Carter. This was his chance, his redemption and his mistake. The rushing waves he though readied for Franco shifted. He glanced and caught the brunt of it, floundering far long passed the grasses and striking the trunk of a nearby tree, back first. Just as the fire had not burned Franco, the waves did not wet him, instead he felt the weight of water upon him and he anguished as invisible waters stuffed his lungs.


    For seconds as long as hours he convulsed there. The cold of the tree his only comfort. He became numb to everything else. He scarcely recalled the steps as they pounded towards him, barely made out the lines of the witch doctor soon before him. All of it became as blurry as the waves until an all too real grasp hoisted him up, collar first. Passed the blur, he could see the fine details in the bone that made the man¡¯s face. It was a peachy ceramic embedded with golden inlays. Eyes of black marked only by yellow circles fixed on the boy.


    His deep melancholic voice made that face a frightening one, ¡°Ya wanted ta see da prisonahs? I be granting dat wish.¡±


    He held Tig high until the tightened collar began to choke him. Countless, voiceless words sputtered out the boy¡¯s mouth. They were cries of help that no one could hear.


    ¡°Oi boss, da shirtless one¡¯s moving.¡±


    The head doctor tilted his head, ¡°He be meanin¡¯ ta fight?¡±


    ¡°Unhand Tij.¡± Muffled a distant Franco.


    Tig reached to the voice and faltered as the witch doctor carelessly dropped him. Sights and sound melded into nothingness and he fell into a wanting sleep. Yet then, even in the throes of darkness, he swore he saw Franco charging his way. He smiled if only in his thoughts and made a prayer no hour could hear. It was meant for the man he knew would never let some skeleton have his way.


    The man he knew who would one day topple the navy.


    Win.

 Rising Fire

    Muted mutterings murmured in Tig¡¯s ears for hours as he lulled in and out of sleep. He recalled the dark bars that blurred ahead and the flicker of a fire beyond that. Witch doctors sat around the large bonfire and spoke of things both inconsequential and somewhat pressing.


    Their words came disjointed and fleeting in the manner of a dream. They spoke of a man they needed to kill. There had been summons from the Witch Mother, the call for the head of Mor¡¯de, the traitor admiral. Tig imagined the scores of witch doctors gathering before a large blue hatted opponent. He saw dozens of black hats rush fruitlessly into a melee they couldn¡¯t win. Because he knew what all else knew. The admirals were strong.


    Then he spotted one man challenging the beast despite the innumerable fallen. This man had a bare chest and a pointed hair. Franco.


    Tig jagged forwards to the rustle of chains.


    ¡°Franco,¡± he said with his waking breath.


    ¡°Back with us, chitik?¡± asked a similarly chained Gemjo sitting beside him. She pointed at Franco beside her with her chin. ¡°He¡¯s bruised, black eye, maybe two, number of lumps scattered about him, but he¡¯s alive.¡±


    Franco reared his ugly, bloody face at Tig. Purple and red painted it like a canvas. He made what Tig thought a smile as he pushed those lumpy cheeks up.


    ¡°I won,¡± he said simply.


    Tig grinned wildly, feeling the man¡¯s victory as his own. While he was beaten, chained and caged, Tig knew his words to be true. Franco wouldn¡¯t lose. Not now, not ever, not so long as it drew him towards his dream as Tig trudged fruitlessly towards his own.


    His moon crested eyes traced the man¡¯s wounds, even then he thought of ways to reduce the inflammation. He leaned back, heard chains and spotted brass manacles clamped to his hands and chained to a small stone ring on the ground. He tugged at it experimentally and wagered he could move from corner to corner of the small cage had it not been for the people within.


    To his left he saw the Professor¡¯s blue form with hints of white curled up like an animal. To his right he counted Gemjo, Franco, a synergist and a strange man shaped creature that wore an ornamental mask the color of lead.


    ¡°He won rightly so,¡± started the synergist in a grainy voice, ¡°We saw Impele-drey wander in moments before they tossed you lot in.¡±


    ¡°Drey?¡± asked Tig.


    ¡°The opposite of dara,¡± explained Franco wincing as he touched his cheeks.


    The synergist nodded, ¡°Impele-drey, the poor bastard had broken bones and missing teeth. Your friend beat him proper.¡±


    Tig studied the shifting sands of the synergist carefully. He wore a white vest trimmed in red that exposed a chest of swirling designs. The black sand upon his face was simply of two eyes and a mouth whenever he decided to speak. His hair was made of short, militaristic extrusions to his otherwise rounded head.


    ¡°And you are..?¡± asked Tig.


    ¡°Kwake, the same captured fool you risked your lives to rescue.¡± He lowered his voice, scarcely glancing out the bars before continuing, ¡°And by the lack of a certain fianc¨¦ I take it you are still rescuing.¡±


    ¡°Nope, she won¡¯t come,¡± declared Gemjo.


    Kwake black eyes wandered low, ¡°If you¡¯re referring to her strained relation to me, I know Chireke, I know she¡¯ll come. Even if she means not to marry.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m referring to how we happen to be in the middle of a witch doctor camp with captors who happen to be on high alert after their ships happen to blow up,¡± said Gemjo soon nudging her head at the front of the cage. ¡°Not even Ita could fight through those numbers.¡±


    Tig wriggled in his manacles. He heard the restraints clutter in response. The floor of the cage was of stone, cold and dirty.


    ¡°Not that we have a choice with these chains,¡± he said bluntly.


    Franco puffed a bit, ¡°See? Manacles. Brass manacles.¡±


    ¡°Shut up,¡± sneered Gemjo. ¡°Normal manacles are made of iron and normally, witch doctors, nomads that they are, don¡¯t carry around cages and brass chains.¡±


    ¡°Normally yes.¡± The introduction of the new voice made the others snap to its source curiously. It came from the last man in the cell, the one that wore a lead mask.


    The mask turned revealing striking golden eyes that were brighter than Gemjo¡¯s. Plumes of an orange mane burst out of the confines of the mask¡¯s intricate border which took on an almost fox like quality in the way its nose stretched out. His mouth was covered in a grated visor but Tig could make out teeth, sharp and jagged, underneath.


    ¡°Normally,¡± the man continued, his voice juvenile yet deepening, ¡°witch doctors would never gather in such quantity. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve recognised now that they make no attempt to hide their ill-intentions, what with their blatant volumes. They mean murder. A public declaration of war and made, no less, by the Witch Mother, the very top of their order.¡±


    ¡°Against who?¡± spoke up Franco.


    ¡°Whom. Admiral Mor¡¯de and in extension the Navy. Though I¡¯d think they¡¯d be quick to invoke the Cultural Appropriation Act after the fact.¡±


    Franco swayed forwards to meet the mystery speaker¡¯s eye, ¡°That would make sense. With the act they could kill the man on the basis that he broke their traditions.¡±


    The speaker nodded, ¡°And legally so. Same as how chitik hunters of man may dispatch any non chitik who practice their spells without the slightest accusation of murder.¡±


    Gemjo spat, forcing the speaker to dodge it. ¡°You¡¯re rich aren¡¯t you?¡± she deduced sneeringly.


    The speaker shrugged, ¡°Immeasurably.¡±


    Footsteps directed their ears to the front of the cage where a familiar witch doctor leaned.


    ¡°Sambo be requesting ya presence, boy,¡± said Kenki. The top of his left brow had been dented down from the fight and he seemed not so overjoyed at Tig¡¯s blatant notice of it.


    Tig pointed at himself, ¡°Me?¡±


    ¡°Aye, ya be using magic ya ain¡¯t supposed ta know, so now Sambo be knowing why ya know it.¡±


    The door clicked as Tig attempted to defend himself, ¡°Look, about that. All I did was scribble a spell on my skin. That¡¯s it.¡±


    Kenki worked at his chains, ¡°Aye, aye, save it fa da boss, little mon.¡±


    Tig eyed him from top to bottom, ¡°I think you¡¯re shorter than me YEOW--¡±


    His chains tugged and the man drew him forwards. The boy glanced back at his captured companions as the iron parted them. Whoever this ¡®Sambo¡¯ was, Tig was not fond of meeting him. Not after how his people detained Kwake, nor for how they beat Franco.


    His forced march through the witch doctor ranks led to countless upturned glances from the sitting bone men. Tig lowered his chin. He would use this meeting to his advantage. At best he could petition for medical assistance to quell Franco¡¯s swelling. Kenki pulled at his chains to hurry him up and Tig complied, dreading the weight of his steps after having sat for so long. The looks he got fared worse however. They were strange, curious scans from the camp of bone men. Clearly, word of his inopportune spell had reached them.


    Amidst their continued glances, Tig managed his own. The living mechanical skeletons surrounded him. There were hundreds scattered throughout the camp crouched, sleeping, leaning and assuming any manner of lazy postures amongst the dancing fires. He wondered just what the witch doctors were as he was ushered through the crowds. He knew they were once regular creatures, beings from every race, but at some point, at some strange juncture in history they cast away half their flesh and became creatures the rest on the seas feared and mistrusted. They employed hexes and curses and spites, weird twisted spirits spells and admittedly stronger versions of written spells.


    They were unknowable. To ask what they were was the same as to question Mechanization, and Tig knew entire books could be written on that subject without answering any of the fundamental questions.


    His thoughts stopped as did Kenki ahead of him. The wavering flames cast light upon a circle of witch doctors, those within considerably better dressed than their motely counterparts.


    The circle doctors were clad in bleached animal skulls and sandy leathers. Countless necklaces crafted of gemstones and seashells hung loosely from their wrought iron necks. A dozen sitting doctors made the circle. A man who sat a head above the rest with triple the necklaces remained just beyond the flame. Tig assumed him to be Sambo.


    ¡°Welcome, chitik,¡± said Sambo. ¡°I am Sambo K¡¯chekbo, named in our mudda¡¯hs presence. Chosen son of our fait.¡±


    ¡°Faith?¡± blinked Tig. ¡°This¡ªwitch doctors¡ªit¡¯s a religion?¡±


    ¡°Da people often mistake us a race or cult. We are neida. We come here in peace.¡±


    Tig shifted and cast his eyes aside. He spoke under his breath, ¡°I would hardly call kidnapping synergists peaceful.¡±


    Sambo stood up abruptly, making the boy stumble a step back as he craned his head to meet the man¡¯s full height, ¡°We warned dem.¡± He spat the words. ¡°We gave dem notice. By right dis land is not deirs alone, it belong ta all da peoples in da sout seas. Including dose who wish only ta congregate here before heading up.¡±


    ¡°Up?¡± managed Tig.


    The other witch doctors grumbled laughs and smiled at each other as if the answer was obvious. Tig remained fixed on Smabo¡¯s outstretched finger, which pointed blaringly to the sky.


    ¡°Up you fool.¡± Entered Kenki. ¡°To da Sky whales.¡±


    Sambo waved him off, ¡°Tis not your concern, chitik, but you using our magic is.¡±


    ¡°All I did was employ written magic on my flesh. That¡¯s it.¡±


    ¡°Not it isn¡¯t,¡± he retorted. ¡°Witch doctor magic is spirit magic.¡±


    Tig gestured at himself, feeling awe at the accusation, ¡°Me? Using spirit magic. Do you mean to say I can do it?¡±


    ¡°You did it,¡± snapped Kenki.


    Sambo spoke louder above his subordinate, ¡°And I must ask ya ta stop. Neva use our magic or recreate what ya did again.¡±


    He did not intend to, so he nodded slowly.


    Sambo plopped to a cross legged seat, ¡°Take him back, Kenki. Dat is all.¡±


    ¡°Dat¡¯s it!?¡± asked two voices in differing fashions. Tig glared at Kenki who had asked in an expecting matter while Tig had merely pried out of caution.


    Sambo focussed on Tig, ¡°Ya wish fa worse, chitik?¡±


    ¡°No I¡­ I¡¯m surprised is all. The stories I¡¯ve heard speak of witch doctors casting rituals to consume their victims, savage acts, flaying even. A slap on the wrist is the last thing I expected.¡±


    Sambo cocked his head, ¡°I would break ya wrist had I slapped it.¡±


    ¡°No¡­¡± Tig frowned, ¡°I mean without consequence.¡±


    The witch closest to Tig spoke in distinctly feminine voice, ¡°We are not savages, mastah chitik. It is as da son of muddah says we are a fait, noting mo.¡±


    ¡°Indeed,¡± added the doctor to the left of Sambo. ¡°Mayhaps ya be better at delivering our message to da synergists dan da first two.¡±


    The female witch doctor spoke again, ¡°Aye, da last time we voice our intentions dey sent a couple on a ¡®voyage¡¯ of marriage just ta drag, what I assume, you and ya friends inta dis.¡±


    ¡°Which reminds me,¡± began Sambo. ¡°Who was it dat destroyed our ships if not you?¡±


    Tig straightened and Tensed, ¡°Uh, n-no one we knew. Different party, yes.¡±


    Sambo squinted at him hard, ¡°den we¡¯ll release ya once we capture da culprit and confirm ya story. Off with ya now. And chitik.¡±


    Tig had half turned with Kenki a few paces ahead.


    ¡°Our magic, dough powerful it may be, is not fa everyone. Heed my warning,¡± said Sambo.


    Tig nodded and Kenki begrudgingly escorted him back to the cage. The impassable bars shut behind him and he tried his best to ward off questions once the witch doctor was gone.


    The rich stranger had the most of them.


    ¡°Religion you say? That is most unexpected. I had thought them a cult. I see, now their extreme response to Mor¡¯de¡¯s defection make sense.¡±


    Gemjo leaned against the wall. ¡°What worries me more,¡± she said, ¡°is how we¡¯re damned should they find Inyande. We need to escape.¡±


    ¡°Agreed,¡± said the stranger.


    Gemjo eyed him carefully, ¡°So, rich know-it-all no name whom we by no means trust, do you also know a way out?¡±


    The man directed his fox nose towards the front of the cage, ¡°I do. Though admittedly I needed more prisoners for it to work, which I happened to have now.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s hear it then!¡± said Franco loudly. Tig and Gemjo hushed Franco quickly and smiled haplessly at the witch doctor onlookers the burst alerted.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    The stranger continued when the onlookers waned, ¡°It is less so a plan than my ability.¡± He hesitated. ¡°Better to show you I think. Mind your hands.¡±


    With a lean to Kwake, he gestured his chin pointedly at the space behind them. Tig heard something swish and the ever present touch of the brass manacles fell away. He drew his free hands to his front and felt at his iron wrists.


    Curiosity led him to the split manacles. They had been parted evenly by a suspiciously clean cut. Then he saw the cause of it. A blade of sand slashed through the professor¡¯s chains and dissipated.


    ¡°I make the knowledge and skills of any I touch my own and magnify their potency, but only so long as I remain in contact with them,¡± explained Tafa from behind him.


    Tig drifted between the five of them and realised by their reactions that this was the first time the second prisoner had spoke, so he thought he¡¯d ask, ¡°Who are you?¡±


    The man blinked, ¡°Oh. I thought you already knew of me. Very well, pardoning your ignorance, I am Tafa son of Alhim Tafa, one of the ruling trade princes of Al¡¯Tof.¡±


    ¡°Ah, so you¡¯re really rich.¡± Said Gemjo.


    ¡°Do you have an issue with my social status, girl?¡±


    Gemjo spoke with plummeted brows and an even lower tone, ¡°Had you been out of this cage and hosting me at some estate in Al¡¯Tof perhaps not. But right now, right here, you¡¯re pointlessly chained and the only good you can do is mask the drunk¡¯s scent with your perfume.¡±


    ¡°My perfume expired hours ago.¡±


    Gemjo glared to the side, ¡°Rich people.¡±


    Kwake leaned forwards, ¡°What Tafa-dara just did there with chains. That was precision sand manipulation, something I could never do. Tafa-dara¡¯s powers are quite something.¡±


    ¡°But not enough for the witch doctors?¡± asked Franco.


    Kwake nodded, ¡°Considering your presence here, I¡¯m sure you know how strong they are individually, an army of them, well while we could break our chains and bars we would never escape them. So we waited.¡±


    ¡°Knowing the villagers would send others after you,¡± finished Tig.


    ¡°It was a cowardly decision, yes, but our best option at the time and here you are! We were hoping at least one of you had some spectacular power.¡±


    Tig pointed at Franco, ¡°He punches things, I use written magic, Gemjo¡¯s a shapeshifter and the Professor, uh, he drinks a lot.¡±


    Franco shook his head disapprovingly and ringed his arm around Tig¡¯s shoulders, ¡°Oi oi, Tib, not just written magic. Why you used witch doctor magic back there.¡±


    Gemjo pulled the man back and snapped at him, ¡°idiot.¡±


    Tafa stirred, ¡°Witch doctor magic you say?¡±


    ¡°It was just a fluke,¡± assured Tig. ¡°I used written magic on my flesh and it just happened.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I could use that,¡± said Tafa.


    ¡°Hold on, rich one, we are not yours to use,¡± pressed Gemjo, ¡°especially with that kind of magic.¡±


    ¡°Worry not, girl, all I require is the knowledge of that power. Any sacrifices will be mine own,¡± he rolled up the sleeve to his black, gold trimmed coat and revealed an arm orange and white. And furry. White tufts formed the underside while a bristling orange layer lined the top. Circlets of iron and bronze ringed the arm passed the elbow and before his wrist. He had half turned.


    With his eyes on Tig, he gestured with that now bared free hand, ¡°May I?¡±


    Tig nodded.


    ¡°Chitik!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s our best way out, Gem,¡± said Tig. He eyed her sadly then peaked at the Professor behind him. He would not see them defeated. Not again. Not when they still had more to travel.


    The light touch of Tafa directed him to the man and he found Tafa¡¯s hand on his shoulder.


    Tafa nodded curtly then turned to the bars. ¡°Hmm, yes this will work. I¡¯ve a plan,¡± He announced abruptly. He switched to Tig briefly, ¡°Stir your drunk friend.¡±


    As Tig moved to do so, Tafa continued, ¡°We slice the bars with sand blades and use greater invisibility to sneak out.¡±


    ¡°And if we fail?¡± asked Franco.


    Tafa lowered his head, ¡°We fight.¡±


    It was the obvious answer and one Tig sorely wished wasn¡¯t. He felt himself anger as he tussled the Professor. Why always fight? Why was that the answer?


    ¡°Gwah!¡± snorted the Professor, chancing up for a look, ¡°Did I¡­? Was I¡­? Hours why am I in a cage?¡±


    The man¡¯s pointed white face held Tig in attention for longer than he liked. Cocking his head, Tig finally realised what it reminded him of. The Professor had become a rabbit. Tig blinked and shook his head, ¡°Forget that, we¡¯re leaving.¡±


    ¡°Yes exactly!¡± said Tafa, gripping Tig by the wrist with one hand and Kwake with the other. ¡°We¡¯re leaving now!¡±


    The bars fell apart, slashed to pieces and their company vanished. It was a matter of minutes before a passing witch doctor carrying logs for the fire, noticed the mess of the cage. His logs toppled.


    ¡°Prisonahs!¡± he cried. ¡°Da prisonahs be gone! Alert! Alert!¡±


    Witch doctors zipped about likes bees from a wrestled hive. Orders were levelled and an army of boots crunched the grassy floors.


    While the main body of the escaping company fled towards the cover of trees, Gemjo made off on her own and joined them later with a sortie of goods. She laid out the collection before them under the shade of a tree. Tig¡¯s grimoire, Carter, the locket and Franco¡¯s sash lay amongst them. Tig grabbed his book and the locket.


    The camp was a clearing surrounded by trees. It was situated, as Tafa recalled in whispered breaths, in the northern most part of the island.


    ¡°That¡¯s an issue,¡± conceded a crouching Gemjo. ¡°We moored near the southern end.¡±


    ¡°Never mind that. We cannot escape without the others,¡± said Kwake.


    Tig glanced between the lot of them, ¡°I agree. Niss Inyande¡¯s done too much for us to just abandon.¡±


    Gemjo sighed, ¡°If anything, she¡¯ll be by the boat. That is if we choose to hurry back without giving her cause to track us down.¡±


    As she said that, Tig studied the blackened night sky and wondered aloud, ¡°And exactly how long has it been?¡±


    ¡°Three to four hours too long,¡± said Gemjo. ¡°Hence why we hurry. Come.¡±


    With the sea wolf in the lead, the other five followed close, cautiously. They agreed to use greater invisibility only when needed, but remained hidden in the trees and shrubs as best they could. Tig kept a close eye on the oft clumsy Professor in that regard. His strange appearance put the boy more and more on edge. Tig swore he would inquire after they departed, yet he felt pressed to ask the more he stared. A rabbit, the Professor had most definitely turned into a walking humanoid rabbit. His hips were wider, nose conspicuously longer and two hat bound bulges that Tig could only equate to rabbit ears.


    The Professor was a mystery, yes, but a rabbit?


    There was a tap on his shoulder. ¡°hold,¡± said Gemjo holding her steel hand up.


    Tafa stepped up beside them. ¡°And so are they.¡± He sneered.


    Two dozen witch doctors gathered before the shore and, seemingly, around something. That something flashed bright blue and gave ample reason for the gathered witch doctors to keep their distance.


    Tig tried his best to discern what, but to no visual effect.


    ¡°Shi Shi!¡±


    He froze. Turning to Gemjo, he realised she had reached the same conclusion.


    The rabbit man stepped ahead of them, his face a mess of angry whiskers and contorted brows. ¡°What, by the hours, is that woman thinking?¡± he barked. ¡°Mates, we¡¯re done for I say. Suppose the boat still harbors there we¡¯ve got no exit. Except¡­¡±


    ¡°Except?¡± asked Franco.


    The Professor¡¯s goggle eyes landed on Gemjo.


    ¡°No. you are NOT using me as a vessel.¡±


    ¡°Come now, Gem. You¡¯ve got the talent for it, truly. Say you sneak upon that water there, do that transform-what¡¯s-it magic of yours and we escape swimmingly out of here. Not long¡¯ between here and the next isle.¡±


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you transform into an orca? You seem quite capable to changing forms already,¡± she said mockingly.


    ¡°What you mean by that?¡±


    ¡°Look at you,¡± she gestured with wide arms. ¡°You¡¯ve become a rabbit.¡±


    ¡°Ah this? Long story that. I¡¯m not actually a rabbit nor part floppy eared bastard. Long story short-ish. There¡¯s a dozen important beasts and I happen to be--¡±


    ¡°Point is I¡¯m not doing it.¡±


    ¡°Mate. How else do we escape?¡±


    Gemjo spoke in a manner befit her uninterested expression, as if the answer were obvious and the Professor a fool for ever questioning her, ¡°I¡¯ll escape with Tig¡­ and the rich one, for compensation. We¡¯ll bring back help, promise.¡±


    The Professor made a frown with his rabbit muzzle, ¡°Somehow I don¡¯t believe you.¡±


    ¡°Did you just say you¡¯d abandon me?¡± said Franco.


    Gemjo sighed, ¡°Can¡¯t have you thrashing about what with your fear.¡±


    ¡°Ah fair point that.¡±


    Tig pressed passed Franco and spoke up, ¡°Gem, I thought we said we¡¯d stop abandoning people.¡±


    ¡°Be happy you¡¯re coming.¡±


    ¡°But--¡±


    Kwake¡¯s voice gave end to their squabble, ¡°What of Chireke?¡±


    The synergist, whom they had aptly ignored, was sad-pressed as he had wandered several steps towards the witch doctor cluster.


    Tafa started, ¡°My friend! Return at once.¡±


    Kwake ignored him, ¡°She¡¯s in there. I know it. She¡¯d never leave Inyande-dara alone.¡±


    ¡°Yes, but it is by no means sane to endanger yourself by walking so close,¡± urged Tafa in a frantic whisper.


    Kwake peeked at them from over his shoulders, ¡°I¡¯ve always been the brave one, the stupid one. The half turn who¡¯d sneak onto traveller ships and go off on adventures while Chireke would nervously follow me. She idolizes her you know. Inyande-dara has been her everything since she visited us long ago and saved my life.¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes, glad to hear it, but not now.¡± Said Tafa.


    ¡°So you¡¯ll really go then?¡± This time it was Franco. Though he brushed shoulders with Tafa his own were slumped. ¡°You¡¯d jump into the storm to see her?¡±


    That gave pause to Kwake¡¯s mad advance. ¡°I would,¡± he said with certainty.


    ¡°You¡¯d die,¡± warned Franco.


    Kwake took another step, ¡°I could, yes. But she could to. I cannot let that happen. She¡¯s been changing since she met Inyande-dara. She wants to be brave, even though¡­¡± he struggled at the words, ¡°even though she¡¯s already brave.¡± A loud boom echoed and sand swept up into the air unnaturally. He spoke in a gasp, ¡°It¡¯s begun.¡±


    ¡°Kwake, wait!¡± cried Tafa.


    It was too late. The synergist had darted into the fray. Tafa crept his hair up with both hands, paced madly in circles, and swore a few times. ¡°Damned foolish bastard. We need to save him.¡±


    ¡°Oi, not the plan, rich one,¡± said Gemjo.


    Tafa stomped towards her prompting Franco to slide between them. Tafa eyed him unhappily.


    ¡°Would you have him die?¡± snapped Tafa.


    ¡°I¡­¡± trailed Franco. ¡°Hours damn it. No. No I wouldn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Then, will you join me?¡±


    Franco turned to the ongoing brawl. Now Kwake had joined the fray in full, assaulting the witch doctors with spitting sands.


    ¡°I will,¡± said Franco.


    ¡°Then come!¡± said Tafa with a running start.


    Franco swore and caught up, with Tig, the Professor and finally, an unhappy Gemjo.


    ¡°But not without a plan,¡± echoed Franco rushing to Tafa¡¯s side.


    ¡°You have a plan?¡± cried Gemjo.


    ¡°I know it unusual--¡±


    ¡°Unheard of,¡± interjected Gemjo.


    ¡°¡ªbut our earlier gambit inspired me. Hold.¡±


    They halted, puffing and Franco, ever quick to recover, gestured to the chaos a stone¡¯s throw away, ¡°use your magic Tafa. Conceal us in sand when we reach Kwake then hide us with great invisibility ¡®soon as we spot the ladies.¡±


    ¡°That¡­ that¡¯ll work,¡± hummed Tafa.


    Franco squared for the fight and swung his shoulder forwards, ¡°After me then.¡±


    Tig kept his distance behind Tafa and Franco who plunged into the thick of it. Sand rushed haphazardly and skeleton men flew. Just as he lowered his hands he had raised to deflect the rogue sands he spotted Inyande and Chireke engaged in the battle.


    He saw Kwake smiling wildly as he kept his back to Chireke, both spinning their hands to monstrous effect. A whirlwind of grains followed, pelleting the witch doctors, and, more importantly, gifting Inyande with cover. He watched in awe as fighters of the same calibre as the formidable Kenki fell haplessly to Inyande¡¯s incomprehensible movements.


    Like Franco, she used her fists, but unlike the now sparring man, her fists were accompanied by a ghostly glow. Then she saw him, standing there, ogling at her dumbly. And she charged, catching the boy off guard. She missed him a moment before impact and hifted into a black wolf. He heard cloth crumple and defeated grunts, and, when he turned, he saw two witch doctors on the ground and several more backing away.


    ¡°Shi shi. Have you learned nothing, cursed one? Watch your surroundings.¡±


    ¡°Niss Ita, we got--¡±


    ¡°Captured? I figured as much when you kept us waiting. So, what¡¯s this then? Reinforcements?¡±


    In the reflection of her blade, still tethered to her back, he saw Tafa and Franco by the synergists waiting. The Professor and Gemjo were there to. Tig shook his head, grabbed Inyande by her coat arm, and pulled her towards the synergists.


    ¡°We¡¯ve a plan, Niss Ita. Follow me. Trust us.¡±


    She spied behind her, ¡°Aye seems it.¡±


    ¡°Then? What are you waiting for?¡±


    She withdrew her blade and directed it towards the witch doctors who had backed away. Of the still standing witch doctors, those there formed the majority of them, now congregating with palms pushed together in prayer. They had not retreated out of fear, rather out of planning.


    Something grand and fiery bubbled above them. It was bird of flame, magnificent and forming. His clutch loosened from the woman¡¯s robe, and, as if it were his tether in the madness around him, he fell.


    ¡°Tangatta¡¯s wrath,¡± she named it. ¡°Nasty spell that, and not something you could escape. Witch doctor flames are not flames at all but curses. They kill that which cannot be killed.¡±


    He remembered Franco in that moment and, worse, his village. Some fires burned more than flesh and rock. Tig staggered back, gagging to the sight. He shook his head, resolving for a practical answer, ¡°Then?¡±


    ¡°We cannot escape,¡± she said readying her blade.


    He did not want to want to hear that. Not now, not when a massive spell hovered just overhead of them. Mairci¡¯s words seem to reverberate in his head mockingly, incessantly. The sea is dangerous¡­ the sea is dangerous¡­


    If only he had listened.


    The spell flared, its avian form screeched, and with buffeting wings of flame and ire, it soared into them.


    And split.


    Inyande¡¯s blade left a trail of blue and the flames that promised their deaths sprayed dangerously around them. It faded moments later, leaving all present in awe, save the woman who cut it.


    Inyande Ita, the strongest woman in the world, smiled daringly. She drew her blade back and met it on the cusp of her shoulder.


    ¡°Is that all!¡± she taunted them. ¡°You¡¯d been better off fighting with your own strengths.¡±


    That was a challenge none could answer after seeing what they did. Inyande could cut through anything.


    He steadied himself to his feet, his eyes a quick drift to the witch doctors, then the distant figures of more approaching.


    ¡°Um, Ita.¡±


    ¡°Yes, cursed one?¡±


    ¡°Do you see that?¡±


    She took a moment, but realised it all the same. ¡°Ah, I see. You¡¯re plan then?¡±


    He swiveled back, ¡°Tafa now!¡±


    Sand erupted all around and a familiar hand tapped his shoulders. Tig, Inyande and the others vanished shortly after. Minutes passed as they trudged silently down the shore. Tig breathed easily. Even though he could hear the uproar of witch doctors, he felt at ease knowing those cries got quieter and quieter.


    He saw the smiles on the faces of his companions as the cloak faded. Even the oft unenthused Gemjo cracked a grin. They had escaped. Hundreds upon hundreds of witch doctors and they had escaped. Though, motives granting, Tig knew those same captors were not truly as wicked as he thought them to be. He realised then just what the witch doctor elders had meant.


    ¡°They tricked us,¡± he declared without warning.


    ¡°Who did, Tik?¡±


    ¡°The synergists,¡± he answered.


    Chireke and Kwake, who been silently walking side by side, scarce to look at one another, shook momentarily.


    ¡°Shi. What are you suggesting, cursed one?¡± asked Inyande from ahead.


    ¡°The witch doctors warned the synergists of their coming, but the synergists sent Chireke and Kwake anyways, knowing they¡¯d fight and get captured.¡±


    ¡°What? Tib, why would they do that?¡±


    Tig made a frown with his metal jaw, ¡°Because they knew Inyande would come. They knew outsiders would solve their problems.¡±


    Inyande turned to the synergists who been conveniently quiet, ¡°Is this true?¡±


    It was Chireke who answered, a cruel shame gnarled in her notes, ¡°Yes, Niss Ita. It is.¡±


    ¡°Hours damn, and I burned their ships,¡± she balanced her head on her hand as they trudged forwards silently. Minutes passed and Inyande shrugged, ¡°Ah well, not something a few hundred witch doctors should mull over. They¡¯ll recover. I do feel bad for the trees here they¡¯ll need to chop down.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps a ship or two will chance by and they¡¯ll escape?¡± suggested Franco.


    ¡°Perhaps, but let us worry of our own vaunted escape,¡± said Inyande slowing.


    The others kept on their usual pace, unfretted now by the sufficiently distant cries, while Inyande slowed and slowed, and finally, stopped. They walked slowly because they knew they were close to their quarry, but even then, to stop was the same as inviting danger.


    Tig followed her seaward gaze and came to a complete halt.


    ¡°Navy,¡± he said in a terrible breath. Fours ships bobbed a ten minutes swim off the shore. Caravels, the lot of them.


    ¡°Worse,¡± said Inyande, ¡°moored navy. They¡¯re on the island.¡±


    ¡°That is correct, cap-i-ton I-ta.¡±


    She reached for her blade, but paused to the sound of a pistol clicking.


    ¡°We thank you for the scuttled ships. Capture should be easy now,¡± Military steps patted quickly upon the sand. ¡°For them and you. Hmm, you do not fight? Good. Yes yes, wise girl to know when you¡¯ve lost.¡±


    A full company surrounded them, a spell of invisibility fading from their bright blue covers and levelled muskets. The man who gave Ita pause was short with a smoking pipe for a nose. His eyes that clicked and whirled were golden monocles with a constantly focussing lens underneath.


    ¡°Salamon,¡± swore Inyande.


    ¡°A pleasant surprise to find you, yes? We were summoned by a missive.¡±


    ¡°Impossible! My people would never betray her!¡± roared Chireke.


    ¡°Hmm yes, but betray you they have. Convenient on our end. Niss Inyande Ita, by will of Cap-i-ton Admiral Mor¡¯de, I place you under arrest.¡± Salamon spun and eyed each of them individually, ¡°Any conspirators among you shall also be placed under arrest.¡± He paused on Tafa, ¡°The missing prince. He shall be escorted to Al¡¯Tof.¡±


    Tafa bowed, ¡°much obliged. Pray, would you release my synergists friends here? They were victims here not associates.¡±


    Chireke jutted forwards, ¡°That¡¯s--¡±


    ¡°True,¡± said Kwake, ¡°We were victims, mostly me, but my fianc¨¦ would have been next if not for your brave services, Salamon-dara.¡±


    ¡°I see, yes. You are free then.¡±


    Tig flinched as that same Salamon snapped to him next, squinted and raised his hand, ¡°Ensign Gepa, search the boy.¡±


    ¡°Sir!¡±


    A half turn imperial man made to Tig and patted his coat. Seconds later, he pulled out a locket. Tig saw Salamon lower his spiralling brows to that.


    Salamon gestured for the locked and the ensign tossed it over. Salamon studied it for a full minute once he caught it. He nodded briskly, ¡°These are them. These four are to accompany us to Jing Mon Ceros.¡±


    ¡°Accompany!?¡± the voice came from a blue cloak that cut through the crowds. Tig knew her instantly. As did Gemjo with her involuntary snarl.


    Remy saluted when she came into view, the red scarf still ¡®round her neck, ¡°Beg pardon, Captain Salamon, but these five are criminals guilty of stealing an army vessel and imprisoning a soldier.¡±


    Salamon shook his head, ¡°They accompany us, Cap-i-ton¡¯s orders.¡±


    ¡°But¡ªthey. I--¡±Remy fumed and lowered her head. ¡°Yes sir,¡± she muttered bitterly.


    Tig could barely think, let alone address Remy, so he turned to Salamon and asked the first question he could think of, ¡°Where is Jing Mon Ceros?¡±


    Salamon made almost mechanical movements, flicking his arm out then up. The outcome was a perfect reflection of Sambo¡¯s earlier gesture, yet now, dumbly, Tig thought to follow it. The ruddy night sky greeted him, drowning in clouds and aether.


    ¡°Up,¡± said Salamon.


    It was the inevitable answer.

 Outsider

    They arrived in lines marching upon the yellow grasses, their figures dwarfed between the towering palms. Madam Kimbe scanned them discerningly. There were those that did not fit. Outsiders, strangers, a kink in the formula. And she expected them.


    She held a flask up to her eyes, letting the swishing fluid paint melancholic march in a translucent pink. She speculated upon their response when they would see her concoction. Happy gratitude? Doubtful. Surprise? Possibly. Yet more likely than not, suspicion. Always suspicion.


    Madam Kimbe knew it from how they kept their eyes low and glancing. It was a nervousness spawned from circumstance. They walked between columns of soldiers, yet without manacles. They tranced into a village, which, she surmised, they knew had damned them. And what for if not at the behest of the soldiers who kept them in chains that did not clank.


    Then came Inyande and the calls of the synergists aghast by her capture. Their hero trudged behind the main body of the troupe, her wrists bound in chains that very much did clank. Her head was raised and her eyes plastered. Kimbe remembered the first time she came and the calm confidence she had about her. She had proclaimed herself ¡®the strongest woman in the world¡¯, knowing full well that was a lie. The true holder of that title would not be dethroned so easily.


    But that did not matter. To the people Impeh village, Inyande Ita might as well have been just as she claimed. She was their protector and, perhaps unknowingly, they had betrayed her.


    The betrayers roared in despair. Men and women stormed the momentary railings of the military parade, crying out for injustice. Children pointed and asked the question while the smaller ones wept.


    She wondered if they knew. Theirs was a culture of silence after all, of unsung policies that bled into every aspect of the village. That uncanny silence was what made her leave to begin with.


    She studied the crowds as they continued their cries, particularly the swirling sands that made up their skins. Synergists relied on sand. It was their shield since first they learned to shape sands. Given that ability from an early age those same untested children were expected never to bruise or bleed. Until, inevitably, they did.


    They were wounds that would not be healed. A good synergist kept their troubles to themselves. A good synergist hid their wounds. A good synergist would never rely on the techniques of outsiders to cure the ailments that would heal naturally. And should they die? Well that was how Eighth Hour demanded of them, according to age old scriptures that is. A wound was a failure upon flesh and a failure was meant to be learned from.


    So she followed those scriptures in her own way. The paths of her people had become the failure and she would learn from their mistakes. She traveled to Kura, reached the thirtieth level, acquired a doctor¡¯s degree and apprenticed under the best of doctors until any synergist who should suffer from ¡®failures of flesh¡¯ would have an option other than pain or death.


    Her eyes tracked to the front of that troupe as it paused unceremoniously to the behest of one man. Oke. The fool bowed to them low and his village silenced. They stared at him in horror.


    ¡°Thank you for your aid Salamon-dara,¡± he said as gratefully as he could muster.


    The short full turn nodded tactfully. ¡°The honor is mine, Chief-a-tain,¡± he said in his shrill voice. ¡°Your village is safe, yes.¡±


    ¡°Yes, we¡¯ve suffered no assaults in your absence.¡±


    ¡°Then--¡±


    ¡°Oke-dara!¡± bellowed a woman from the crowd.


    ¡°Chieftain?!¡± cried a man.


    ¡°Why?¡± asked a child.


    Kimbe eyed the girl who had shrewdly asked the question, as did Oke who knew he needed to answer it.


    He did so with a heavy breath, ¡°I only did what I thought best for the village.¡±


    ¡°Fool!¡± the voice was feminine and mocking. Pushing through the crowds, close to where Inyande lay, Chireke burst from out of the wall of blue jackets. Her wedding covers were dirtied and one of her sleeves tattered.


    ¡°Fool of a grandfather that you are, you¡¯ve doomed her! We succeeded, grandfather, we got away and then¡­ and then they came.¡±


    ¡°Chireke I¡­¡±


    ¡°No. You¡¯ve damned fool, I don¡¯t want to hear it. I should have known you mistrusted her.¡±


    ¡°Go ahead,¡± commanded the short man at the front, turning to Kimbe and greeting her with familiar tilt of the head.


    Kimbe had known captain Salamon for years, but she had known Oke all her life. Several villagers joined in the man¡¯s denouncing, showering Oke with words he could not deny.


    Kimbe sighed, hiding her flask. Oke was a practical man but he was too practical some times. He lacked faith when he needed it. Both in those he called his friends and his granddaughter. Kimbe shifted. Their grand-daughter.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Feeling the need to intervene on her fragmented family, Kimbe attempted a step, but was cut short by a sharp and directing voice. The villagers went silent.


    It was Inyande, ¡°This? Shi shi. This is nothing, Chireke. Be out in no time, promise.¡±


    ¡°Inyande-dara¡­¡± trailed Chireke.


    ¡°For now enjoy the company of your family. Make your choices and live with them,¡± Inyande smiled and snickered behind closed teeth. ¡°I¡¯ll see you soon.¡±


    Chireke nodded to that, watching as her role model from whence she was girl get tugged away by chains.


    The granddaughter stood there, eyes glazed and strained, and with a shudder of her shoulders she marched on with the chained Inyande. The village followed, the chorus of mourns and jeers along with them.


    Only then did Kimbe notice Kwake stumbling after them, his eyes sternly fixed on Chireke.


    ¡°Poor boy,¡± muttered Kimbe. She had always been a supporter of the ignored dredges of society. To be kept in silence was worse than to receive the dreaded answer and Kwake would be denied his answer so long as Inyande burned as bright as the sun in Chireke¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°Poor girl,¡± she corrected herself as she thought on the girl. Now only the first half of the company of blue coats remained. Salamon and his outsiders eyed her patiently.


    ¡°Salamon-dara,¡± she greeted him, ¡°I see your quarry is the same as mine.¡±


    He cocked his head at him, ¡°Why are you here Kim-bey?¡±


    Kimbe swished the flasks ahead of her, drawing the attention of the gathered outsiders, ¡°It was for my granddaughter you see, but upon learning of a most particular poisoning,¡± she smiled, ¡°I felt the need to cure it.¡±


    ¡­


    Kimbe mixed the last batch of the pink fluid as her already stuffed quarters became choked with bodies.


    ¡°The prince went ahead to the boat,¡± explained Salamon, the first of those bodies. Salamon had taken to sitting upon her clay top counter, much to her displeasure.


    ¡°I see, so he was here after all. Any injuries?¡±


    ¡°None.¡±


    She caught Salamon in the corner of her eye, fluids trickled into a new flask. ¡°So he did not fight? Smart. I wonder where he gets that? Certainly not his father,¡± said Kimbe.


    ¡°The trade prince has been a vital supporter to cap-i-ton, yes.¡±


    Kimbe puffed, tapping the counter with the finished product, ¡°Only because your cap-i-ton happens to possess the shrewdness his eminence lacks. Perhaps your ¡®cap-i-ton¡¯ is the boy¡¯s true father.¡±


    ¡°Cease your words Kim-bey! Cap-i-ton only loves the Empress, and she alone.¡±


    ¡°Not true,¡± she said turning to the others gathered there, ¡°He loves his ambitions more.¡±


    She tossed the flask and the Cantinio boy caught it with a fumble.


    ¡°For that friend of yours back in Kura. Is that all of those poisoned?¡±


    The boy with blue moons in his eyes nodded, ¡°It is, but I fear he may injure more if given the chance.¡±


    Kimbe took a second scan of the gathered company, stopping tellingly on the white furry man. He had been coddling an unopened bottle of rum for the past half an hour.


    ¡°A Trimbly, a seawolf, a Veracian noble, a cantinio and a rabbit. Remind me, what does Mor¡¯de want with them?¡± she asked.


    ¡°It is his utmost desire to see them, yes.¡±


    ¡°Yes but why?¡±


    ¡°Pardon my ignorance,¡± began the Cantinio boy, ¡°But we¡¯ve never met Mor¡¯de. Isn¡¯t he an admiral? I promise I would not soon forget that encounter.¡±


    ¡°Clearly we have,¡± said the seawolf.


    ¡°But when and where?¡± added the Trimbly. ¡°If he is truly a witch doctor, surely we would have¡­ oh. Oh.¡±


    Both the seawolf and chitik snapped to each other as they reached the same conclusion.


    ¡°Him.¡±


    Kimbe grinned at their matched reaction. Albeit, the girl¡¯s revelation had teetered into a yawn.


    Off in the corner, the noble soldier muttered a few muffled words with her eyes fixed on Kimbe.


    Kimbe sighed, ¡°My ears must be blocked. Speak up, girl.¡±


    ¡°I¡­I am not with them,¡± she croaked.


    It was a strange admission. For the trip to her laboratory, the administration of the elixirs, and the lengthy process to concoct another, the girl remained. She was either pre-occupied with some secretive task or idiotically stubborn.


    ¡°Then why are you here?¡± said Kimbe with slight agitation.


    She tilted her head slightly at the rabbit man before lapsing down. Kimbe squinted at the rabbit, the strangest of the lot. She had assumed him to be of Tarus descent, perhaps an albino given his fur and stature, but the more she studied him, the more she realised he was not. He was different. More so he had barely turned if at all.


    She felt an awful curiosity stir in the recesses of her mind. Discerning what he was and considering even the faintest possibilities of an undiscovered species, brought about something in her she had long since buried. Mechano biology. The hidden capabilities of organs turned to machines, to use turned organs as instruments of advancement. Recombination, application, experimentation¡­ she shook her head, instantly willing those thoughts away.


    ¡°It take it then you will follow at their side up into the sky whale?¡± asked Kimbe attempting to draw herself away from the anomaly of a man.


    She did not need to answer for Kimbe to know.


    ¡°Well then,¡± continued Kimbe. ¡°See to it my patients come to no harm.¡±


    ¡°I will, Kim-bey.¡±


    ¡°That was towards the girl, Salamon-dara.¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± the girl fixed her gaze ever downwards and pressed her shoulders up.


    ¡°The elixir should cure any lasting effects. Should anything¡­ strange happen in the after math while you are up there, inform me by written spell immediately.¡±


    ¡°And what you, Kim-bey?¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes,¡± she waved him off. ¡°Now that my granddaughter is safe and the prince found, I will see myself to Al¡¯tof.¡±


    ¡°Very well, then we shall depart immediately,¡± said the captain.


    Just as the man leapt of the table and gestured for guards stationed outside to come in, Kimbe spoke up, ¡°A word, Salamon?¡± she asked, gazing about her, ¡°Alone preferably.¡±


    Salamon saluted, drawing his hand out a moment later, ¡°Take the guests and Cadet Le¡¯Ricci to the ship, I will be with you shortly.¡±


    Kimbe kept her sights squarely on the back of the rabbit man as the outsiders shuffled out. When at last the door shut in their wake, she took a long warranted breath.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been reading a lot on Divine Beasts lately, those worshipped by the above landers,¡± she started. ¡°Given that the poison used and its subsequent cure was named after Zanae, I had to think upon the connection. To put it frankly, captain, that connection, Zanae, is one of the Great Beasts of the uplanders, the butterfly whose wings sprout petals.¡±


    ¡°And?¡±


    She paced along her bookshelf, running her sand fingers along the uneven spines of the works gathered there, ¡°I had long thought the Divine Beasts myths made for worship, much like our own Hours, but what if they weren¡¯t?¡±


    ¡°Does this concern the cap-i-ton?¡±


    Kimbe stopped, ¡°It does,¡± she said turning, ¡°Now more than ever. Dog, lion, butterfly, dragon, owl, tangatta, rat, whale, fox, cow, curse and rabbit¡­ If I were you, I¡¯d best watch the one that coddles the bottle, and damn close at that.¡±

 On Things that Change

    It was a little past midnight when a navy clockship burst through the clouds and wavered forwards. The beat of its clock engine sounded for minutes around.


    Clockships could only fly thirty to forty minutes at a time, so the navy arranged a number of ships to be positioned along where the previous ship dropped. The effect was a dizzying work of transit in which all Tig could recall was the howl of deck workers and the brisk commands of Salamon as each ship connected.


    They landed on an island once and upon the sea on four other occasions, each time hustled onto the ship without as much as a wayward glance at their surroundings.


    Now upon the fifth ship, Tig huddled in the hall with Franco, Remy and Gemjo as winds whipped restlessly against the hull. The pirates occupied one wall while the soldier huddled alone by the other. The Professor had long since vanished into one of the many rooms present on the ship.


    Inyande had been with them to, but only for the first two ships before she was destined for some ¡®impenetrable¡¯ prison.


    The sound of metal jostling attracted Tig to Gemjo now playing with Carter. He saw looks of abject disgust directed at the girl from previous owner. Or at least what Tig imagined as that previous owner took to hiding her frowns behind Gemjo¡¯s scarf.


    ¡°How¡¯s my scarf? Reek of a dog smell?¡± taunted Gemjo, spinning Carter mockingly.


    ¡°Better than the sight of one.¡±


    ¡°Then cover your eyes with it, better yet toss it my way and I¡¯ll do my best to spare myself from the glares of entitled nobility.¡±


    Remy grumbled.


    Gemjo flashed her teeth.


    Tig batted tired eyes. It had been that way for all of the boat rides. Both had what the other wanted, but neither would yield. Instead, they took to taunting each other without end. On the first ship, the soldiers had given them telling looks, on the second they had flatly warned them to stop, and on the third they had banished them from staying in the rooms, thus dejecting them to exile in the halls.


    Only the quiet, seemingly distracted Professor had been granted his own chamber, accompanied by Salamon who insisted upon staying with him.


    Tig found his curiosity on the subject flare up as the girls bickered.


    ¡°What¡¯s happened to the Professor as of late?¡± he asked them.


    Franco was the first to answer, ¡°Do you mean his turned appearance? I too have thought on it, Tib. Though, truthfully, I take it has to do with his origins. His biological origins.¡±


    ¡°Which we know nothing of,¡± said Gemjo.


    ¡°Yes, we don¡¯t,¡± Tig focussed on Remy, ¡°but you knew him before. What is he?¡±


    Remy hid behind Gemjo¡¯s scarf and made muffled noises into it, ¡°I cannot say.¡±


    Gemjo pointed Carter at Remy, ¡°Speak.¡±


    ¡°Fool,¡± chided Remy, ¡°you¡¯ve no bullets.¡±


    Gemjo tis¡¯ked and spun the gun, ¡°Not that I care,¡± she muttered.


    ¡°Come now, Gem, you must be at least a tad bit curious,¡± said Franco. ¡°One day he was as orange as a flame and the next he was white, a manifest of cream, a nimble cloud, a--¡±


    ¡°A rabbit?¡± finished Tig.


    The Girl shrugged as she leaned back. ¡°What strikes me more is his movements since he¡¯s changed. He¡¯s faster than me, Inyande to.¡±


    ¡°It happened gradually,¡± recalled Tig. ¡°Ever since he had nothing to drink, he¡¯s been changing.¡±


    ¡°So when he¡¯s sober he¡¯s a rabbit and when he¡¯s not he¡¯s some, well, drunk orange man?¡± surmised Franco.


    ¡°Basically.¡±


    ¡°Alright you¡¯ve lost me. Do you know what I think, Tiv, I think some witch doctor¡¯s cast an awful spell on the lot of us and we¡¯ve been seeing that illusion since. If turning into a rabbit isn¡¯t strange enough, consider how he hasn¡¯t touched the drink Oke gave him since we¡¯ve left. It must be an illusion.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s right about that.¡± Tig blinked in her direction. Surprisingly, it was Gemjo who agreed with him, ¡°Haven¡¯t seen the drunk without a drink since I met him. Haven¡¯t smelled it either.¡±


    ¡°Something¡¯s different, something¡¯s happened,¡± began Tig, lowering his head in contemplation.


    ¡°He wasn¡¯t a rabbit,¡± said Remy suddenly.


    Tig looked up to her, ¡°Then?¡±


    She confirmed it, ¡°This is new.¡±


    The ship rocked against a gust and Tig stumbled up.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to ask him,¡± he decided.


    Franco glanced up at him, ¡°Right now?¡±


    ¡°Aye, before we land. I need to know.¡±


    Tig left without another word. No one followed, no one passed him. In these, the afterhours of a night above cloud and sea, only those who were a part of the night crew worked the ship and did so scarcely. The halls were empty. Security lax.


    His need came from guilt. A guilty pain knowing he had abandoned all he knew for a journey with a man he knew nothing of. And now, as that man changed abruptly and without warning, Tig found himself dreading what would come of it. When Verace shrank into the background with fireworks still bursting into sky, Tig could only consider how he¡¯d finally done something¡ªanything¡ªto make amends for the crimes of his family. It was a happy leaving, a hopeful one.


    Their recent departure, on the other hand, was marked by the frantic pleadings of Chireke as Inyande was whisked away and the promise of the masked prince on how he would meet them again in Al¡¯Tof.


    The wise Madam Kimbe left with the Prince to a similar promise and a question to Tig as to where Venezio found his poison. He could not answer. While he was a Trimbly, the secrets of his namesake remained just so.


    After all, he had only known them since the incident.


    The gas lamps that lit the darkwood walls sunk into the velvet carpet and glinted off the iron lines that stretched across his face. Another memory came to him as he passed the few rooms where sailors laughed and clanked glasses. That of fire, the day he first met the Trimblies. It was a day of betrayal he would never forget. Fire everywhere, smoke more so, and his father, the strongest man in the village, hesitant to fight. They cried for him even as the Trimblies cut them down. Some ran, never too far, while others retreated to the great Toklo in the hopes he might act. He didn¡¯t. They had gone motionless, clutching to his leathers. Tig remembered the great arm blade that flicked red out, he remembered how he banged on his father¡¯s side for him to act. And when the man finally listened, it was not to him.


    They said he had forgotten, they said he was not himself, they said he had been lost years ago and only now they had found him. They were lies, thought Tig, but the man he knew as his father believed them unflinchingly. And suddenly, without so much a warning, his father changed. He turned and he struck and Tig¡¯s happy family split apart in blood and ash. He remembered the silence. He recalled his body thrown over something that would not move, and the sound of his father¡¯s hunting knife as it crunched the snow. People changed.


    Like fireworks crackling across the sky, all it took was a spark before people revealed their true colors. Tig tensed as he thought that. Anu came to mind. People changed and not just into rabbits.


    He had stopped before a door he suspected the Professor hid behind. The gas lamp had long gone out above it and the number 15 was sprawled just legibly into the midst of its wooden surface.


    He studied the floor and confirmed what he saw from a distance. White hairs littered the red carpet as if whatever wandered in had been molting.


    He wondered even as he pushed open the door if the Professor had changed once again. He saw something flicker on the other side and pushed the door fully.


    The rabbit man was hunched over a round wooden table with a candle dying at its center. He had a bottle clutched in his hands, and his hat had shifted lazily to his side, revealing one large floppy ear.


    ¡°Tig,¡± came the voice painfully. He turned, and the boy breathed in horror as one the Professor¡¯s goggle eye had turned into a very natural, very red eye, its black pupil deep and dilating.


    ¡°Look, Tig, before I drown in myself in this bottle¡¯s succor, you should know something. Up there,¡± he pointed, ¡°there¡¯s these twelve divine beasts and I¡¯m¡­ well down here there¡¯s twelve Hours and I happen to¡­ Point is that day you jumped on that boat, I couldn¡¯t be happier. You chose me. Me, of all turns.¡±


    ¡°You remember?¡± said Tig.


    ¡°¡¯Course I remember! It was only weeks ago, mate.¡±


    ¡°Right,¡± laughed Tig, ¡°Feels longer is all.¡±


    The Professor spun the bottle it on its base as he continued, ¡°You remind me of a friend I had long ago, and I think it best to offer you what I did him. So listen,¡± he said taking a breath. ¡°Should you ever find yourself in terrible danger, and I mean really life threatening stuff, pray to the first Hour. But only if it¡¯s absolutely bloody necessary.¡±


    Tig remained fixated on that piercing red eye.


    ¡°Pray?¡± he quirked inquisitively.


    ¡°Yes, pray. Press your palms together and the like. Just be prudent about it. There are reasons for it, reasons I¡¯m sure one day I¡¯ll reveal but not now. Just trust me alright?¡±


    Tig nodded.


    The Professor blinked his mismatched eyes, ¡°Just like that, mate? You trust me?¡±


    ¡°You saved my life.¡±


    ¡°Mate, everybody saves your life.¡±


    Tig frowned to that, thinking gingerly back to Gemjo¡¯s comment. ¡°Not just on that isle,¡± added Tig. ¡°I mean when you arrived on that pier and gave me the choice I never gave myself. You may be an unreliable drunk, but you¡¯ve done more for me than I could I ever pay back. So yes I trust you. I¡­¡± Tig pressed his chin down as he considered the words. The Professor was an unreliable man, but he was no liar. They had indeed travelled into the horizon, seeking its never ending origin, and for all the ilses they¡¯ve escaped and ships they¡¯ve lost, the journey to the Mad Tinker promised a hundred more. He smiled at the thought. Perhaps there was only ever one reason for jumping that night in Verace. ¡°I believe in you,¡± he said at last.


    The Professor shook, his bottle lowered. He sniffed slightly as he tilted his head away.


    ¡°Professor?¡± asked Tig.


    ¡°Nothing mate, just... thank you. I needed that.¡± He wavered to the bottle. ¡°I ¡®suppose that settles it, eh? I¡¯ve gone long enough this way.¡±Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    ¡°In what way?¡± asked Tig, stepping forwards.


    ¡°Look at me Tig,¡± he said jutting his furry arms a part, ¡°I¡¯m a bloody rabbit. Don¡¯t see much of that in these parts. In most parts really, but I won¡¯t stay it for long.¡± He dug his eyes into his bottle and asked without looking up, ¡°Is that Remy girl still with us?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s down the hall with the others.¡±


    ¡°Then tell her¡­ tell her that I remember.¡±


    The bottle¡¯s base tipped up and the liquids drained.


    ¡°Professor?¡± asked Tig stumbling to meet the man.


    The Professor raised his white hand up, swallowed what he could in enormous gulps and toppled backwards. By the time Tig stood over him, his theory had been proven correct. The rabbit man was an orange drunk once more.


    The Professor burped, ¡°Eh? Tig, what in the hours¡­ hic¡­ are you doing here?¡± he turned dumbly to the window. ¡°Where is here by the way? Are we¡­ are we flying?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t remember? You changed. Completely.¡±


    The Professor pushed one brow down and lifted the other, making a face with his goggle-eyes, ¡°Mate things change all the time, so who¡¯s to say they won¡¯t change back?¡±


    ¡°I wish it were so simple,¡± said the boy.


    ¡°Damn, Tig, have some drink, perhaps it¡¯ll loosen some of those cogs twitching in your legs and keeping you down.¡± The man stumbled up and dusted himself off. ¡°Well, wherever we are, we¡¯re not in chains. That¡¯s good. So best drink what needs drinking and fumble along till we get wherever needs going, eh?¡±


    ¡°Right,¡± said Tig, smiling momentarily. ¡°Right! We¡¯re headed to Jing Mon Ceros on the behest of Admiral Mor¡¯de.¡±


    ¡°Ah, that old goot.¡±


    ¡°You met him?¡±


    ¡°Not once, but he sounds fairly of the ¡®goot¡¯ variety.¡±


    Three knocks intruded the room and Tig turned to see Salamon, unamused and standing by the door.


    He faced Tig first, not all too startled to find the boy there. ¡°They were right. You are here,¡± said the captain. ¡°Hmm, white one, you¡¯ve changed. No matter. The way you appear now matches the cap-i-ton¡¯s descriptions, so further inquiries will have to wait, yes. As for now, we¡¯ll be changing ships. On your feet.¡±


    Tig rushed to the window and brushed aside the curtains. He squinted hard. Before the trip he had been informed they¡¯d be arriving before the next dawn, yet now he questioned that claim.


    He saw black.


    ¡°Are you sure?¡¯ he asked, glancing back.


    ¡°It is dawn is it not?¡± barked Salamon.


    ¡°No?¡±


    ¡°Look again.¡±


    He flinched once he did. The black shifted out of view and lumbered above the clouds. It was a clockship, one the size of five galleons, maybe more, and tethered to a long iron dock that vanished under endless cloud cover, hints of a jagged crag alluding to the base of the tether nearby.


    Tig could scarcely find the words, ¡°What¡­ what is¡­¡±


    ¡°The ship that contains the heart of a mechanized sky whale,¡± answered Salamon, ¡°The first clockship, the Hourhand.¡±


    ¡­


    They were ushered out like prisoners to the clank of iron under their feet. The vessel blocked the sun ahead of them and all present craned their heads to the monster. Terror, wonder and awe muddled their mechanical expressions. Had they not seen living creatures larger than it, they would have remained in disbelief.


    Most knew of clockships and their current capacities. In fact the advancement of the technology was made common knowledge by the Empress¡¯s edict. Clockships flew for no more than thirty to forty minutes, yet now, as captain Salamon explained, they knew the exception.


    ¡°Two hours,¡± he reported dutifully, checking his pocket watch. ¡°Precisely the time required for our trip.¡±


    ¡°Why doesn¡¯t the army know of this?¡± said Remy.


    ¡°Some do. But it is cap-i-ton¡¯s prize. He need not share it lightly. Yes.¡±


    ¡°Travel to the sky whales has always been restricted to natural high points. Places to the magnitude of Kura or the Hourglass Mountain,¡± recalled Franco. ¡°But you¡¯re to have us believe that is capable of flying us there?¡±


    ¡°That is correct.¡±


    ¡°Hours be damned,¡± muttered Franco.


    While the path to the ship was narrow, soldiers still found the means to squeeze past them in both directions. Cries could be heard raining down from the ship¡¯s far railings, muted only by the steam that whistled out the many pipes jutting from ship¡¯s backend. To his side, Tig spotted what was the tip of a high black crag with clouds misting around it. A gathering of black birds marked their informal audience, curiously cawing at the behemoth.


    Then came the entrance. It was a bolt marked metal bound thing that seemed the result of a mechanized cave. Soldiers ran in and out in sporadic bursts. Muskets clanked on the backs.


    ¡°Lot of weapons for a simple trip,¡± remarked Gemjo. ¡°Makes one wonder if you were going to war instead.¡±


    Salamon eyed her sharply, ¡°By the cap-i-ton¡¯s will we are always on guard.¡±


    Tig became as skeptical as the seawolf the moment he stepped in the ship. The muskets he saw was just the beginning. Directly inside stretched an open bay that seemed as large as the ship itself. Walls of black metal towered around him with barrel arches for supports. Large lamps in sets of three hung from the tops of the chamber between the arches. Soldiers gathered in ordered squares below. They were of every conceivable race, but mostly of the same masked people the prince was. A splotch of rustic manes topped the squadrons.


    They made thickets with ordered walks open as clearings. Tig marched through the forest, cautiously eying the bluecoats about him. Unlike the rough navy soldiers he had seen prior, these were disciplined men. They had their sights ever forwards, postures fixed and faces expressionless.


    Gemjo was right, he thought. These men were off to war. Yet war seemed unlikely. As little as Tig knew of the politics of the land, finding it boring and overcomplicated, he knew as well as any other that the up-landers would never wage war with those below. Not again.


    ¡°This way,¡± said Salamon directing them down between the half dozen squadrons. A zig-zagging staircase of four stories connected the main floor to the next. The thumping of the clock engine seemed to get louder as they approached it.


    ¡°Stairs,¡± moaned Gemjo.


    Tig spied at her and found himself quickly distracted by Remy beside her, walking as stiff as ever with a bead of sweat rolling down her temple.


    ¡°Ah social anxiety,¡± noted Franco, sharing the same sight. ¡°A most terrible fear. I could not imagine life with it.¡±


    ¡°Nor could I imagine a life being afraid of the sea,¡± quipped Gemjo.


    ¡°That¡ª¡±said Franco with a start, pausing to straighten himself. ¡°That, my dear Niss, is quite the common ailment and in fact affects far more than you might first assume. Why in the mainland, it is said nearly fifty perce¡ª¡° he frowned as the seawolf lowered her risen palm. ¡°Did you just yawn at me?¡±


    ¡°Worse almost fell asleep,¡± she said, finishing that yawn.


    ¡°My fear is justified, but, as I¡¯ve learned recently,¡± he started, smiling Tig¡¯s way, ¡°it is not something I cannot overcome. So I say to you Niss, you too can overcome your fear. Nay you will overcome it.¡±


    Gemjo grinned dumbly at the girl and pointed at her mockingly, ¡°Too stiff to hear this one. Oi Tig, might you still have that pen?¡±


    Tig frowned.


    ¡°What pen?¡± asked Remy at last.


    Tig flinched, twisting away, ¡°Nothing. No pen. What pen?¡± the stairs loomed before him and he volunteered for the first step, praying the girl would not think to look where his eyes had subconsciously traveled. There were still black marks upon her pale head. Some of it had been dripping.


    It did not take long for another matter to steal his attention. For every step two colossal beats played from the engine.


    He glanced if only slightly as they ascended. The air was wet. He had noticed it when faced with the lines of soldiers, but here, left to think of nothing other than the steps and where they might go, he became increasingly distracted by the humidity of the place. His skin felt sticky, domes of water pooled on his irons.


    He thought to ask, but why the way the others kept silent about it, he considered it common knowledge he did not yet posses, so he wavered from the subject.


    ¡°I see you¡¯re back to normal,¡± spoke Franco behind him.


    ¡°Mate, now you notice¡­ hic.¡± He missed a step and nearly fell over. ¡°Stairs,¡± he hissed. ¡°Bloody hate stairs.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯re drunk,¡± sighed Franco. ¡°Well if anything your theory was correct, good Tiv. I apologise for my skepticism.¡±


    Nodding at Franco, Tig counted two remaining flights and balanced his head over his shoulder as he climbed, ¡°In all fairness, I doubted myself. I could practically hear my master back in Verace scold me as I said it.¡±


    ¡°He sounds quite the prude gent.¡±


    ¡°The prudest,¡± smiled Tig, facing forwards. ¡°But he was right. Right about a lot of things.¡±


    The last few steps vanished behind a gradual fog, which swept in through an open door at the top.


    Thump. Thump.


    Between pistons, the cries of men and whistles to signal where they were, the clock engine ticked grandly.


    The fog blinded them, but Tig guessed they had reached open air by the dim penetration of the sun and the ambience of the space.


    By instinct, he looked up and saw naught but fog and sky. If the bottom was a bay for soldiers then this was another for the winds.


    Salamon started forwards, and, as Tig followed the man, he noticed the outlines of small clockship caravels parked in built in dry docks.


    ¡°This ship, she can carry other ships?¡± asked Franco in disbelief.


    ¡°It is as¡­, yes,¡± said Salamon, ¡°The Hourhand is both¡­ and carrier, and¡­ Cap-i-ton¡¯s¡­ current flagship.¡±


    Tig had to focus to hear ever second word as the engine deafened him to it. Only Franco¡¯s abnormally loud voice cut through it. Salamon was not much quieter either, had he been so, Tig would not have made out a word he said. He considered the silence of his companions then and spied at each of them. The Professor had been mumbling about bottles or the other, Gemjo¡¯s dozing off even then, and Remy murmuring something with her eyes locked squarely ahead.


    They passed under a blackened entry into a hallway to the creak of open door and the beat of the engine grew ever louder. The fog faded as the door shut behind them.


    ¡°Hours!¡± boomed Franco. ¡°What is that noise!?¡±


    Tig snickered as he thought he heard Gemjo wake for only that and mutter ¡®Your Voice¡¯. Then his attention fell back to Remy as the seawolf resumed her inexplicable sleep walk. He could not hear her, so he read her lips. She was speaking quickly, quietly, but one word became apparent.


    Salamon confirmed it.


    ¡°I told¡­ you, yes? It¡­ is the¡­ whale¡¯s mechani¡­ heart.¡±


    Tig snapped to the end of the tunnel and he glimpsed the first hints of it. Supported on four iron columns with trusses webbing between, an amalgam of golden gears and spinning hands disturbed the air in visible pulses matching the deafening beat of the engine.


    His steps slowed as he approached it. It grew in both size and volume. Salamon was explaining something as they stopped before the engine that stood as high as a man and as wide as two. Glass tubes ran behind and under the device, surging blue fluids to very pulse. Another tube near the top let in black fluids in tandem to the blue. The engine was no engine. It was a clockwork heart.


    A full turn in a white coat and hat stopped before them and bowed deeply before handing them two small circular devices each. The man gestured at his ear.


    Eyeing the silver devices once more, Tig fidgeted with the device up against his ear and to his surprise it slid in on its own.


    The deafening pulse half vanished to a momentary whirr of the device and Tig followed suite with other ear.


    Now he could hear Salamon speak in tour-like fashion, ¡°¡­this heart was of the first mechanized whale we managed to harvest. Ever since, we¡¯ve built clock engines based on this model, yes. Questions, no? Then let us be done with it.¡±


    ¡°Salamon,¡± laughed the white hat, ¡°You are a terrible tour guide.¡±


    ¡°Cap-i-ton¡¯s orders.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d serve ice-milk if it were the ¡®cap-i-ton¡¯s orders¡¯.¡±


    ¡°I live to serve, yes yes.¡±


    The man shook his head, still smiling, and bowed it politely at Tig and his companions.


    ¡°So you are the guests of honor?¡± he said.


    ¡°Somehow,¡± shrugged the boy, stealing a glance at the suddenly quiet heart.


    The man¡¯s face was a silver head apparatus. Any skin he had was missing, so only the frame and its mechanisms remained. Every movement he made, from a smile to a blink, was relayed in the spin of several gears that clicked gently. A set of spiralling worm gears let his jaw drop and rise as he spoke, while ball joints rolled above and below his sockets, letting his pearl eyes drift to the machine. ¡°Oh that? Aye, we to found it difficult to work with considering the noise, so we devised an audio filtration device that masks the frequency. Works swellingly I think. Ah, where are my manners?¡± he bowed. ¡°Reginald Rigsby, a fellow Veracian and grandstudent of Madam Kimbe.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a¡­ doctor?¡± questioned Tig.


    ¡°Mechano biologist,¡± he said tapping a silver circle near the base of his hat, ¡°The second branch after you reach the thirtieth level of Kura should you choose to pursue it.¡±


    ¡°I must say, Regibald, I do not approve of your field,¡± said Franco.


    The man snapped his silver fingers and pointed at Franco, ¡°Yes I know you, the Cantinio who took a Chronodynamics degree, fourteen floors my junior. Theoretical degree that, hardly useful except in navigation. What was it they always rumored you¡¯d say. ¡®Topple the Navy¡¯ or some such?¡±


    Salamon flexed for his gun.


    ¡°You misunderstand,¡± said Franco, grinning and pushing his forehead with two of his fingers. ¡°Twas no rumor, but fact. I, Francisco Santos Carlo--¡±


    Tig pulled him aside, ¡°Not here, Franco. Not in a Navy ship.¡±


    Gemjo snorted awake, blinking their way as she saw them huddled.


    Tig nudged his head at her with eyes still on Franco, ¡°She¡¯d beat you if she knew what you almost did.¡±


    Gemjo frowned as she worked at equipping the noise mufflers. ¡°Normally,¡± she said as she plopped in the second one, ¡°I would know even whilst asleep if not for that sound. But yes, whatever it was, I¡¯d beat him silly.¡±


    ¡°If only you could,¡± puffed Franco.


    She made a line with her face, flipped her eyes up then down at Franco, turned, and kicked the iron wall next to her with a resounding pang.


    There was dent left in it and Franco, the confident captain that he was, had been reduced to covering his crotch fearfully.


    ¡°You¡¯re a cruel cruel girl, you know that?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t underestimate me,¡± she yawned.


    ¡°Are you finished, yes?¡±


    The three of them returned to Salamon.


    ¡°Aye,¡± said Tig.


    Salamon took a breath, ¡°Whatever he may have wished to topple does not concern us. Yes.¡±


    ¡°Oi, captain,¡± warned Reginald.


    Salamon caught his breath and he held his head down for a moment. ¡°Apologies,¡± he said, lifting his head up, ¡°It does concern us as we are of the navy, yes yes. And will be for¡­ the foreseeable future. If you¡¯ll excuse me, yes?¡±


    Reginald shook his head as Salamon made himself scarce.


    ¡°He¡¯s a wonderful commander that man, but he has no place in politics,¡± said Reginald. ¡°Right so, aside from any touring you may wish for, I¡¯m to be your host for the remainder for this trip. Let me show you to your quarters.¡±


    Tig raised his hand before the man made his turn, ¡°Pardon, Mr. Rigsby,¡± started Tig, ¡°But if I may, why exactly does Mor¡¯de want us?¡±


    ¡°You ask this upon a the largest ship in the seas armed with an army headed to a supposedly allied state, and a ship, powered, mind you, by the very heart of the creature whose death that now allied state once went to war with us over.¡±


    Tig smiled dumbly, ¡°Yes?¡±


    Reginald let out a practiced sigh, ¡°You ask one of many questions I cannot answer. Admiral Mor¡¯de asked for you and that is that. Had I been as zealous as my good friend, the captain, I would have implored you to consider it an honor. But I will not hide the nature of your summons. Know that when summoned by Mor¡¯de you are just as much prisoners as you are guests. His will is absolute.¡±


    ¡°But why Jing Mon Ceros? Why should he want of us there? In fact, why is he there?¡± asked Franco.


    To that, Reginald seemed genuinely surprised, ¡°You haven¡¯t heard?¡± he started, the two column slots controlling the elevation of his brows rising. ¡°About the riots? The declarations? Times are changing, friend. The Embassy¡¯s been sacked.¡±

 The Red City

    They rose higher than ever before, piercing the first layer of golden clouds and skidding into the next. Here where clouds glistened in the morning wash, it was a place where few ships could go. And through the windows, small and fogged, it was a sight few below the clouds would ever see.


    What came next less so.


    For the Hourhand was dwarfed by the thing that flew effortlessly beside it. So large, it seemed to drag the sky behind it, making low and alien sounds all the while. Jing Mon Ceros, the whale city in the sky, ripped through the clouds in large fin strokes. Ahead of the whale¡¯s carapace of countless silver plates, glinted the whale¡¯s massive likewise silver horn, which was marred only by the countless crimson rooves of the city proper.


    It was a tapestry of red, that city upon the whale. The streets were packed in some places and left wide in others, the largest spaces were of the four main roads that led to the tall palace in the middle. But that structure was no Veracian noble house, but rather a collection of pagodas similar to those found in Kura. Four towers with layered rooves sat in cardinal corners with one large and girthy tower boasting the center. There were docks he assumed for clockships positioned at the top of the main tower but instead of ships, Tig saw something very peculiar indeed.


    Umbrellas.


    Men dressed in fine silks floated onto the terrace under the guise of flying red umbrellas. They landed to ceremonial bows of retainers as the shadow of the Hourhand covered them briefly. Then came the stares, both form those atop the tower and from far below.


    Mor¡¯de¡¯s flagship was hardly something that could be hidden. It sifted through airs thick with smokes and spices and steam, swooping dangerously low towards the only true clockship dock in the city.


    The landing sat wide and open over the edge of a large pit dug into the mechanical whale¡¯s flesh. Close to it, the charred ruins of a once prosperous embassy wilted into view. Scores of stationed navy soldiers ran to the edges of the pit, calling joyously to those on board. Through his ruddy window, Tig spotted the man who expected them.


    His bony cheeks and black hat were unmistakable. Though now Tig knew his name. Admiral Mor¡¯de, one the four strongest members of the Imperial Navy, stood ahead a horde of navy soldiers.


    The ship shook and Tig slammed into the window face first. Snickers followed as he popped himself from the glass.


    ¡°What you get for hogging the window,¡± said Gemjo.


    Tig wordlessly pointed at the window beside him.


    ¡°Aye, but that one lacks the chair you¡¯re on. Expect me to stand, Chitik?¡±


    ¡°Funny. You seemed more than inclined to sleep on that bench.¡±


    The room the ever kind Reginald took them to was not as grandiose as Tig first thought it be. It had a table, a bench near the lone door, two windows and a three legged stool. One leg was crooked.


    The place was as large as two moderate prison cells with far less the accommodation of one.


    ¡°I think I know what Reginald meant by ¡®prisoners¡¯,¡± complained Tig to the rattle of his chair.


    ¡°You get used to it,¡± sighed Remy.


    He looked to her apologetically. ¡°Right, we did kind of-- sort of-- capture you,¡± said Tig.


    She frowned at him from where she leaned, ¡°And you shall pay dearly for it. All of you,¡± she addressed though most acutely at Gemjo.


    Their latest quarrel was about the bench and how Gemjo had taken the space of three to sleep on. Franco sat by her feet, glancing scarcely at the window.


    ¡°Is it over?¡± he croaked.


    Back first upon the ground, the Professor answered, ¡°Feel the shaking, mate? We¡¯ve made port.¡±


    ¡°Tik?¡± asked Franco.


    ¡°He¡¯s right,¡± said Tig watching as various cylinders connected to the hull below. ¡°Seems they¡¯ve made anchor.¡±


    ¡°Oh hours finally! That felt much longer than the short man said it would.¡±


    ¡°Shorter, actually,¡± added Remy, ¡°I kept count.¡±


    Gemjo sat up to a stretch, ¡°Well however long it was, we¡¯re here and we¡¯re expected, which leaves us with options.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re plotting aren¡¯t you?¡± said Remy.


    ¡°Any problems, rich witch?¡±


    ¡°Several,¡± she puffed. ¡°I¡¯ve no intention of colluding with pirates.¡±


    ¡°Oh then by all means, go and break bread with a bloody admiral of the Imperial Navy, one mind you, with a suspiciously large number of soldiers.¡±


    ¡°The embassy was sacked,¡± quoted Remy.


    Gemjo raised a mocking brow, ¡°So the wise thing to do would be to increase military presence? No, the only meeting we can expect following this admiral is with death. I say we lose them here and now.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps feign an interest in touring the city?¡± suggested Franco.


    Gemjo nodded, ¡°Not bad.¡±


    ¡°Allude to a potential relative perhaps?¡± added Tig.


    Gemjo hummed pleasantly, ¡°Clever, chitik.¡±


    A bottle toasted the air, ¡°A want for uplander drink!¡±


    ¡°Shut up.¡±


    The bottle fell away and minutes passed before the girl with steel hair nodded to herself.


    ¡°We¡¯ll ask to tour the city,¡± she decided. ¡°Then hide away.¡±


    ¡°Surely they¡¯ll send an escort,¡± said Tig.


    ¡°Worry not. Depending on the escort, I have a plan to evade even that.¡±


    ¡°Multiple escorts?¡± entered an unlikely Remy.


    ¡°Doubtful, considering their current situation.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s hear it then,¡± started Franco, ¡°this plan of yours?¡±


    The door clicked and Gemjo spoke quickly, ¡°I¡¯ll lead.¡±


    Salamon¡¯s dwarfed figure appeared on the other side. His eyes low and stern, ¡°We¡¯re here.¡± He reported with un-characteristic joy. ¡°On your feet, Cap-i-ton awaits! Yes. Yes!¡±


    Gemjo forced a laugh she leapt to her wolf feet, ¡°hold, good captain. Before we meet your admiral, how abouts we tour the city? It is only right, as your ¡®cap-i-ton¡¯s¡¯ honored guests, that we¡¯d be granted one.¡±


    All joy in the man¡¯s voice died to the lone question, ¡°No. You go now.¡±


    Gemjo¡¯s smile became a twitching one, ¡°Surely he would understand?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    ¡°But--¡±


    ¡°No. You go now. Yes.¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    Gemjo clicked her tongue and sneered to the side.


    ¡°Wonderful plan,¡± goaded Remy.


    The Five of them trundled out of their mock chambers down the hallway to a main corridor and to the stairs that led to the bay. After minutes of ordered marching, they came to the bay where the witch doctor they had known weeks ago stood before them. No longer was he the prisoner postured on the other side of a grimy wall. Now he was adorned in a tattered black cloak trimmed with gold. His hat was still pointed and black, but now with five gold stars upon it, marking his position.


    ¡°Greetings my friends,¡± he said to them as they neared. A crowd of high ranking navy shuffled away to make room. ¡°We meet again undah bettah circumstances, dough not da circumstance I wished fa. I could not leave dis place while da crisis continued ya see, so I had ya ferried here. I hope dat did not trouble ya, eh?¡±


    Salamon sallied to his side, ¡°No further from the truth, cap-i-ton! We liberated them from witch doctors after your life, yes yes.¡±


    ¡°Aftah my life?¡± Mord¡¯de pressed his head down as if to contemplate the weight of that. ¡°Did you capture dese men?¡±


    Salamon nodded, ¡°In the event you wished to question them, we thought it best to spare their pitiful lives. They, along with another prisoner, are on route to Rinrinra as we speak.


    ¡°Release dem,¡± waved Mor¡¯de.


    ¡°Cap-i-ton?¡±


    ¡°Dose who taught it wise ta go afta me, I mean. By all rights, while dey target my life, dey¡¯ve broken no laws. Besides, I¡¯ll need dem later for my plans,¡± he smiled quickly as that drew looks form the gathered company of five. ¡°You¡¯re curious as ta what dose be, I¡¯m sure. Sa allow me to indulge ya, eh?¡±


    ¡°Admiral!¡± started several voices at once.


    Mor¡¯de raised a hand.


    ¡°Dese few saved my life. To know a simple plan is but a courtesy.¡±


    One of his officers, a full turn woman with shot hair stomped to Tig and lifted him by the collar. Tig wheezed as he tried to decipher why he alone had been chosen by her wrathful grasp.


    ¡°Listen well, whelp. If you let out even a word of the admiral¡¯s plan, I will end you. Your friends to.¡±


    ¡°Oi mate, be careful with him.¡±


    Tig managed a smile at the Professor, grateful for his aide.


    ¡°A Trimbly that one,¡± continued the drunk. ¡°No telling what he¡¯d do.¡±


    Tig let himself dangle for a moment. He thought himself a fool for believing, if even a moment, in the man. He shook his head, coming to terms with that and reassured thenow stupefied woman, ¡°Nothing. I won¡¯t do anything.¡±


    ¡°This one¡¯s a Tribmly?¡± said the woman, lowering Tig slightly. ¡°So that¡¯s why you summoned him.¡±


    The admiral smiled as he turned to the Professor ever slightly, ¡°Well, it wasn¡¯t fa him alone.¡±


    The woman eyed the Professor for several endless moments before letting Tig go.


    ¡°I see,¡± she said simply before directing the others. ¡°Disperse. You¡¯ve wasted enough time waiting here. You have your orders.¡±


    ¡°As you have yours, Marcel,¡± said Mor¡¯de/


    Several salutes followed then a mess of steps as the officers ran to where they were needed, including Marcel who left hesitantly.


    Mor¡¯de bowed slightly, counting them with his eyes, ¡°You have one more dan I expected, but I¡¯ll let her come all da same. Wit me.¡±


    ¡°Cap-i-ton?¡± started Salamon.


    ¡°Excellent work finding dem, Salamon, but ya job be done. We¡¯ve rented a sizeable warehouse by da second dynasty, ferry da third and second fleets dere until furdah instruction. And Salamon, do sa discreetly.¡±


    Salamon saluted, ¡°Yes Cap-i-ton.¡±


    Mor¡¯de directed them towards the exit as Salamon left them.


    ¡°Shall we?¡± said the Admiral.


    They left with him wordlessly. Gemjo, who followed the closest, seemed lost in thought and visibly frustrated as she chewed on one of her nails.


    Tig realised that out of all the possible escorts, the one she did not consider was the admiral himself. Or perhaps she did, but not so soon. Just as they wandered out onto the steel walkways and the red of the city stole his sights, Gemjo quit her nail biting. There was a light in her that distracted him for the city sight and a smile which kept him there. She had a plan. It did not matter what it was or how she intended to execute it. All that mattered was when.


    He slowed until he was beside Franco. That was all that mattered if Franco did not ruin it first. The man had balled his fists from the moment Mor¡¯de first spoke. His brows were narrowed, the point of his ridiculous haircut tilted threateningly at the admiral. His enemy, whom he swore to defeat, now walked seconds away. And yet, despite all that he swore for, he could do nothing. Tig could tell the matter his fight with the witch doctor had taught him some reserve. Even Franco appreciated the strength of the man now before them as lines of navy saluted on either side.


    For generations the navy admirals consisted of the four strongest and well renowned members of their military order, owing much to their power over the people. It wasn¡¯t the everyday navy soldier nor the contingent of troops posted in every town that kept that peace, rather it was the admirals and their forces directly under them.


    Tig had thought countless times how he¡¯d might even join them if he ever hoped to fight against his family. But the thought of soldiering kept him away on every occasion. No matter where they worked, land or sea, soldiers killed. It was no different from the madness his family took part in. A different master, that was all.


    He studied the admiral¡¯s cloaked back as that man took a step for every two of his own. He wondered just how many the happy admiral slew before he reached his post and how many he would before he ended it.


    The thought was unsettling. It would have been easy to say the man was a noble sort who tried nobly to spare as many lives he could. But reality dictated a different outcome. Admirals were not praised for their altruistic plights. They were persons to be feared. Any one of them could commit mass murder and very few who sailed the seas could stop them. Better, he thought, to distract himself upon the sights of the city. That was easy enough once they passed the ashy ruins of the embassy. Only black debris remained in the space of two plots. The uplanders worked to clear the wreckage even then.


    He coughed a bit on the charred air then wheezed on something that caught his nose. He slowed. The smell was of spices, grilling meats and perfumes, all mixed in a mad frenzy as the black ash of the embassy clashed violently with the lively red streets of Jing Mon Ceros.


    Mor¡¯de ran ahead slightly and spun with his arms spread apart. ¡°Welcome,¡± he cried, ¡°Ta Jing Mon Ceros!¡±


    A few of the uplanders, dressed in odd silk fashions, avoided the strange man, and Tig became engulfed by the overwhelming sight of it. This was where foreign military met the market. Where blue coats melded strangely with uplanders selling their wares and making converse.


    Red rooves stretched out lazily overhead while umbrellas clad travellers comfortably hovered to and fro the out of sight top floors of those buildings. This street, named in a sign Tig could not read, seemed endless as it continued to the very heart of the city, the palace.


    Mor¡¯de continued, and Tig found himself sprinting to catch up with a nervous Remy tagging close behind.


    Gemjo pressed close, as did Franco.


    ¡°Far enough to speak,¡± she hushed gesturing at the Admiral. ¡°Where¡¯s the drunk?¡±


    Tig took look about him as did Franco and Remy. The man was gone.


    Gemjo tisk¡¯ed, ¡°Went first, huh? No matter. Plan still stands. If all goes well, we¡¯ll meet on the other side of the palace, part closest to the horn.¡±


    The whale¡¯s massive horn was visible even from there. Ephemeral mists gathered around it, swirling endlessly.


    Mor¡¯de had gotten even further now. Gemjo did not miss a beat.


    ¡°Hmm, perhaps we need only slow to lose him,¡± she said.


    ¡°Lose who?¡¯


    The four them jumped to that same admiral now behind them who leaned low to meet Gemjo¡¯s eyes. His peg leg tapped the stony path as he straightened to his regular posture, tall and looming.


    ¡°Ah me? Heh, na na na, dat won¡¯t happen. I promise ya, as my guests I¡¯ll keep ya all accounted fa. Including ya bronze companion who be visiting a favorite tavern of my soldiers.¡±


    Gemjo, who did not seem the least bit concerned of the admiral¡¯s ability to translocate himself, coughed and pointed at where she thought the drunk had gone, ¡°You honestly think he¡¯s got the cogs to pay for that?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll have my people covah it. Lest ya worry.¡±


    Again Gemjo tisk¡¯ed.


    The crowd took to dispersing around them as they stood center in the flow of bodies.


    ¡°It seems we¡¯re disrupting the traffic,¡± noted Franco.


    ¡°As it seems, as it seems. Den we shall move ahead, eh? Come now,¡± said the admiral resuming his walk, ¡°Oh and best keep up now.¡±


    Gemjo sighed and did just that, though knowing the seawolf, Tig knew she had not given up. Atleast until the admiral took them to where he wanted them, they had time. And walking in silence answered nothing of the innumerable questions Tig had. Here was a man who stood shoulder to shoulder with three other monsters. Here was a man whose very name invoked fear in his enemies and reverence in his underlings. And yet here was a man who remained ever a mystery.


    Tig swallowed before pacing quickly to his side and gazing up at the man¡¯s choice of headwear. He chose his first question poorly.


    ¡°Why do you wear a black hat?¡± he asked sincerely.


    ¡°Heh you noticed?¡±


    ¡°Not hard to,¡± griped Gemjo.


    The Admiral tapped his hat with a bony finger, ¡°I was a privateer befa I joined da Navy, kept da hat wit me. No law in da navy saying what admirals should wear.¡±


    Remy, who had been shaking since they entered the crowded streets, managed a few words, ¡°Lawless¡­ brigands¡­¡±


    ¡°Come now, quiet one, ya wound me. Aye, we¡¯ve been known ta break da laws from time ta time, but we do much ta keep da peace. Take dis city fa example,¡± he said gesturing about him, ¡°While it may seem peaceful fa now, just days prior dese roads were full in riot. Red hats everywhere.¡±


    ¡°Red?¡± croaked Tig.


    ¡°Ah, but not red hats in da same way we wear dem down dere, dese were fake, non-state issued, and mo symbolic,¡± the admiral lowered his head and his voice tightened. ¡°Dey speak of blood, da want fa it, fa anudda war wit our people below. Hence why we¡¯re here!¡± he ended cheerfully.


    Franco, whose rage had mostly subsided spoke up, ¡°Isn¡¯t it, you know, counterproductive to then usher in entire fleets?¡±


    ¡°One could say dat, yes.¡±


    ¡°Then why?¡± asked Franco, more curious than he was duty-bound.


    The Admiral glanced at him with his striking orange eyes before facing forwards, ¡°A promise is a promise, but not here. Not while any numbah of spies on eidah side be watching.¡±


    ¡°Where then?¡± asked Gemjo most likely for her plan.


    The admiral puffed, ¡°Ta where dis road leads, mon.¡±


    All four froze in their tracks, heads craning up.


    Tig swallowed hard. He moved his head side to side without meaning to, ¡°You must be joking,¡± he said breathlessly.


    ¡°Heh,¡± laughed Mor¡¯de. ¡°Fa from it, mon.¡±


    The Royal Palace of Jing Mon Ceros awaited them.

 How to Start a War

    In a little less than an hour of entering the city, they met the emperor. Gemjo attempted several escapes before the meeting, asking to meet with the Professor, deciding on scenic routes, and even feigning a trip to restroom, only to have all her attempts met with the same laugh and taunting permission. Mor¡¯de had not once denied her from leaving, whatever the demand. He just had a look that said it all. He would find her.


    All plans ended abruptly when they entered the ornate halls. It made Tig recall the empty confines of Franco¡¯s estate. Rows of pillars shrank into the distance. A long velvet rug continued below. Banners, which hung from each side column, had tapestries of dogs dressed in red fabrics. Yet it wasn¡¯t the intricate works of red fabrics gilded in gold, nor the tapestries, nor the chandeliers made in the shape of paper lanterns that made its distinction. It was the people.


    Retainers glided across the polished granite floors. The palace was awash with their silent movement. Some gathered in groups gesturing at each other in hand signs, others bowed to the newcomers. Each retainer had painted white faces, large black straw hats, and long silken red robes that hid their turns. While they varied in height and build, they lacked anything that identified them as man or woman. They were androgynous and they spoke not a word.


    That was the rule of the palace as Mor¡¯de briefly explained before entering. Only the emperor could speak freely inside and any else who wished to speak could only do so at that ruler¡¯s behest.


    Those more zealous and respecting of tradition, namely his retainers, chose to hide their identities as well, for to speak was with more than just words. Tig knew them by the way they glanced away when his company neared. From how they scurried and hid their faces and tried laboriously avoid the slightest presence of outsiders. These few, these stubborn devouts constituted the majority of retainers closest to what Tig assumed the Emperor¡¯s chambers, so by the time hey neared those gilded halls, they were all but alone.


    Their steps seemed louder in the uncanny silence and when the beat of them stopped, a golden door stood ahead of them. Curved at the top, there were designs of animals carved all along the arch of the tower high barrier. Some were blocky representations, others more obscure. Tig paused on the last these depictions as the high doors groaned open. If it was not the Long ears and rounded back that gave it away, it was most certainly the teeth. Tig glanced at where the Professor should have been. A rabbit.


    A pair of guards hidden under black straw hats led them in. Beyond the door lay another hall, this one shorter with the end clearly marked with a high backed throne. Gas lamp chandeliers the shape of lanterns buzzed and their buzzes echoed. The banners that had followed them through each and every pillar culminated here in a well-tailored finale, the largest of them hanging near the gold throne, two on either side and marked with caricatures of crowned dogs. That was his first hint.


    The emperor, the one who reigned over an entire sky whale city and her citizens sat on a cushion with three dozen of his closest retainers prostrating themselves in his presence. And yet Tig felt no such need to lower himself, instead choosing to cover his mouth as they marched ever closer.


    It was his best attempt at concealing his rude astonishment, for the emperor was a dog. A very small dog with sandy fur. He thought it was a mistake. He thought perhaps the real emperor had left his dog on the throne in some show of absolute power.


    Mor¡¯de lowered his head when they had come an earshot from the kingly canine. Tig knew then that it was no mistake. Of course the Admiral failed to mention that.


    The emperor cocked his furry head, his little dog ears flopping as he did so, ¡°Mor¡¯de. What manner of pigs do you bring before me?¡±


    Mor¡¯de kept quiet.


    The dog smiled with his black lips, ¡°Speak,¡± he yipped slowly.


    ¡°Guests, ya eminence.¡±


    The dog-king sounded just as Tig imagined a small talking dog to speak. Shrill, loud, and strangely disapproving, the ruler of Jing Mon Ceros spoke in the manner of the rich.


    ¡°Radiance,¡± corrected the dog, ¡°I am as the sun, my fur gold and bristly. Have you considered my previous proposal?¡±


    ¡°Only if you allow consent fa an attack, ya Radiance.¡±


    The dog waved his paw, ¡°A show of power is enough, lest we start a war. And you know of all pigs, how delicately you must conduct yourself in these lands. We are a conserved people, admiral, and I trust your understanding of our culture will further our relations in the future, something your Empress will no doubt commend you on.¡±


    Mor¡¯de smiled dumbly, ¡°Ya Radiance, I--¡±


    ¡°Good Hours is that a dog?¡±


    The voice was neither the admiral¡¯s nor the dog, but Tig knew it all too well. Tig¡¯s desperately surpassed astonishment bumbled out dumbly in a dropped iron chin. Even Mor¡¯de seemed taken aback.


    ¡°Mates, there¡¯s a dog on the throne! What¡¯s that about?¡± A bronze hand tapped rusted stubble. ¡°Well I suppose all the rulers of cloud whales are dogs.¡±


    ¡°WE are not dogs,¡± barked the emperor, ¡°WE are the descendants of Lion.¡±


    The Professor, with foreign bottle in hand, tipped forwards as he failed to make the connection, ¡°Is that not a tail I see? Little dogs ears? Black nose, lips? Mate, don¡¯t know what your mother told you but you¡¯re a dog.¡±


    ¡°WE are lion¡­¡± the emperor trailed, ¡°dogs¡­¡±


    ¡°See? Dogs.¡±


    ¡°Lions!¡±


    ¡°Dogs. Small dogs.¡±


    ¡°Enough. The remainder of my kind¡¯s name is irrelevant. Mor¡¯de,¡± he said turning abruptly to the admiral, ¡°I thought of you better than to drag dirt onto my carpet. What have you to say of this drunk? This¡­ this fool. This ill-conceived mongrel of a turn who dare mocks me in my own palace?¡±


    ¡°Apologies, ya Radiance. I had not instructed dis man of ya customs as I had not expected him sa soon.¡±


    The emperor scrunched a brow and licked his nose, ¡°Very well, then I shall excuse your absence of judgement if you make amends here and now. Execute him. In whatever way, I do not care, just do it quickly.¡±


    The Professor, quite dumbly, pointed at himself, ¡°Hold off. You want me dead, mate?¡±


    The Emperor frowned, growing ever impatient at why the was still alive and, worse, talking to him, ¡°Want? I¡¯ve given the command. You are already dead. Mor¡¯de, what are you waiting for?¡±The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    The admiral¡¯s face had gone tense. He had shuffled to the Professor¡¯s direction and his hands had balled into fists. Slowly, surely, he reached for a pistol, hidden in his coat.


    Tig watched with terrible silence as the admiral drew it. The gun swerved to the Professor. Tig started. No, not here. Tig sidestepped Mor¡¯de only to realise he was not alone. He had bumped shoulders with Remy. He caught a determined look from her. She had the same idea.


    Then the pistol lowered. Mor¡¯de gaze was fixated but not upon the man he had intended to shoot nor the two half turns who sought to protect him. Tig followed his sights and stopped. In the heat of the moment he had missed the ruffling of silk.


    ¡°What is the meaning of this, Rajlu?¡±


    There in the middle of the group of now astonished retainers, most half prostrated in wanes attempts to hold down their friend, one among them had stood straight up.


    ¡°Your Radiance,¡± bowed the man, ¡°If it is the life of that man you want, take mine in his stead.¡±


    The natural silence of the place filled in after momentary gasps. The emperor fell back in thought and Mor¡¯de as if to rush the proceeding, shifted his pistol to Rajlu.


    ¡°Wait!¡± cried the Emperor. ¡°Do not shoot. Do. Not. Shoot. Lower your gun admiral.¡± The Emperor took a sigh. ¡°I shall¡­ overlook this one contrivance,¡± the Emperor shifted to Rajlu as the gun was stowed away. ¡°Would you tell me why, Rajlu, that one of my most trusted retainers of that of my own and my mother should risk his life for a stranger? And a foreigner at that?¡±


    Rajlu¡¯s black straw hat dipped low, and he made a gesture with his hand.


    The emperor nodded, ¡°come then.¡±


    The other retainers cleared a path as Rajlu made to his Radiance. Once there, the dog-emperor raised his paw and said, ¡°We require silence. Bupal?¡±


    From the front row a retainer stood and took out a scroll from their sleeve.


    The moment that parchment unfurled, a dome formed around the Emperor and Rajlu and the space there darkened. Low muted sounds burst from the bubble and Tig saw the slow scene of Rajlu whispering to the emperor.


    He realised the sounds were words, but he could not make sense of any of them. Though he had seen enough that same darkness to know what it was. Chronodynamics. Instantly, he knew what would come next.


    The bubble popped. Air, light, sounds rushed in every direction. Tig covered his eyes. He heard quick unknowable whispers and at last peace.


    Rajlu, still at the throne¡¯s side, bowed deeply and made his way down.


    ¡°I see,¡± said the emperor at last, ¡°then it is wise you acted in my stead. I apologise for my foolishness. Mor¡¯de,¡± he readdressed his guest. ¡°A week ago, a foreign Admiral arrived at my doorstep claiming to offer succor to my ill-begotten streets. We appreciated your aid of course in putting down the protests, but it was only a matter before we would handle it ourselves. I wondered then why you arrived. And, assuming I knew your reason, what exactly you had to bargain with.¡± He smiled devilishly, ¡°I know now. I have come to the understanding that you bear with you a¡­ resource of much potential. Care you to share this resource?¡±


    ¡°Not currently, ya radiance, no. But in due time, should ya allegiances be suitable, I may considah it.¡±


    The Emperor puffed, eyeing his other guests curiously, ¡°and do you bear any other resources?¡±


    Mor¡¯de smiled devilishly, ¡°As it happen I might, but dun be tinking I be sharing all my plans sa easily. What happens, happens, ya radiance. One must only prepare.¡±


    ¡°And how would you advise me in this matter of preparation?¡±


    ¡°A compromise,¡± suggested the Admiral. ¡°As ya say, da culture here demands a delicate approach, sa I won¡¯t attack¡­ yet. But I would ask ya allocate mo houses fa da remainder of my fleet.¡±


    The emperor dipped his head, ¡°I take great risk in doing this, Mor¡¯de,¡± he said without raising his head.


    ¡°If any should ask, you are simply relying on my aide as allies ta handle a common threat. Noting mo.¡±


    The Emperor nodded, ¡°Then I trust as allies we shall move forward. Two more warehouses it is, Yanpreet, make the arrangements.¡±


    A retainer in the far back stood and bowed and shuffled away.


    Mor¡¯de bowed, ¡°Much obliged, ya Radiance.¡±


    ¡­


    Afterwards the guests made out the throne room and into the longs halls where Mor¡¯de led them to a side wing and down three continuously narrowing halls.


    ¡°Dis will do,¡± said the Admiral with a stop. ¡°We speak here. Tank ya by da way,¡± he aid turning to Remy, ¡°Didn¡¯t know who ya be mo loyal to till I saw how ya tried ta jump in front of my pistol. Now I know.¡±


    Remy narrowed her brows, ¡°Loyalty?¡± she paused with that word still lingering in her mouth. Her brows dipped, and the edges of her mouth made a snarl. ¡°Loyalty. You don¡¯t mean to¡­ Hours you¡¯re mad!¡±


    ¡°Mad, huh? Madness changes da world, girl. One needs only look to da tinker who dey say lives on da furdest side of it ta know dat. Aye, I may be mad, but only fa a time befa my madness pays.¡± He looked each one in the eye before continuing in a significantly quieter tone. ¡°I mean ta rise against da Empress.¡±


    There was a delay, the static before the spark, and the shock kicked in. His words were heavier than the air he shaped them in, and it reflected in the faces of minute audience. Open mouths and wide eyes abounded.


    His earlier gesture of meeting each of their eyes made sense. Mor¡¯de had been judging their reactions.


    Franco slumped against the nearest wall at a loss for words, while Tig had far too many of them.


    ¡°What?¡± said Tig. ¡°What!? You¡¯re insane! You¡¯ve a deathwish! How would you¡­ Why would you¡­?¡±


    ¡°I thought you were in love with her?¡± said Gemjo calmly.


    The Admiral swept his arm apart and laughed triumphantly, ¡°Ah, of course da shrewd one discerns da heart of it. Aye, I am and it is out of dat love I strike. She has taken no husband, no lovah, not even has she become da passing interest of rumahs. She is unassailable, unflinching. Da very picture of perfection. Not one has caught her eye and I know why. Dey are not strong enough. Any undah her will be kept dat way in powah. Sa I wish ta do what dey cannot. I wish ta surpass dem.¡±


    ¡°By going against them,¡± said Franco at last. ¡°You wish to fight all the navy and the army, all for the chance to woo a woman?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    Franco smiled, ¡°Then,¡± he said pointing at his chest in a fit of bonhomie, ¡°You¡¯ve need only defeat the army! Leave the navy to me.¡±


    ¡°You idiot,¡± scorned Gemjo.


    ¡°Sa you would join me den?¡± said Mor¡¯de with orange eyes scanning all his guests.


    That gave them pause. By her glare alone, Tig knew Remy¡¯s answer. Gemjo would remain uninterested, the Professor to, but Franco¡­ there was a genuine flame in the man¡¯s eyes. To topple the navy was all he ever wanted and now he had the prime opportunity to do so. Every journey started with a departure, and as Franco made between him and Mor¡¯de, Tig found himself locked on the man¡¯s back, seemingly distancing even then.


    Franco bowed, ¡°Apologies, but I cannot. I made promiseto help these few on their endeavour, and, as a Cantinio, I keep my word.¡±


    Tig sniffed a bit, ¡°Franco¡­¡±


    ¡°But even so,¡± continued Franco, ¡°I would know of you and your men as allies should you follow this course.¡±


    ¡°And I would inform dem of ya friendship. Shame dough, I really tought ya lot be helping me on dis, but one must move on. I will have my men fly you back on our next trip down.¡±


    Gemjo blinked as steadied herself, ¡°Wait, that¡¯s it? That¡¯s all you brought as here for? An invitation to your rebellion?¡±


    Mor¡¯de smiled slightly and shrugged, ¡°Ya could say dat.¡±


    Gemjo continued, ¡°You¡¯re not holding us then? We¡¯re free to go? Do as we like? Should we start a war tomorrow you would not interfere?¡±


    ¡°We would cover it up most like, but as ya are my guests I would pay fa any inn ya wish to stay in.¡±


    That piqued the seawolf¡¯s interest. Her tail flicked momentarily, ¡°I¡¯m listening.¡±


    Mor¡¯de explained the extent of his courtesy without any indication to the cogs he would spend. Tig saw Gemjo smile slyly as the admiral left that part out. Perhaps unwanting of the admiral to prescribe those limits, the seawolf quickly departed when she could, prompting Franco and the Professor to follow. Tig stayed behind to the Admiral¡¯s behest along with Remy who stalled for some other course.


    ¡°Sa ya used witch doctor magic?¡±


    Tig flinched, ¡°You heard?¡±


    ¡°Da prisonahs spoke. Salamon heard and anyting Salamon hears I¡¯ll know shortly.¡±


    Remy stared at him, making him edge from her piercing goggles.


    ¡°It¡¯s true,¡± said Tig. ¡°I did but only for a spell.¡±


    Mor¡¯de smiled, ¡°Tell me, Trimbly, how exactly did ya learn it?¡±


    ¡°No I¡­¡± Tig thought back, remembering the slaver¡¯s ship with a newfound clarity. He thought of the embers, how the witch doctor made certain that Tig of all turns saw what he did. ¡°You. It was you!¡±


    ¡°Ah, and sa he remembahs. Good. It was partly on da spur of da moment. Curiosity mayhap. A gamble. I wanted ta know if you could do it, and, well, I am most pleased. Shall I show you anudda spell?¡±


    Tig shook his head vigorously, ¡°I cannot¡­ I will not. The cost of it¡­¡± he said feeling his arm. ¡°It¡¯s not something I¡¯d rely on.¡±


    Mor¡¯de puffed, unimpressed, but accepted his answer all the same, ¡°A fair choice, den I will not press ya. Ha. Seems noting but rejection from ya lot. Go den. I won¡¯t hold ya.¡±


    Tig nodded slowly and left. Stopping if only briefly to glance at Remy. He wondered why she waited, but it seemed she would not answer that with him there. She was intent to stay and so she would.


    Tig turned the corner.

 The Silent Promise

    They stood in a palace hallway of a foreign emperor. When all else left, Remy remained. Remy and of one the four strongest men in the Imperial Navy.


    Her words were slow but certain, ¡°And should I reveal your plan to the army?¡±


    As if the moment had drowned in temporal molasses, time dragged. She had waited until the others had left both because she feared how they would admonish her if she said what she did in their presence and because she could never muster the courage do so with more around. She scorned her own weakness in the hour long seconds that passed.


    ¡°In time,¡± started the Admiral, ¡°dey will know. But should dey risk knowing befa dat time, den I would take every measure ta ensure dat not be happening.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯d kill me?¡± she pressed the obvious course.


    Mor¡¯de chuckled slowly as he crept suspiciously close and leaned until he was hair¡¯s length from her trademark goggles.


    He spoke in a poisonous hiss, ¡°Oh, I wouldn¡¯t be sa kind, niss.¡±


    ¡°Rebellions bring about casualties,¡± she pressed back. ¡°Deaths on both sides and the needless loss of civilians. I¡¯d endure anything to prevent that. Soldiers protect.¡±


    Mor¡¯de straightened his posture, his expression a mixture of mild amusement and irritation, ¡°Is dat what ya tink soldiers do? Pah. Ya blind undah dose goggles, girl? Soldiers follow. Soldiers shoot. Soldiers kill. It is an ordah dat be directing ya and an ordah dat ya be followin¡¯ regardless of what it may be,¡± he quieted, grinning a bit. ¡°Follow my ordahs. Join me. I see fire underneath dat pale skin. A stubbornness, a will ta fight dat extends beyond da mundane soldier. I see a commandah.¡±


    Mor¡¯de spun on his heel and stopped himself a few steps back. He jutted his arms abruptly as he did, ¡°Ya be young,¡± he continued, ¡°but at da time of my reckoning you¡¯d be ripe fa da role of command. A captain¡ªnay,¡± He smiled as he chose his words carefully, deliberately, ¡°my right hand. I may scoff at ya ideals but you may prove me wrong. You could protect a few lives da way you are now, aye, but wit da correct role you could protect thousands.¡±


    Every sound, every smack of his lipless mouth was to Remy a twisted thing. He promised salvation but at the cost of damnation. Comradery at the behest of servitude. He contorted everything the good sergeant had taught her, and she would not fall for it.


    ¡°War kills,¡± she bit back. ¡°I won¡¯t be a part of whoever starts it.¡±


    ¡°Sa ya be adamant den, eh? Or perhaps foolish and blinded by ya ideals. Wars happen no mattah who be startin dem. Could be me or anudda. You¡¯d neva know befa it happens. But, I digress. Very well. Protect away, good soldier, protect. But best forget about protecting everyone. Least of all a certain Sergeant Webly.¡±


    The mention of Webly held her still. Then and there, the admiral had a loaded gun. He swaggered in front of her. Uttered the name ¡®Webly¡¯ a few more times as if saying it certain way gave the signal.


    ¡°Aye, I know ya weakness. Wouldn¡¯t take much ta have a low ranking military man killed. ¡®Course, given ya cooperation every possible measure could be taken ta assure his safety.¡±


    ¡°Monster,¡± she snapped. The word echoed throughout the hall until Mor¡¯de rumbling laugh drowned it out.


    The laugh contorted from a chuckle to a maniacal thing and he twirled joyfully before stopping on his peg leg. The subsequent tap gave end to it all.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    He chose his words thoughtfully, ¡°Da ship leaves in a week. As I¡¯ve said ya be free ta roam da city. Fa it be a beautiful place, Jing Mon Ceros. My soldiers love it, in fact dey¡¯ve taken to exploring every little bit of her reaches. Don¡¯t tink dere¡¯s a single place ya won¡¯t find dem.¡±


    Mor¡¯de paused by the opposite end of the hall, leading to the corridor and away from where the others had left. He smiled at her, ¡°Ya be loving it here.¡±


    She waited there, staggering a bit as she heard the last of his steps. She puffed and panted. She ground her teeth, sneered and snarled. Her weakness mocked her. It laughed at her in the way Mor¡¯de did, as if it had already won.  Why would it matter if the man could kill Webly? Webly was a soldier who die for his empire. Everyone died. Even Webly. Even¡­


    Her throat caught. Of course it mattered. She did not doubt for an instant Mor¡¯de would bluff about Webly. And for what it meant, he only threatened her to keep silent not join him. While it was a slight reassurance in the overwhelming shackles that bound her now, it was enough to stand, to move. That is until she turned the corner and saw them there teetering dumbly over each other.


    They watched her with a collection of shocked expressions, then an awkward shift as they bumbled to their respective postures. They had heard it all.


    ¡­


    They made a half circle around her. Tig did know what to say nor could he speak after hearing what he did. He had followed his misfit companion¡¯s unspoken resolve to eavesdrop when he turned the corner. It was a curiosity he both regretted and accepted as necessary. He needed to hear it. They all did.


    Lost in his thoughts, he unconsciously followed Gemjo as she found a spot standing behind Remy.


    ¡°So that¡¯s his true face,¡± said the Professor. ¡°Not much better the bony one I think.¡±


    Franco frowned at Remy, ¡°Whatever he may be, I agree with his objective. Sorry Niss, but I still stand by my decoration of friendship.¡±


    The girl had not moved since she found them.


    Gemjo yawned and continued down the hall stopping briefly by Remy¡¯s side, ¡°You heard him,¡± she said, ¡°Any inn. If you want some sort of retribution I suggest we find the biggest, most absurdly equipped place we can find and tab him silly. Perhaps we might empty his coffers before he slays your man.¡±


    Remy glanced up briefly before relapsing into her angry melancholy.


    Gemjo shrugged and lumbered on, ¡°I tried.¡±


    Franco started after her, speaking in tune, ¡°I for one am intrigued by the fighting schools hosted in the up-lands, and a little, though I am embarrassed to say, of the women to.¡±


    ¡°Here here!¡± agreed the Professor, joining their march.


    Franco frowned, ¡°Oh I know your type. The motherly variety I¡¯m sure.¡±


    The Professor¡¯s laughs echoed down the hall as the lot of them left Tig and Remy still standing. He reached out for her, but he wasn¡¯t sure it would help. He would have felt the same had Mor¡¯de threatened Wilma or Marici. Powerless.


    Therein came the need for strength, that forbidden fruit that promised violence at every turn. Even had he pursued healing to its highest quality he would always be reacting. He sunk into his own dreaded melancholy as the old question resumed its mental assault. Was there ever an end to the fighting?


    There was. He raised his head to the girl as he realised the answer. The true answer this time. The end began with him, whether it would be through violence or diplomacy. Yet at the time, when he could not express his intent in words to the girl who would not listen, he chose instead another course. He tapped her shoulders and when she glanced at him with emptiness in her goggles he signed the words his mother taught him.


    I promise you.


    He finished with his hands parting. By her expression alone he was sure she did not understand him. But it did not matter. She had traded her awful sadness for a form of curiosity. And, perhaps in time, she would come to know those words.


    Tig nodded. That would be enough.


    Remy raised her hand.


    ¡°Before you ask,¡± he said, pre-emptively snuffing out the question, ¡°We should join the others. No matter what you may think of them, it¡¯ll do you no good separating yourself on foreign soi¡ªuh clouds? You got unfinished business with the Professor don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°That is none of your concern.¡±


    ¡°Not mine, no,¡± he lied. ¡°But his, yes. He asked of you. Back on the ship I mean. While he was confessing in a way he decided to ask of you. Whatever you are to him, whatever you were, I will not ask, I only hope you finish what you started,¡± he considered his next words carefully, ¡°for the both of you.¡±


    She held his sights for several nerve racking moments. He could scarcely predict where her true eyes lurked behind those imposing goggles. Where they were searching in his. But at last she stepped back, it seemed as she had found the object of her query.


    ¡°I will see it done,¡± she said with a turn, ¡°for the both of us.¡±

 The Likely Subject

    Sky whale cities flew in near random order. To know its location was the work of archaic chronodynamic technology and the machinations of learned navigators, but even then, predictions of proximity were an hour or two at best.


    But he knew. He understood that seemingly indistinct order was in fact a pre-determined thing. The lines in time, so invisible to the naked eye, were as ever present as the winds. So when it came to a most mundane of deliveries, flying a love letter from a far fledged military outpost back to Jing Mon Ceros, he knew exactly where to go.


    His black wings buffeted the turbulent wind and he tilted dangerously into a cluster of clouds. It came at him blindingly fast, and he dove headlong into its embrace, then another and another.


    The view of the whale came after, just as he predicted. Dipping low into the headwinds of its massive form, he swept into the red city that lay upon its back.


    The urban tops of it rushed underneath his feathers, blurry and crimson, and as he puffed out his wings to slow his descent he caught the sight of his destination.


    It was a small cottage that sprung just of the outskirts of the city, where tiled rooves and iron walls fell away to a green expanse.  The rays of dusk had just grazed the worn two story inn. Rumbling and drunk laughter echoed from many a patron.


    There, where lights flickered upon one of a dozen windows, the bird slowed to a sill. He spotted his quarry serving at the nearest table. Leathers crossed her back, darkening the white blouse underneath. The edges of her dress twirled as she did and he caught her face. For a moment he was stunned, lost and sad all at once. She had him with a glance and he wished he could hold that sight forever. But forever was a dream. It was now that mattered.


    He called her attention with a tap on the window and she came running, holding the edges of her dress as she did. The window zipped up and her happy face greeted him. Young woman that she was, her turn had not reached her countenance. She had wide eyes and crooked teeth that gave her a one of a kind smile. Black hair frizzled by her sides with the right half held back by a pin in the shape of a red lotus, and the left dangling tiredly.


    ¡°A curse I see!¡± she declared, thinking on her words. ¡°No, not just any curse, it¡¯s you again! Did he..?¡± she quieted, leaning close, ¡°did he send you?¡±


    The black bird tapped the windowsill a number of times while the barmaid listened intently. Her cheeks brightened to the taps that signaled her lover¡¯s name.


    By the end of it, the curse lowered his beak and unbuckled the letter tied to his feet. She took it carefully, appraising it there with a glow in her eyes. Then and there she had become a child with the most precious of gifts held in her palms.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she hushed.


    ¡°Oi oi, whatcha doing talking to a bird miss?¡± heckled a patron.


    ¡°Come back to us, love!¡± called out another.


    She waved them off with listless affirmation and addressed the curse who watched her curiously.


    ¡°How much do I owe you?¡±


    She always asked that, honest girl that she was. The real question should have been what would a bird do with coin? Hide it in a hovel? Peck at it greedily? Or bring to the Arbiter in hopes that the man would change him back?


    Gold meant nothing, nothing to that which felt empty. He could hardly sign that to the girl, grinning as she was now. So he did what he always did. He lied.


    He tapped the words.


    I¡¯ve been paid.


    ¡°I see. I see! His Radiance must pay his soldiers well then I should think, much more than my honored customers would have me believe.¡±


    The curse turned away, thinking the transaction done. Yet as he readied his wings for flight, she spoke again, ¡°But¡­ No you always do this. Here,¡± she reached to her chest and the curse looked away as she searched. The jingling of the coins alerted him back. He tapped furiously his rejection and when she refused that, he cawed.


    Her fingers curled over the coins. Her hand retreated.  Black hairs draped over her face as she dipped her head for a bow. ¡°I see.¡± Her favorite words. She tucked her hair behind her ear ¡°Well, I thank you again, sir curse.¡± She bowed gratefully. The curse ducked his beak.


    She left with the slightest smile and the words ¡®be safe¡¯ and he wished to all the Hours and beasts and stars that he could do the same. But he could not.


    He flew off to the shutter of the window, and, instead of taking the nearest updraft, he opted for a place near the front of the inn.


    A lone lamp post served as his landing. The creak of old sign directed him to the words ¡®Heavy Hare¡¯, which lay worn and fading with one letter missing.


    He had been there once before his transformation, then countless times after. It was a happy occasion as he recalled fleetingly, a visit. But memories were memories. Even the sweetest of them hurt all the more as the bird who once a man tried desperately to make do with his life, that of a curse and the constant reminder of what brought him there. A bad gamble. An inopportune theft. The Arbiter¡¯s swift judgement.


    He knew the girl to. Knew she had an older sister who worked with her. Knew two of them had gone there searching for their father and returned for work when the owners let them stay. While her sister turned to more humanitarian efforts, she remained stubborn. Even now she had not given up. She used to say it every day to anyone who would listen. Of how her father would return there. Less so these days, but still she said it. He knew she deserved better than a life of fruitless searching. He knew she had found it when a charming young soldier returned her woos. He smiled in his thoughts. She would forget him, slowly surely and she would be happy.


    Grasses crunched when he prepared to fly. The curse shuffled on the post instinctively, following the stranger with a newfound curiosity. Then dread.


    The steps belonged to a man and his smaller companion. The man was big, foreigner too. The companion, who clutched his red robes anxiously, remained draped in a black cloak that hid it entirely. But it was the robes the big man wore that gave the curse worry. For those robes and the hat that he wore were blood red, and with red he carried trouble.


    Trouble came when the door opened and closed, when those heavy steps settled and a question asked went unanswered. Trouble came when plates crashed and chairs toppled.


    Trouble came when the laugh of patrons died.


    ¡­


    Half turns giggled nearby.


    Jing Mon Ceros had a number of notable attractions. Not least of all a hotel in the likeness of the royal palace with its lion figurehead looming at the front gates. A fountain spewed crystal waters in the courtyard prior and a florid garden of pinks and yellows peppered the front of the inn. In Jing Mon Ceros, all the uplands perhaps, as Tig thought, the people enjoyed sitting cross legged on roads instead of warming benches. Seeing this, Tig and his companions did the same on the cobblestone.


    ¡°Viceroys dying, a rebellion plotted, it makes sense now. He¡¯s the one,¡± said Gemjo.


    ¡°You think Mor¡¯de hired my family?¡± scoffed Tig.


    ¡°Not think, chitik. I know. It¡¯s obvious. Who else would desire it?¡±


    Franco was less convinced. He wave his silver palm ahead of them. ¡°Politicians vying for greater power, an uplander emperor, a provincial terrorist, any number of candidates really,¡± said Franco.


    ¡°While I say your family¡¯s been dealing with the very man who brought us here,¡± restated the seawolf.


    ¡°I agree.¡±


    Gemjo frowned and crossed her arms, staring accusingly at the noble girl who just talked, ¡°Ofcourse you¡¯d say that¡­ wait. Did you say ¡®agree¡¯? You, a pampered parasitic princess, agree with me?¡±


    The girl nodded once more, ¡°Mor¡¯de cannot be trusted, nor can Tiguak¡¯s family. If one works to undermine the Empire and the others plots its end, their motives align. I agree with your conclusion.¡±


    Gemjo stood, amazed and confounded, ¡°Well it was obvious,¡± she muttered at last. ¡°Tig, your family¡¯s involved in this somehow and whenever your family¡¯s involved it only means trouble. So we lie low. We stay in the most comfortable inn and wait out this week.¡±


    Tig swore he saw her light up as she grazed the comfortable inn part. He shook his head, ¡°I highly doubt my family¡¯s here.¡±


    Gemjo looked dubious, ¡°They were in Kura were they not?¡±


    ¡°Kura has a viceroy, Jing Mon Ceros does not,¡± countered the boy.


    ¡°Kura had a viceroy,¡± said Remy.


    The four of them turned to the noble.


    ¡°I confirmed the reports with messages relayed to my troupe. It happened shortly after we think Vene left the isle.¡±


    ¡°After, mate? D¡¯you mean there was another of Tig¡¯s kinsman there. Hours. Tig, you must have missed a reunion of sorts.¡±


    Tig lowered hi head, and recalled the incident with a kind of bitterness. He had not imagined what he saw after all. She was there. He glanced up to see Franco jerk his head away.


    ¡°Mayhap that is good thing?¡± suggested the navigator. ¡°More of them there means less of them here.¡±Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    Tig nodded, cracking the faintest smile, ¡°Agreed.¡±


    Gemjo stood up with a roll of her shoulders, ¡°Well, the traitorous admiral¡¯s given us leave. Better take up his courtesy as guests before he turns us back into prisoners.¡±


    Franco and Tig spied at each other then Gemjo.


    Tig asked first, ¡°So you¡¯re still continuing that plan of yours? To escape?¡±


    She puffed, lazily flicking her eyes by way of Franco, ¡°Just who do you think I am?¡±


    Tig and the Professor grinned to that, while Remy kept her gaze ever fixated of Gemjo¡¯s neck. Franco seemed none the wiser.


    The seawolf frowned and drew her hand over her shoulder, ¡°But before any daring escapes, I suggest we rest.¡±


    Between the five of them, there was little disagreement upon that notion. The afternoon sky promised an oncoming darkness and their weary bodies, mechanized or no, hung heavy from days of fighting and inopportune imprisonment. So when the five, worn foreigners first tread into Jing Mon Ceros¡¯s finest inn, two polar forces of an extraordinary difference collided.


    On one side, now stunned, stood an extravagantly perfumed entourage of vaunted dignitaries and nobles by a glittering gold lounge. On the other, with painted faces fixed upon them, stood the smelly, sweaty, blood crusted band of mostly pirates. They had barely managed to best the rotary doors when their mucky boots trudged unmentionables upon the priceless carpets.


    The Professor stepped forwards and made a bow. Tig had very nearly completed his retreat when the idiot spoke.


    ¡°We demand a room, mates. Best ya got. Mor-what¡¯s it¡¯s orders.¡±


    ¡°Mor-what?¡± whispered a disgusted noble.


    ¡°Uhg, not this again,¡± bickered another.


    Concerned whispers followed. Various employees, dressed in red tailcoats and gold epaulets shuffled.


    ¡°You know,¡± began the Professor again loudly. ¡°Mor¡¯de, the foreign military leader stationed a half an hour¡¯s walk from here.¡±


    The quieted conversations silenced. One full turn at the registry fumbled at a scroll and as he zipped it open. Two of his colleagues leaned to read what he did.


    His jade eyes bounced between the paper and the Professor.


    ¡°Ah.¡± He coughed nervously in the quiet. ¡°so you¡¯re the ¡®honored guests whom we should spare no expense in serving¡¯? We were under the impression you were given the courtesy to visit any inn in Jing Mon Ceros. Of course we could hardly deny you... or the others who fit the description.¡± He muttered to the side. ¡°But I digress. What brought you to our humble house, The Royal Rabbit?¡±


    The Professor gave a disconcerted shrug, ¡°I quite like rabbits.¡±


    ¡°Ofcourse you do,¡± quipped Gemjo.


    ¡°I¡­ I see,¡± said the man. ¡°Well by all means you are most welcome, on this rather¡­ short notice. Pray, Rantsu, please direct our guests to their rooms.¡±


    ¡°Sir?¡±


    ¡°Fifteen and Twelve, Rantsu.¡±


    ¡°Yes sir.¡±


    The man on his left bowed his head and gestured for the guests to follow. As they did, many of the well-dressed guests fashioned out of their way, much further than they needed to. With pinched noses and upturned bows, Tig gathered that he and his were not welcome here. He spied at the sea wolf who walked besides him with her head resting on her palms and her elbows pointed up.


    She yawned pleasantly. None of what the rich thought mattered to Gemjo. Though he imagined a comfortable bed did. Then he realised what the first man had said.  Rantsu opened the first of two doors.


    ¡°Two rooms,¡± said Tig.


    The Professor peaked in tellingly, ¡°Two beds per room.¡±


    ¡°Is something ever the matter, honored guests?¡±


    Gemjo shrugged, yawning as she spoke, ¡°Not really.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t leave him,¡± said Remy.


    That gave pause to Gemjo¡¯s yawn, ¡°Hold on. Not that I care, but out of necessary concern for how I may get involved in this, know that you¡¯re asking to sleep in the same room as a drunk. The same metamorphasizing, constantly intoxicated, full turned male drunk. Do you follow, ric-- noble?¡±


    From Remy, lot of them turned to the Professor. The man in question had been busy digging at his nose.


    Franco stepped between the Professor and Rantsu, ¡°Don¡¯t mind the metamorphasizing bit, eh?¡±


    Rantsu frowned, ¡°You smell.¡±


    Remy had already shifted to the Professor¡¯s side when Franco sniffed himself.


    ¡°I¡¯ve made up my mind,¡± she said in her quiet voice, ¡°I will not leave his side. Not again.¡±


    Gemjo made an annoyed grunt and started tapping a foot, ¡°Ah yes that. The self-same reason you¡¯ve failed to give a reason to. Tell me, what is it that you find so alluring about him?¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t say.¡±


    Gemjo crossed her arms, ¡°Does it involve his rabbit form?¡±


    Remy lowered her brows.


    Gemjo was getting impatient now. The tempo of her foot tap ramped to a crescendo, ¡°His inexplicable powers? His speed? Dexterity? How he can predict nigh any outcome?¡±


    Frano seized his sniffing, ¡°Outcome?¡±


    Gemjo waved him off, her gold eyes intent on Remy and more so on how she had stiffened.


    ¡°That¡¯s it, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Remy swallowed hard, ¡°No¡­¡±


    It was a doubtful answer but clearly not what Gemjo wanted. The seawolf sighed heavily.


    ¡°Fine,¡± said Gemjo wistfully. ¡°It¡¯s decided. I¡¯ll take the room the Professor and the noble go to.¡±


    Tig pointed at himself, ¡°Then I¡¯m--¡±


    Franco threw an arm around Tig¡¯s shoulder and pulled him close.


    ¡°Tib! You¡¯re with me, old chum.¡±


    Tig¡¯s face, now half pressed against Franco¡¯s odorous muscles, croaked the word, ¡°Why¡­?¡±


    ¡°Aha! You just wanted to sleep in the same room as the girls, eh? Can¡¯t blame you. Why when I was your age, I happened to--¡±


    ¡°Wet yourself in a puddle?¡± chided Gemjo.


    ¡°That¡­¡± Franco paused for a suspiciously long minute. ¡°Had that happened, my dear seawolf, I would have developed a different trauma.¡±


    ¡°So it was the sea then. Ah, so that¡¯s why you¡¯re afraid of it.¡±


    ¡°If you would so dutifully recall, it was because I almost drowned had the Sixth Hour not saved me.¡±


    ¡°Rooms?¡± Rantsu had expertly broken all converse, now looking more irate than before. Though Tig could hardly blame the man. He and his had the unwelcome pleasure of ushering in guests who had no place being there. Especially, as Tig sniffed his coat and gagged, since they stunk.


    ¡°Which room is closer to the bar, mate?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve got no bar, sir.¡±


    ¡°Outside then?¡± asked the Professor whilst scratching his face.


    ¡°Fifteen. And no, there are no drinking establishments close lest you take the alley paths to Lion¡¯s Way.¡±


    ¡°No bar, nor one close by? Mate. You charge a bloody fortune and you¡¯ve got no bar. With a scam like that you¡¯d make a better pirate than me.¡±


    Rantsu¡¯s left eye twitched, ¡°You¡¯re. Not. Even. Paying.¡±


    ¡°Hypothetically, mate.¡±


    ¡°I hate you.¡±


    ¡°Room Fifteen,¡± declared the Professor. ¡°It¡¯s half of my second favorite number, but I¡¯ll take it.¡±


    ¡­


    With a quick rest in the rooms, dinner served for the half turns, and more than an eventful foray into the Royal Rabbit¡¯s shared public bath services, Tig retreated back to room twelve to find Franco already on the opposite bed and dutifully reading a scroll on Chronodynamics.


    The room itself was moderate in size with two rollout wool beds side by side and separated by a nightstand. The stand was shallow thing, made short to accommodate the floor hugging beds.


    Tig carefully navigated to his own bed, finding the taps of his steps pleasant against the polished maple floor.


    The last of the bath steamed off his skin as he let all but the walls and ceiling steal his fancy. This was not Verace, nor the Hungering City, nor kura, nor a navy vessel. This was a land above land, where they built houses out of hollow woods and painted the walls in miraculous designs of flowers and the beasts they worshipped.


    Tig spied passed Franco and caught the very design of a black lizard creature splayed frighteningly upon the walls.


    It was long and blocky and rendered flat to fit the depiction. While red lilies stole the corners of the wall, the beast held his attention and refused to let go. It had two small back legs, and two larger fore legs. A single wing stretched from its back which Tig assumed to mean two. Two eyes of yellow embedded the head and Tig wondered if the same convention followed. White teeth that pushed its lips up completed the design.


    He squinted hard at it. He was in a foreign land, in foregin building and yet that creature felt familiar.


    ¡°Where have I seen you before?¡± he queried aloud.


    Silks shuffled as Franco turned on his side.


    ¡°Ah Tif, when did you come in?¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t notice?¡± asked the boy.


    ¡°I was enthralled by the uplander¡¯s take on chromodynamics,¡± he said tapping his print. ¡°As you are, no doubt, enthralled by the dragon upon our wall.¡±


    ¡°Dragon?¡±


    ¡°Aye, one of their twelve beasts. Heard a lovely maid down the hall talk about it. Well, less so heard and more so listened to¡­ directly¡­ suffice to say the local women here aren¡¯t accustomed to my, uh, more direct methods of courting. I was expecting a swoon from my old wall slamming technique, instead I got nervous facts about her culture.¡±


    Tig thought back regretfully to his encounter in the bathhouse and remembered seeing a distraught young maid shuffle past him in the hall before he entered.


    Franco continued with his jaw on his palm, ¡°This robe, for example is worn by almost every man in the sky in times of comfort. It is his armor against the arrow of dishevelment.¡±


    His garb was a blue one piece robe that crossed at the chest and left only the crest of his neck visible. A loose sash of similar fabric kept it together. Tig had found the same accommodation awaiting for him after his bath. Only his was a pink.


    He turned away from Franco at the thought of the bath.


    ¡°Never again,¡± he muttered.


    ¡°Ah, I¡¯ve also heard a delightful rumor that the baths here are shared between men and women. Can you imagine!? Well, out of my enthusiasm I may have visited them too early. All I found were rusted old full turns. You?¡±


    ¡°Either the best timing or the worst.¡±


    ¡°What? Speak again man, you¡¯ve make no sense!¡±


    ¡°Franco,¡± he sighed, desperate to turn the conversation, ¡°Aside from the baths, I¡¯ve been wondering. Had I¡­ had we not been there today when Mor¡¯de offered, would you have joined him?¡±


    Franco relapsed to his back. He furled up his scroll and balanced it on his chest. For minutes he strayed from answering.


    ¡°Do you remember my fight with that witch doctor fellow the other day?¡±


    Tig grunted.


    ¡°I honestly thought I would lose.¡±


    That made Tig turn to his side. There he saw the now thoughtful Franco appraising the ceiling.


    ¡°Hah,¡± laughed Franco. ¡°Damned skeleton had me reeling with pain and near the sea. With a single gesture he could force me to my knees. With another he¡¯d make me regret standing back up. But then,¡± Franco reached high, playing with the light of the ceiling lantern with his silver hand, ¡°the fool himself gave me the reason to keep going. ¡®if ya can¡¯t be besting me, ya be hopeless against da admirals¡¯.¡±


    Tig scoffed at his flawed impression.


    ¡°You laugh now, but that¡¯s what did it,¡± Franco¡¯s hand lowered. ¡°I¡¯m weak Tik. Really really weak. Perhaps we all are. Realising that was my first step. That¡¯s why I say what I do. Say enough times and it¡¯ll come true. One day I will topple the navy and one day I¡¯ll be strong enough to do it. That day was the second step. I surpassed myself the when I defeated a man I thought I could not. That day I got stronger, and while joining Mor¡¯de may have served me in my goal it would only be fixing one problem with another. After all, I¡¯ll be the one defeating the Navy, Mor¡¯de can have the rest. Which is why I have you.¡± he said turning, ¡°I see you¡¯ve gotten over that fear of yours. Taught that witch doctor good.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not a fear,¡± puffed Tig.


    ¡°You¡¯re afraid of hurting others.¡±


    Tig tried to protest, but before he could Franco spoke again.


    ¡°Just as your family does. Ah, but healing won¡¯t remedy that you know.¡± He unfurled his scroll. ¡°It¡¯s all here. Your problem is as the very laws of time. An acceleration of time will cause a deceleration of it and vice versa, it does not change the fact that an alteration occurred. You can heal wounds but you cannot heal how they happened. Lest of course you fight.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to fight.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not about what you want.¡±


    ¡°This world has enough fighters.¡±


    Franco smiled at him, ¡°Look at you, fighting yourself right now.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not-- gah,¡± Tig sat up. ¡°I tried before. Back on the Hungering City I planned to learn the Timebender¡¯s magic, but he said I would fail. And I did. Vene proved that handily. Even had I a power I could never use it for harm.¡±


    Franco rested back. Hs eyes trailing back pointlessly to the ceiling. ¡°Do you¡­ do you have anyone dear to you, Tib?¡±


    He did. It took less than second to think of her and the smile she always wore around him. It made him smile. She and her brother were the only good to come out of Verace. He nodded, thinking that.


    ¡°I do.¡±


    ¡°Then what would you do had a gun been pressed to their back? Had you a gun facing that enemy?¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡±


    ¡°You fire. Simple as that. Had the same happened to my mother I would not hesitate.¡±


    Mother.


    Tig shuddered, covering his eyes with his hand. He saw a very different smile to that of Wilma¡¯s. Unclear, fading, painful, he fought it back.


    ¡°Tij?¡±


    ¡°Nothing,¡± he said after a moment¡¯s reprise. ¡°Just light headed from the bath.¡± He lowered his hand and studied the blue glow that traced the edges of it. He recalled his enemy with the gun. His had a face. ¡°And what if it was someone you knew?¡±


    ¡°How do you mean?¡±


    Tig turned to him, ¡°What if it was someone you knew¡ªsome one you loved¡ªthat held the gun? Would fire?¡±


    To that, and finally that, Franco faltered. He started with bumbling lips, ¡°Tig I¡­¡±


    The door thundered with a report of knocks and the both of them shot up.


    ¡°Tig. Franco.¡± came Gemjo¡¯s muffled voice. ¡°Get up. The drunk¡¯s gone.¡±

 The Split Path

    Franco studied Gemjo then Tig then Gemjo again. He came to a conclusion with his hand as a cudgel.


    ¡°Your robes,¡± he started, squinting at them hard. ¡°Are they¡­¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t say it,¡± snapped Tig, catching the slightest eye of disappointment from Gemjo. ¡°What happened?¡±


    ¡°He left,¡± she said simply. ¡°We got back from the baths, and he was gone. The door was open, his bed empty.¡±


    The three stood by the doorway to room twelve in absolute silence. They thought the same thing.


    Tig broke the quiet, ¡°It¡¯s obvious isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Gemjo nodded, ¡°Aye, but as to which bar is our concern.¡±


    ¡°Lion¡¯s Way,¡± said Franco with a snap of his fingers. ¡°That turn said it himself.¡±


    ¡°And passed that? He could be in any number of bars,¡± said Gemjo.


    ¡°You seem awfully keen to find a man you tried to abandon on several occasions,¡± noted Tig.


    She leaned close, making Tig step back, ¡°And who¡¯s fault would that new found concern fall to?¡±


    He responded with a nervous laugh. Though had he to admit it, he did feel the slightest joy in knowing how he¡¯d changed the seawolf for the better.


    ¡°Besides, that admiral may send soldiers our way should he learn we lost the drunk. We¡¯d be kept up all night getting questioned if it comes to that.¡±


    Tig sighed. Ofcourse there was another reason. Then he thought on the Professor himself as the other two deliberated on how best to find the man and how Remy had went ahead to Lion¡¯s way.


    ¡°I¡¯ll join Niss Ricci,¡± decided Franco. ¡°My new found friends in the old men of this inn have informed me much on the matter of drinking establishments. Lion¡¯s way, from what I could tell from our short trip here, splits into two main paths leading to a spattering of pubs and bars. There are a few more bars snug in the alleys along Lion¡¯s Way. Gemjo, Tig, I¡¯ll have you attend to those.¡±


    Gemjo crossed her steel arms while Tig kept his head on his hand.


    ¡°Captain¡¯s orders?¡± asked the girl.


    ¡°Yes. As for me, from whichever path I take, I¡¯ll signal you.¡±


    ¡°Signal?¡± she scoffed. ¡°Do you intend to light a flare at the dead of night?¡±


    He thought on that briefly before rushing into their room with the light of revelation on his cheeks.


    The sound of drawers sliding followed and Tig remained ever silent as sea wolf eyes judged him scornfully.


    ¡°Look,¡± he started. ¡°I did not know. Sure there were¡­ signs on the door, thrown over chairs, the bench, but my head was elsewhere at the moment, with all that¡¯s happened I¡¯m sure you¡¯d understand.¡±


    ¡°Oh elsewhere¡¯s a good way to put it. Might I gander where?¡±


    ¡°I know you¡¯re angry.¡±


    ¡°Angry? Not really. Slightly amused and willing to wield it against you. Yes.¡±


    He shuffled. ¡°And Remy?¡± he dared asking.


    She puffed to that, ¡°Ah yes, the rich one. Complete with rich tendencies that one. You saw didn¡¯t you? Well she didn¡¯t. Damned girl wears her goggles to the baths. It was fogged over when we left, so I doubt she saw anything let alone a--¡±


    ¡°Found it!¡± called a puffing Franco.


    Gemjo and Tig looked at it questionably.


    ¡°Soap?¡± asked Tig.


    ¡°Lavender. What of it?¡± said the seawolf.


    ¡°Good you can smell it. It gets more powerful when you pour water on it. That¡¯s what I¡¯ll do to signal you. Think your nose strong enough for it?¡±


    She mimicked his favorite pose and said in an albeit lower energy type of way what he would, ¡°You¡¯ve any idea who I am?¡±


    It was her second attempt and a much better rendition at that. Franco had missed it on the first but surely upon the second he would¡­ he would¡­Tig frowned immeasurably. Franco had his head cocked to the side and his hand poised on his chin as he deliberated upon an answer.


    ¡°Gemjo?¡± he tired. ¡°Gemjo the seawolf of, uh, clan Buka?¡±


    So close. Tig did not know whether to more disappointed in Gemjo or Franco, yet he knew what he needed to say.


    ¡°I won¡¯t go with you, Gem. As much as it makes sense for the man to go to the nearest bar it¡¯s also too predictable. That¡¯s not like him.¡±


    ¡°What do you suggest then?¡± she asked him.


    ¡°I¡¯ll go the opposite way, towards the outskirts of the city, and should I find him there, I¡¯ll signal Gemjo to meet me. Do you have more soap?¡±


    Gemjo yawned and rubbed her eyes, ¡°It¡¯s decided then?¡±


    ¡°Aye,¡± said Franco breaking his soap in half. ¡°We¡¯ll see this done before the night¡¯s end.¡±


    They left through the empty halls of the Royal Rabbit in two different directions. Tig took the longer way out, closer to the entrance. The pompous chortles of the rich and the noble covered his steps as they emanated from the various closed doors that marred the hall. He finished the hall, crossed the entry plaza and stepped out rotating doors. The moist chill of night air instantly clung to him.


    Blackness. The nights were dark upon the whale city. What clouds that would have populated the ether were now hours below him, the few remaining were black and barely visible. He saw the heavens, clear as the sea on a calm day. Even as he followed the cobble path down the way he came he kept flipping back to the blackened scape.


    He thought it odd after trying to abandon the Professor on every occasion he got that he and his friends would be scouring a foreign city for the man. Though the man himself was no longer a drunk or self-proclaimed Professor. He was a mystery, a man who refused to be half as charming, and the one who made him jump.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    Yet despite the chaos he brought with every action, Tig found comfort in the Professor. And now even as he was missing, the boy felt little urgency in locating the man. As if that drunk would turn up any moment, unexplained and caught in another antic. There was peace in that thought. He settled into the sleeping city with it and the air that bit him felt no longer chilly.


    Stragglers, drunk and laughing, walked the widening road sporadically. Most of the city lights had been dimmed from tiredness, but there were those that remained open. The street side house or two, with jovial shadows painting the paper doors, or the stall still selling wears to those wishing to feast the night away. Yet those lights were still sparks amidst the ash, little flares that refused to snuff out. The further he went, the less that proved true. More sparks quenched, more eyes shut. Black surrounded him. In that darkness he saw shapes.


    First there houses then the outlines of pagodas behind them. The city seemed larger than it was. He felt as if he could wander for ever and ever, and had he walked off the edge of the whale he would not know.  If he was lost, he would not care. The city could swallow him whole.


    Yet as his eyes adjusted and stars conquered the skies, he began to see the city for it was and clear of the day¡¯s noise. It was ancient.


    Newer buildings hugged the roads greedily but behind them and below, he noted the remnants of older works. The air stunk of its oldness. It was of mildew and stone after a downpour. But the oldness was nothing new from his time in Verace, a city as old as kingdoms. It was the city. It was old and yet new.


    He had entered another world. Here, where the buildings were made of hollow wood and towers seemed several houses placed atop each other, he became unique. The off looks he got were not the same as those below. Here he was outsider, but not a chitik, not a Trimbly. Just Tig. A traveler, an explorer, a boy whose business was of no concern to the average turn.


    He was a nobody in a world of nothing. There was peace in that thought to.


    His silent musings came to and end with the road split. He took the path that led him further from Lion¡¯s way. He wondered as tread that road into a downwards path if he could stay, if he could forget everything and start anew.


    The cobble stone shifted to steps and the steps a narrow passage past many looming overhead houses.


    Up-landers idling on their porches watched him pass by. He saw a cat or two prowl around, and he deftly avoided a half turned dog that yipped at him furiously as it tried to escape its tethered leash.


    At the end of the steps he saw another narrow street with brimming red lanterns. Voices of laughter, mixed of men and women echoed from it and suspicious perfumes wafted low.


    He went the opposite way where more households awaited him. It was quieter there. He enjoyed the quiet. But when those old houses gave way to newer ones and the street expanded extraordinarily, he knew had chosen the wrong path for what he enjoyed.


    He came upon a place where lights and people and laughter gathered. It was a beacon that lit all in its confines with dozens of turns blocking the view.


    Then he heard music, the thunder of drums, the pluck of twanging strings and at last the flute. He was drawn to it. Absorbed as the melody that played made him anticipate the next verse then the next, until at last he was enthralled.


    He realised dumbly that it was an orchestral rendition of a famous song from below: Give Thanks to Metal.


    The song reached it¡¯s last verse and he mouthed the words that were not said.


    We¡¯ll find the cure¡­


    We¡¯ll find the cure¡­


    And until that¡­


    We shall,


    Endure.


    The final note played to resounding applause. Whistles and hoots followed.


    A voice boomed above the crowds. It was woman¡¯s, a merchant¡¯s and a commander all, ¡°Thank you, thank you,¡± she rasped. ¡°Our traveling chorus will be at Ming¡¯s Plaza next. Please, turns of all kinds and ages attend us there. See to this our penultimate performance, and if not, know our name. For we are¡­¡±


    She paused as the other performers made to her side making three in all.


    ¡°Raibo¡¯s Rats.¡±


    The name left something to be had, but among those who said it, he recognised a voice. Curious at first then jittering and terrified he pushed to the front in a wash of emotions. There he gawked at what he feared most. He hoped to all the Hours that his ears did not flare and, especially, that she did not see him. But ofcourse, she did. She even waved.


    The performer with the stringed instrument, now gathered with her fellows, eyed him with a smile. That prompted a few of the onlookers to stare his way as they dissipated. She seemed the model up-lander by her looks. Black hair cut by her shoulders, tempered beige skin, and black eyes underneath uplifted brows that made her seem constantly at ease. Not a hint of a turn upon her, nor, as Tig hesitantly recalled, the rest of her.


    ¡°Know him?¡± began the center stage woman.


    He dared a look and found a curt nod.


    ¡°Why yes, at the bathho--¡±


    ¡°Bathhousestore,¡± spoke up Tig. ¡°Store.¡±


    The centerstage woman was a tall turn with long ebony locks that flowed passed her hips. She let down to an athletic landing and stood towering over the boy. Puffed slacks and top hung from her lithe form loosely. Her clothes were dark and green against her. Her face was of a tin alloy. Wrinkles creased by her cheeks from excess smiling.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t know they had a store for that,¡± she said, squinting at the boy. ¡°But if you¡¯re a friend of Koto¡¯s, I will not doubt you. Me? Hah,¡± she jabbed her chest. ¡°Call me Madam Lulupalalusevot.¡±


    Tig struggled as he attempted her name.


    ¡°Or just Lucy,¡± said a woman besides her.


    That was much easier. Tig nodded, ¡°Yes, um, Miss Lucy--¡±


    ¡°Niss. Still a half turn. Want to see where I¡¯m still fleshy?¡±


    A wood-sandal clad foot pressed her head down as the woman who called her Lucy loomed overtop, ¡°Mind not her debauchery, lad, she¡¯s a strange one. Stranger still in these parts. As are you from your looks. Not from around here?¡±


    Tig shook his head, ¡°Verace,¡± he said to her slow nod.


    ¡°Never heard of it. Well too many places to hear of these days.¡±


    ¡°Aye,¡± pipped Lucy. ¡°Best to visit them all. One at a time. So how is it a boy from Verache--¡±


    ¡°Verace.¡±


    ¡°Veranye¡­¡±


    Tig frowned. He had found Franco¡¯s other half.


    ¡°¡­come to know our lovely Niss Koto Tet?¡±


    ¡°At the inn I stay in,¡± said Koto before he could. ¡°That place I told you about. Apparently they thought I was a companion of some admiral so they let me stay.¡± She tapped her chin. ¡°Though they seemed cross about it. ¡®Said more and more are trying the same trick.¡±


    Rantsu¡¯s irate nature finally made sense.


    ¡°Koto,¡± spoke the yet unnamed woman, ¡°You¡¯ve got to stop wandering into random establishments.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Because¡­ because it¡¯s not right is all. You¡¯ve no idea how many complaints I¡¯ve gotten of our twynet player wandering into people¡¯s homes.¡±


    ¡°Some offer free food,¡± noted Koto.


    ¡°Aye and the others complain. Just,¡± she sighed. ¡°Just stop, or the very least knock?¡±


    ¡°Knock?¡±


    ¡°You know what I do with drums. Do they not have knocking in your country?¡± said the woman.


    Koto, seeming aloof at the question, turned to the sky without warning and held her arms out, her twynet tucked between her arm and chest. The instrument was a double headed lute with a convergence of string in the form of a ¡®v¡¯ near the hollow base.


    ¡°It will rain soon,¡± she said.


    ¡°Right we lost her. You, call me Bile. Pleasure.¡± She pressed down on Lucy¡¯s head as she leaned to shake Tig¡¯s hand.


    Tig accepted the gesture, scarcely glancing away from Bile¡¯s exposed fleshy leg, which her low silk robe did little to hide. Other than that, Bile had a peculiar appearance. Her hair covered much of her face and mechanized that way, so it stayed stiff as she moved. It covered both her eyes and ears but left her silver mouth exposed.


    ¡°Bile,¡± said Lucy. ¡°Foot?¡±


    Bile smiled and shuffled her foot before removing it, leaving Lucy¡¯s composed hair in disarray.


    ¡°Do you have a name?¡± asked Lucy.


    ¡°Tig,¡± he answered before saying anything else. ¡°Just Tig.¡±


    ¡°Tig?¡± said Bile.


    ¡°Tig.¡± echoed Lucy.


    The two turned to each other, and repeated his name in a third, resounding rendition.


    ¡°Tig!¡±


    ¡°Yes that is my name.¡±


    ¡°Apologies.¡± Continued Lucy. ¡°But if I may, Are you the acquaintance of full turn orange man with a black hat?¡±


    Tig started. ¡°You saw him?!¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯s to say we did?¡± said Bile. ¡°Who¡¯s to say we¡¯re willing let you know?¡±


    Lucy grumbled a laugh, ¡°Aha! And who¡¯s to say we¡¯ll let you know exactly what he told us to tell you for free?¡±


    Bile sighed, ¡°You¡¯re really bad at this.¡±


    ¡°You,¡± pointed Lucy. ¡°Just Tig. Work for us here and now in setting up tonight and we¡¯ll tell you what you need to know.¡±


    Bile firmly replanted her foot on Lucy¡¯s head, prompting a ¡®gwah¡¯ from Lucy as she did so.


    ¡°Our regular helper¡¯s been out with sickness,¡± explained the more sensible of the two, ¡°and the crowds have been busy of late. We need any help we can get, so we¡¯ll tell ya where to find your full turn friend, aye, but not before you help us. Deal?¡±


    Tig turned to Koto who had returned to her senses. She seemed to be passed how they met. He wanted to thank her for that. If anything, he owed her for his earlier stunt at the bathhouse. He blushed briefly.


    ¡°Alright,¡± he said. ¡°Deal.¡±

 In Exchange for a Scarf

    Gemjo¡¯s name was not her own.


    A clever turn would have known that the moment they met the seawolf. For one, it was not a northerner name. Nor was it a name of any that dwelt beneath the clouds. It belonged to an above lander. But she wore it all the same as if it were a comfortable hand me down. In that regard it was hers and no one else¡¯s. It was her one true possession and she clung to it greedily. Had she lost everything she could not lose that. Not so long as no one found out.


    Good then she had not met any clever turns. Instead she knew four idiots. She gave them names as she traveled the narrow night laden street. There was the drunk idiot, the brutish idiot, the self-righteous idiot and the indecisive one. And now they had all gone searching in the dead of night in a foreign city for the drunk idiot. Clearly something was amiss.


    Sure, Mor¡¯de¡¯s men might look for them and sure they might question them, but that was a slim and dwindling chance and, the more she considered just exactly what she had to do in this mad search, the more she grew tired of it. She considered the alternative and smiled to herself dumbly. She¡¯d meet the others at the break of dawn and confess her fruitless effort. The city proved big and she, a small powerless seawolf, could do nothing to locate the man. She tried everything.


    Everything in this case amounted to four bars, two of which tried desperately to shoo away an underaged half turn while the last two remained content. Gemjo did not linger to inquire why.


    Luckily for her the drunk was absolutely terrible at staying hidden, unluckily for her he had a habit of wandering.


    Navigating bars was another matter. Most had the basic layout. There were the seats by the counter intended for loners, tables for meetings, cushioned seats sections for groups and the back alleys for fights.


    Knowing the Professor was a tall man who wore a blue hat made it easy. His distinctly terrible smell was also a lead. Had she truly tired perhaps she would find him.


    The fifth bar stood tauntingly besides her now. It was a small place by the top of a hill. A seemingly endless street stretched into the night beyond where streets lamps failed. The nearest street lamp had long died out and in its place lights flickered behind the dirty windows of the bar. Shadows shifted there whilst a sign rattled restlessly overhead. She heard a heated argument or banter within, though it was hard to tell which behind the wooden walls. The scent of it was more distinct. Among fried fish and liquor she smelled an earthy aroma. Then she saw the black clouds rolling in. Rain, she thought. Good. Rain would aide in her excuse.


    The sky crackled and she made her escape underneath the bar rafters where the light drumming of rain greeted her. It picked up abruptly into a much headier downpour and the restless drumming turned into static. Rain was awful. Wet fur was bad, but mechanized wet fur was the worst.


    One bad wind and she¡¯d be caught in it. She turned to the door. Regardless of the noise that played within, it taunted her to enter. There would be a warm fire no doubt, perhaps even a place for her to sleep in. The door creaked open as if it had read her mind and a few patrons stepped out. The two full turned men made quick sense of the situation, smiled drunkenly at each other and ran full long into the rain. Laughing and hooting and splashing followed their charge as they vanished into the rainy mists.


    Gemjo scowled at them. It seemed her excuse might as well have been reality. Jumping into water as an orca was one thing, stepping into it in her regular form was another.


    Then came the slide of chairs, the rattle of plates, quick, incongruous shouts. She shifted from the open doorway where once muffled sounds became words.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    ¡°Leave!¡± cried a man.


    ¡°But sir!¡± pleaded the woman who stumbled out.


    ¡°This is a bar not a charity.¡± The man¡¯s voice had lisp to it and so it sounded distinctly above lander. His former patron begged with a much softer tone.


    ¡°But they¡¯re half turns! Food has no meaning to your regular guests.¡±


    ¡°Aye not my regular ones no, but times aren¡¯t regular miss. Lot more new faces here, new bellies still covered in flesh. Buy a meal or a drink and I¡¯ll feed ya, but I got nothing for the coinless. Leave.¡±


    ¡°Sir--¡±


    The door shut rather loudly, prompting the seawolf to cover her ears. The woman in question, a full turn, was short and dressed as a tavern maid, complete with an apron. She was real pretty, but she had a tendency to admire the floor. She also seemed the type to inquire the aid of travellers. A giver of quests so to speak and those types always had knack for making lazy work hard. Gemjo shuffled further away.


    ¡°Young niss, what are you doing here?¡±


    She sighed. Too late.


    Gemjo shook her head, ¡°No, uh-- What language do you speak here?¡±


    ¡°Cogspeak?¡±


    ¡°Yes that. No Cogspeak. Can¡¯t speak a lick of it. Just that bit so don¡¯t bother me,¡± she frowned as she turned, ¡°That bit to.¡±


    The woman¡¯s voice played behind her like a set of chimes. It was melodious, high, and strangely warming, ¡°You¡¯re a half turn,¡± she said. ¡°Are you¡­ alone? Out here in the rain? O¡¯Rat, it¡¯s raining!¡±


    Gemjo peaked at her from over her shoulder blade, ¡°I¡¯ve been alone for a long time, lady.¡±


    She held her hand to her mouth. Gemjo frowned at the frills that lined her cuffs. At first glance, the woman seemed a beggar, but the cuffs among the whitel innings across her dress made Gemjo think otherwise.


    ¡°Rich people,¡± muttered Gemjo.


    ¡°Oh you poor poor thing.¡±


    Her left brow twitched, ¡°Weren¡¯t you asking for my help?¡±


    ¡°I¡ªwell yes I was. I came here for food and could not find it. I¡¯ll have to keep looking, but before I do I can¡¯t leave the others alone. Not longer than I have at least. I need some turn to watch over them.¡±


    ¡°Me?¡± said Gemjo. ¡°You¡¯re asking a stranger? A half turn stranger?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t pay you! But I can offer you a place to stay from the rain. A warm bed, food if I can get some later tonight. Promise, it¡¯s just that I really can¡¯t leave them alone. Especially not in this weather.¡±


    Gemjo traced the visible outline of the street side with her eyes. There was a path clear of the rain under a passage of rafters, just barely clear but it would suffice.


    She looked back at the woman with chimes for a voice. While the bed was tempting, she had no intention of watching over some half turns. Besides the room back at the inn was still there and more importantly empty.


    She ducked into and under the next set of rafters and walked with her hands tucked in the sash of her robe. She thought her wordless exit would be enough of an answer. It wasn¡¯t.


    ¡°What say you?¡± echoed the chimes.


    The roar of rain parted the girl from the woman.


    ¡°Find someone else,¡± replied the girl.


    ¡°Your neck.¡±


    That gave her pause.


    Her foot had stopped mid footfall as if all of time had frozen there and then. No one noticed. Not Franco, not the Professor, not even Tig. And yet the woman who knew her only as a stranger saw the markings. The scar that wasn¡¯t a scar that marred her still fleshy neck, she saw it.


    ¡°There are others,¡± said the woman. ¡°Others there who share your story.¡± Her wooden sandals clacked to Gemjo. ¡°Would you mind meeting them?¡±


    Gemjo spun abruptly, ¡°A scarf.¡± She blurted.


    ¡°Sorry?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure your people have those? Use it to wrap your neck, hide from the cold. Give me one and I¡¯ll do it.¡±


    ¡°Hide your¡­ Yes I think I can manage that, though it should take some time.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care. Do it and I¡¯ll watch over whatever needs watching.¡±


    The woman \ smiled widely, stepped long, and grasped Gemjo¡¯s hands between her own soft metal fingers.


    ¡°Oh thank you. Thank you. Thank you! You¡¯ve no idea how many times I¡¯ve been rejected tonight.¡±


    There, clasped in place as she was, Gemjo caught the first defined look of the woman. She was short, about her height with a face that seemed permanently apologetic. Tin whites made her forehead and cheeks, lead sufficed her nose, chin and sides. Her hair was black and puffy and curled to the tips of her tin ears.


    Her eyes like pink loops pitted against black seemed almost at the verge of tears. Her nose was flat. It reminded the girl of Tig¡¯s.


    The woman sniffed, her hands warm against Gemjo¡¯s, ¡°You¡¯ve no idea¡­ oh. Sorry.¡±


    She let go and Gemjo found herself frowning at the woman.


    ¡°Where to then?¡± asked the girl


    ¡°Follow me, follow me! Oh they¡¯ll love you there,¡± she gushed pacing ahead of the seawolf.


    ¡°Where is there?¡±


    ¡°Oh, my manners. There is the happiest and saddest place in all Jing Mon Ceros, my home and that of a dozen other hearts, Mother Minjo¡¯s orphanage.¡±

 Enter the Villain

    A millions lights speckled the twilight waters where the great tree grew. Kura, the city state academy, towered until its reflection stretched for minutes ahead. In night the tree that met the bottom of the ocean seemed even bigger.


    It was due to this size and Kura¡¯s notable connection to the lands above that a turn who had a habit of talking to himself chose Kura as the place he¡¯d go to travel up. He had done the paperwork, made the connections, but by the time he was ready to leave his ship was no longer there.


    It had been stolen by a band of pirates.


    In effect, he was stranded.


    The stranded man paced back and forth in an empty room in one of the many higher branches of Kura. He had one hand held behind his back, the other more mechanized one held in front theatrically. The room was far too large for one man. Chairs and tables were piled on one side while a wall wide mirror hugged the adjacent one.


    He watched his silver reflection as he paced back and forth. He thought himself particularly handsome that day. He wore violet robes and hat that clung to him loosely. His copper hairs were light, airy, and it moved as he did as he paced to one end of the room and back to the other.


    His voice boomed all the while.


    ¡°So why did you start the mechanization?¡± He stopped mid walk. ¡°No that¡¯s not right. Why did YOU start the mechanization? Gah. Still no.¡±


    Knocks came from the lone door to the chamber and the man turned, dull silver face and all, to see the door already open and his escort standing there.


    ¡°Webly!¡± he greeted the new comer.


    ¡°I was told I would find you here,¡± said the Sergeant.


    ¡°Yes I was practicing. Did you hear? What did you think? A little too strong or not enough? I am told I¡¯m at my best when I¡¯m passive.¡±


    Webly took a step in and leaned against the wooden wall. He had his arms crossed.


    ¡°Not very soldier like,¡± said the silver faced man.


    ¡°We¡¯ve been through this,¡± sighed Webly.


    ¡°Oh must you make a villain out of me? You know how much I enjoy teasing you,¡± said the silver faced man as he reassumed his walk. ¡°To taunt you as you dispel your habits on my behest. I don¡¯t like salutes, dead faces, the works of formality. I want to see the real turn beneath the fake one. It¡¯s the least you can do after--¡±Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    ¡°We lost our ship. Yes yes, we¡¯ve been over that to,¡± Webly fixed his posture abruptly. ¡°Which is why I came to see you. We¡¯re leaving. Tomorrow morning.¡±


    The silver man held a breath, ¡°You found a ship?¡±


    ¡°By the Hours¡¯ will we have. General Tat has momentarily forgiven our blunder in the hopes we may hunt our quarry.¡±


    ¡°And that quarry would be?¡±


    Webly let out a longer than usual sigh, ¡°We¡¯ve. Been. Over. This. The nature of our hunt is of no concern to a journalist.¡±


    ¡°I write for the Empire¡¯s Hand,¡± said the man in a matter-of-fact tone.


    ¡°Then you know full well the importance of censoring information that would threaten the Empire.¡±


    Then and there, the man with a silver face stopped smiling. His hand fell from his back. His incessant pacing died. He had known for a while the foul word ¡®censorship¡¯. It was the invisible control, the hand cast over innumerable turns with strings dangling down out the fingers, one string for every reader.


    He wanted to ask why it would threaten the Empire? Why a General and not an Admiral would seek this quarry out? What it was the Empress¡¯s personal army sought so desperately to retrieve? They were all puppets so long as the answer was unknown. He wanted to cut the strings and he had hoped he could do so once he was a part of the hand that held them.


    Only then did he realize the presence of another hand above the first.


    He was powerless, a pawn, a seeker of truths who wrote lies. So until he found the truth that nobody knew, he would remain a liar. The liar formed a liar¡¯s smile, a tilt of the head, narrowed eyes, the usual, ¡°On the Morrow, yes? Then I shall be there.¡±


    ¡°Very good,¡± said Webly. The sergeant attempted a salute, paused midway, and proceeded out the door with a shake of his head.


    The silver faced man studied his own reflection as the door thundered shut. His yellow lamplight eyes peered back. Lines, like mechanical scars cut across those eyes, spilling lights further across his satin face. He sneered at his own reflection and covered his face with the tip of his violet hat.


    ¡°I need air,¡± he muttered before storming to the door.


    It opened before he got there.


    ¡°Web¡­ly¡­?¡±


    ¡°Heh. Not quite,¡± the owner of the voice revealed himself. He was a short full turn with a black hat and a face that was skeletal. He leaned against the doorway, ¡°I read what you wrote in that Empire¡¯s Hand.¡±


    ¡°Ah a fan.¡±


    ¡°I am, aye,¡± the man¡¯s red eyes traced the silver-faced man¡¯s own. ¡°Particularly of the Interview with the Mad Tinker.¡±


    The silverfaced man took a step back, ¡°I didn¡¯t write my name on that. How did you--¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m acquainted with Webly¡¯s crew. Asked around, filled a pocket, the works. You could say I have a vested interest in the workings of our favorite tinker.¡±


    ¡°So much for discretion,¡± said the silver faced man. ¡°What of it then? You want to bribe me for information? Share notes? Or perhaps you have information I may want?¡±


    The short man stared at him for an uncomfortably long time. The black hat marked him as a pirate. The face of bones possibly a witch doctor. He was not the kind of turn one would expect to have been associated with soldiers from the mainland. He was strange, an outsider and possibly one who knew what the silver faced man wanted to know. But at the rate he decided to answer the first question, there was no knowing when he¡¯d answer all the silver faced man wanted to know.


    Minutes passed before he answered, ¡°None actually. I just wanted to meet ya.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    The man quit his lean, ¡°You have the look of a turn seeking answers. Very well.¡± The man stepped back a few times, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He turned with a wave, and his footsteps patted. His voice dimmed with his steps, ¡°You¡¯ll find what you¡¯re looking for. That and terrible more.¡±

 Love, Rain, and Punches

    That night there was a rumor.


    A man they knew as the bargaining chip snuck away in the night. Of course he was free to wander the foreign state. The Admiral himself had given the man leave to do so. But at night? And just after learning of the Admiral¡¯s true intentions?


    There was a suspicious earnestness to the rumor that leapt of the lips of giddy nobles and entertained the ears of informants. At least earnest enough for the Admiral¡¯s men to care. The acting lieutenant that night sent guards to every sky dock on the whale city.


    The barracks were stirred. Tired boots marched out into the midnight flicker of lamplights.


    One guard, a man who had little sleep, yawned as he teetered on his rifle. The air seemed damp, the winds quieter since the morning. There where he stood overlooking much of the main street of the city, the lone guard cursed his luck for being chosen for the post.


    It was unwarranted, uncalled for. Afterall, he¡¯d still have active duty come the morn. Truly, it could not have gotten worse. The sky thundered as he thought that and he spat a curse with a languid step back. He found cover in the sparse docktower awnings where rain followed in panging thumps.


    He crouched low and rubbed his eyes. Why him? He thought as he coddled his rifle for support. Apart from counting the seconds and playing with the valves on his steam rifle, there was little else do. Other than keeping watch. His post did offer that advantage at least. There before him stretched the sky whale city of Jing Mon Ceros now dressed in twilight.


    Tips of darkened reds blurred in the rainy mists. The woodwork of pagados played phantoms around him. He knew they were there even when he could barely place them. The emperor¡¯s palace, however, was very real and still visible in the dark and rain. He spied below. A massive street led to it that split off into countless others.


    Some streets were wide and dark, others narrow and glittering, yet few among them had the moving blurs that hinted of turns.


    That was to be expected. He yawned. Only idiots and soldiers took to the streets under the midnight shower. Idiots, he thought, much like the curious outline of a man now dancing not far from lion¡¯s way. For a moment the wind gusted and the outline became defined. The soldier forgot his tiredness. The idiot¡¯s likeness matched that of the bargaining chip¡¯s companions.


    He scrambled for his communicator which was postured beside him. It was a palm sized thing that sent voices through timelines, one of Mor¡¯de newest ¡®weapons¡¯ as the Admiral called them. The man flung out the device¡¯s antenna and wobbled a dial until he heard buzzing mix with the tapper of rain.


    ¡°Sir,¡± he grumbled. ¡°I have something to report.¡±


    ¡­


    The idiot on the street near Lion¡¯s way could not be happier.


    His pointed hair whirled as he did, his muscular build quick and nimble.


    Franco smiled and twirled in the pouring rain. He laughed and grinned. Who would have thought he, Francisco Cantinio, would find love? And here of all places? He coddled his freshly swollen cheek. Who would have though love hit so hard?


    He had met her shortly after he lost sight of Gemjo. When the sky crackled and the rain began its downward trek, Franco stole a glance of a woman who¡¯s beauty defied all he knew. She was an up-lander with perfect features and form, hidden gracefully under a yellow silk gown. He knew then that spotting her in a place he thought he would never go so soon was more than chance, nay it was destiny.


    And so he did as his heart commanded and he pranced to see her, to sway her with his charms. Her response? A devastating blow that left him stretched and unconscious on the cobblestone. He awoke to the drumming of rain to find her gone.


    He was miserable, of course, having just found the love of his life only to lose her, but a Cantinio never stayed down for long. No, he would find her. Forget the Professor, this¡ªthis was important.


    Every word of hers was melody in his mind. It played in perpetual repetition. She had spoken of how she had just wanted to see a performing troupe. Of how she had gotten tired of advances that night, especially of foreigners and especially ones that smelled of drink.


    Unlucky for Franco he had just visited three bars on his way there.


    Franco paused in the middle of his prance. Foreigners that smelled of drink? The image of his love was quickly replaced by that of a blue coat and spikey features. He shook his head. Well, that could have been anyone. Right now, he needed to know where she was and a performing troupe was his only lead.


    As to where that particular troupe may have been he could only guess and with little people littering the streets he decided it best to ask in the nearest building he could. It was a wide building with a curled fist for a sign. The front was encased entirely in glass and lines of figures practicing stances could be seen from outside. Bright lights shimmered from within. He paused before entering as he caught something short and blue in his peripheral.


    He had to look twice to be certain.


    ¡°What? Why?¡± he scoffed. To his side stood Remy Le Ricci, soldier¡¯s jacket and all. Her hair was soaked with droplets running down her cheeks. ¡°How long have you been besides me?¡±


    She looked at him with her alien goggles and pointed down the misty street wordlessly.


    ¡°Since I awoke?¡± he gathered.


    She nodded.


    He scratched his head as he thought on that. The timing fit.


    ¡°You saw her!¡± he said, clutching her hands. ¡°You must have! Over there, back down the road, did you happen to see an outrageously gorgeous woman? Remy? Rem¡­?¡±


    He felt her hand jitter in his and realised her fear. She shivered away the moment he let go, timidly hiding behind the seawolf¡¯s scarf.


    She was different from in Kura. Back then confronted with Gemjo, the soldier had little trouble venting her troubles, but here alone with him she seemed as muted as a mouse.


    Franco puffed and crossed his arms.


    ¡°Well. I suppose if you did see her you would¡¯ve have pursued her. After all, she might have met the Professor.¡±


    The scarf lowered to reveal her slight agape mouth.


    ¡°Aye, that¡¯s the right of it,¡± continued Franco with eyes tracing the moving blurs beyond the window frame. ¡°Find the woman, find the Professor. What do you say then servant of my enemy, care to assist in the search for my love?¡±


    Silence again, save the drumming of rain. Franco leaned to one side. Should have expected that. Remy was a strange one, social anxiety aside. In fact his companions were all odd in their own way while he, the ever astute Franco, proved the only normal one amongst them. He prided himself on that fact. He was their beacon, their shining example. Their captain.


    Captain.


    He remembered a certain conversation with a certain girl whenever he thought of that word.


    He remembered her white blouse as it billowed in the wind where she sat next to him. They would play pirate and get scolded and play again.


    When they ran out of breath they would talk by that spot overlooking the sea. Her favorite place in the world.


    They had countless stupid talks there. Childish taunts mostly, but sometimes things that mattered.


    Captains for instance.


    ¡°Captains?¡±


    ¡°Aye, captains,¡± said the girl. ¡°The best of them, that¡¯s what I¡¯ll be. Do you even know what a captain is Franky?¡±


    She gave him a punch when he shook his hesitated to answer. Then a laugh as he sniffed a little to the pain.


    Her laugh shifted to a question, ¡°You really a Cantinio?¡±


    ¡°I am and I know what captain is. It¡¯s the strongest in a crew is it not? I heard Raltio talking about it.¡±


    ¡°A captain,¡± she started daring her impossibly wide eyes to sky, ¡°a captain is one who understands her crew. Every last member. She is on who will suffer when they do.¡±


    ¡°Mind if I join your crew then?¡±


    He remembered how she stalled before she answered and how it hurt him when she said no and nothing else. But that pain was a part of the memory now. He savored it just as much of the rest. That and the truth of her words. He understood what Remy wanted even if she refused to voice it. That was a captain¡¯s duty.


    She wanted to be by the Professor¡¯s side.


    He stepped into the swish of the door and the jingle of bells.


    A half dozen eyes snapped to him. The practice ended. What could have been interpreted as the razor focus of uplander warriors dressed in black shirts and pants was quickly replaced by a collection of irate expressions.


    Why they were training at the dead of night was another matter.


    ¡°Who are you?!¡± asked one of many.


    Franco raised a brow. He swore he detected the tiniest bit of aggression from this stranger, but he would forgive the man for asking his favorite question. He prodded his chest and the answer jumped off his lips, ¡°Franco Cantinio and don¡¯t you forget it.¡±


    Franco¡¯s naturally resounding voice bounced off the walls of the glass and wood structure until magnified itself a hundred fold. The man who had asked first swept his gaze to an older full turn that wobbled in, ¡°He means to challenge us, master.¡±


    ¡°I am aware,¡± grumbled the full turn, stroking his beard.


    The old man¡¯s voice was followed by his offbeat walk. His left foot had a limp to it. He wore a long white robe that marred his underlings terribly with strange black letters written across it on the hems.


    ¡°I am aware,¡± he started again, ¡°that a fool of a foreigner dare treads into Capicho¡¯s School for Fistwork and challenges Capicho himself.¡±


    ¡°Fool? Challenge?¡± asked Franco pointing at himself dumbly. ¡°No, I only wished to inquire about a troupe of performers, one closeby I think.¡±


    ¡°Silence!¡± the old turn tossed aside his robe, revealing a heavily muscled body of steel. ¡°Do you speak with words or fists?¡±


    Franco lowered his chin.


    Not one there cared for his presence. In fact they wanted him gone in stares he thought were completely unwarranted. The static of rain played behind him as he took that first hollow step.


    Even then, there was a fire to the old man¡¯s eyes. The old man, whose body had turned to polished steel and whose beard was an alloyed wool, desired a fight Franco could tell. He had seen it many a time during his studies at Kura. This turn ad the air of a beast wanting for the hunt.


    Franco cracked his shoulders and undid his silk robe until it hung at the waist loosely. He would humor him.


    ¡°Hah. Challenge you?¡¯ snorted Franco. ¡°If I challenge you old turn, you¡¯d be bested already. Aye, I speak with my fists. A question? Your answer. When? When I have you pinned to the floor and begging with your lackies watching.¡±


    Those lackies jeered him as they funneled in around him him. Their bodies made the boundaries of the makeshift arena. Remy¡¯s joined them.


    His opponent smiled, crouched and took up a stance that Franco knew it instantly. That was Fron¡¯s stance.


    The downwards palms, one arm postured above and behind the other, shoulders relaxed. For a moment he thought of his thrice great grand uncle Fronesto Cantinio, or atleast the stories of him. He wondered if this strange man had met the legend of a relative and if he had trained under him. He could not wonder for long. The man¡¯s steps echoed.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Franco took up his stance. They clashed to the roar of students and the trickle of rain.


    ¡°Fool,¡± spat the man with quick left hooks. ¡°Prepare to buckle.¡±


    Franco kept his footing as he baited the punches handily. They were quick but with no weight to them. Two more punches missed in quick succession. What¡¯s more they all came from his left. His right hand remained limp at his side like a one handed swordsmen.


    Strange and unsettling, thought Franco. It was Fron¡¯s stance but certainly not his style. Fron¡¯s punches were heavy and slow from the stories his grandfather told him.


    Franco leaned to his side as the disturbed air of a punch grazed his cheek. Fron¡¯s blows were cannonballs. These were pebbles and a slingshot.


    The man recoiled and in the second he did, Franco found an opening.


    First Palm.


    He aimed low for the abdomen. The blow met but it was the response he was after.


    He shook to the resounding pang. His opponent had stymied it with a raised shin not caught it. Franco hopped back, eyes wide on the man¡¯s right. Still limp.


    Why? Thought Franco. Why? Why? Why?


    He had every opportunity to block it conventionally with his right and advantage even should he have chosen to grapple, but to block with his leg? There was no sense in it. Strange and unsettling indeed.


    Franco sprang back with a series of light steps. He felt something coming. The razor focus one on one fighting so greedily demanded fell away as the snickers of his audience made him curious.


    Just what did the old man of steel have planned?


    He did not intend to find out.


    ¡°We¡¯ve gone long enough, ancient one. I, Franco Cantinio, will end you with one blow.¡±


    ¡°Is that so?¡± said his opponent with a raised brow. ¡°Come then, I shall do the same.¡±


    Franco swung his arm ahead of him as the man slid his left foot back.


    The man who would topple the navy had a twitch to his lip, ¡°Second palm.¡±


    Then came his charge, that of hard flurried steps and measured breaths. One, two, then¡­


    Caught. Franco blinked with his body leaning awkwardly forwards, his outstretched hand had been caught by the man¡¯s tucked in left. Then in the second he stood there, Franco noticed how the man¡¯s left foot anchored low as if it bore the weight of something heavy and terrible.


    The man tugged him suddenly and whispered in his ear as he fell forwards, ¡°My turn.¡±


    Crunch.


    It was as if the force of a ship had collided with his gut.


    Franco fell back. He coughed and wheezed and covered his gut like a wounded animal. He saw the right hand of the man recoil. That was his cannonball.


    A burning sensation filled him as his hand ventured up. Atleast two ribs broken. Not good, especially not since he was still recovering from his earlier bout. He already felt his senses numb from it.


    ¡°Hah,¡± said Franco as he wiped the sweat off his cheek. ¡°I know your trick now, old turn.¡±


    The oncoming dizziness became debilitating. Franco staggered.


    ¡°Oh? You still intend to fight?¡±


    Franco raised his fists and willed his legs to keep him up.


    ¡°You practice his stance so you should know,¡± started Franco. ¡°A Cantinio doesn¡¯t stay down for long.¡±


    His opponent flashed a toothy grin and gestured him forwards.


    Weak and stumbling, Franco complied.


    ¡°Come then,¡± taunted the old up lander. ¡°Let me see how much you resemble him.¡±


    The first cannonball was not the last. For as many times Franco stood up, the older man ruthlessly delivered.


    Even as his vision blurred and his senses failed him he saw how the crowd had begun to pity him. Their wilful jeers had turned to winces, their arrogant stares into stifled looks.


    When at last he fell for good, he saw Remy standing there, disapproving.


    His conscious failed, his body surrendered. Yet what he felt now was no different from a few days prior. He recalled it vividly as if he had been punched back into the past.


    ¡­


    Waves thrashed. Silver grasses brushed against his knee and cold sands crunched underneath that.


    Tib had valiantly sacrificed himself. The criminal witch doctor who had done it seemed all too pleased by that victory. One fool down, he probably thought, and now for another. Franco smiled. That was where the witch doctor¡¯s erred. The boy had taken the blow Franco could not.


    Franco stood. He had to make it count. The witch doctor¡¯s lackeys had barely noticed him when he began his charge.


    His voice traveled with his steps as its chorus, ¡°Unhand Tij!¡±


    A smile from his foe as the bone man held out his hand, ¡°Tanga¡ª¡±


    ¡°No you don¡¯t!¡±


    First palm, impact, crunched his foe¡¯s gut. Then he pulled the man forwards with fifth palm and ran another blow.


    ¡°First palm,¡± huffed Franco connecting the punch, the first of many, ¡°Frist palm. First palm. First palm.¡±


    ¡°Fools,¡± spat the witch doctor as he straggled back, ¡°Don¡¯t watch, hel--¡±


    ¡°First palm.¡±


    This time the witch doctor¡¯s head bobbed as a crack stretched across his face. Oil drizzled from his mouth and he spat more out as attempted to talk, ¡°First palm? Really? Must you say it everyt--¡±


    ¡°First palm!¡±


    Franco¡¯s fist rung from that punch and grasses crumpled as his opponent lost his footing. Franco lowered his fist. His breathing had become erratic. The strange fires that burned him from the earlier spell would not take long now. The hesitant witch doctors around him bounced in his sights. He winced, a moment of weakness. He had to defeat them soon.


    But there was three of them and only one of him. He calmed himself. For the first time in a long time, he decided to think.


    ¡°Fools,¡± gurgled the downed witch doctor interrupting his thoughts, ¡°The curse has him. Get him now.¡±


    Franco snapped to them. The three onlookers stepped forwards in unison. The hesitation they had prior had evaporated and their hands were held out. Not good, thought Franco. Any magic could turn the fight. He needed to close the distance, but with three of them, running to one would only result in a scorched back. Or worse, a back touched by the sea.


    He remembered how Tij had taken that blow and all at once he turned and realised a plan. The tree. He leapt to its trunk and slid around it just as three low rumbles, one after the other, pounded the bark.


    He peaked at the casters. Already they had begun shuffling around the tree to try and draw him out. Good. He started running around the trunk. The more one of them tried to find an opening the more Franco ran around the tree and the more they inevitably got closer to its base. Until at last, all three witch doctor¡¯s arrived at Franco¡¯s melee.


    That was it. Franco drew in the closest one with fifth palm: pull. The others, not knowing of the capture, let off their spells and Franco¡¯s makeshift shield caught each cast.


    After a full rotation, he let go of the man who fell helplessly to a defeated groan.


    ¡°One down,¡± hissed Franco. The other two circled the tree, swinging spells that burnt the hard bark. Nothing had changed except now his two foes kept their distance. The same tick would not work twice, so he ran, praying for an idea. Hoping for one to fall from the tree like an un-plucked fruit and bless him with revelation. For as much as he ran, he was running out of time.


    He sprinted around one way and came face to face with a witch doctor, ran the other way it came face to face with another.


    In a moment he was cornered. He could already hear the first witch doctor jogging around the trunk towards him.


    The man ahead of him slowed to a menacing approach. A spell, no doubt deadly, simmered in the boney fingers of that creature. Franco gulped. It would not be long now.


    ¡°An idiot once told me,¡± started Franco, counting the steps behind him, ¡°That I had a knack for painting arses.¡±


    ¡°And why does dis matah?¡± said the spell wielding witch doctor. His voice was surprisingly high.


    ¡°Well,¡± continued Franco, ¡°I suppose it means I ought to do a self-portrait.¡±


    ¡°Eh? You¡¯ve made an arse of yaself?¡±


    Franco clicked his fingers, ¡°Exactly. Why, I said I¡¯d be the man who would topple the navy and here I am fighting desperately against two low ranked, pathetic bone boys.¡±


    The witch doctor narrowed his brows, ¡°Watch ya tongue.¡±


    ¡°Therefore I¡¯ve obviously made an arse of myself,¡± laughed Franco. ¡°Since I should¡¯ve beaten you sooner.¡±


    The witch doctor let out a grunt as he swung a fiery ball from his bare boned hands. Franco ducked, a brilliant maneuver, for just overhead of him came another equally sized fireball that grazed the first and promptly singed his enemy.


    This time, two thuds sounded instead of one.


    Franco took a breath. While he had not been hit, the earlier spell still had its effect. Minutes. They were not wrong. He glanced at the still down head witch doctor and trudged towards him.


    ¡°Still awake?¡± he said to the felled opponent, nudging the black coat with his foot.


    He heard a grumble and kicked the witch doctor for good measure.


    ¡°I won,¡± he announced to the downed man. ¡°I beat you just as I will the admirals.¡±


    Moments passed to restless waves. Franco felt the spell simmer at his very core, demanding every second of conscious thought directed to the ceaseless pain. Then, impossibly the man he thought downed laughed in low wheezing rumbles, ¡°Heh? Is dat so? Den I regret ta¡­. Inform ya but ya still be lacking¡­ Mor¡¯de,¡± he coughed. ¡°he¡¯s one of us ya know. I fought him¡­ long time ago. And lost. Always lost. If ya tink ya strong, if ya tink ya know strong, tink again. He be a monstah and you, you¡¯ve neva seen a monstah.¡±


    Franco had attempted to respond, several times in fact, but between the spell pleading him to collapse and not knowing what to say, he relented.


    Then came the others, the innumerable steps of a dozen or more witch doctors. Then came their angered beatings, the kicks, the punches.


    Then came the darkness where he dreamed of monsters.


    ¡­


    He heard rain when he awoke.


    ¡°You were right. You really don¡¯t stay down for long.¡±


    Franco winced as Telipei, a student of Caphicho¡¯s and the one who had just spoken, applied the gauze over his twice swollen cheek.


    ¡°If anything you¡¯re resilient,¡± spoke the half turn attendant. They were in a different room now, located, as Telipei briefly told him in the back of the training hall. After Franco¡¯s final fall he had attempted to get up one more time before promptly collapsing. A few of these flashes of consciousness had him meet the half turn who now attended him.


    Though then he had only managed hear the man¡¯s name and note the black grating that made his mouth.


    ¡°Aye to get up once against Master Capicho is one thing to do so three times? That was impressive,¡± spoke a different voice.


    Franco swerved his head. There was another turn there. He was pudgy with air of arrogance to him. Small eyes, kempt hair, a nigh permanent frown. He was a half turn too with the only marks of mechanization the two black columns that cut through his eye sockets. Remy stood a little ways behind the stranger. She had been quietly hogging a corner to herself.


    ¡°So you say we matched the appearance of rather suspect individuals?¡± said Franco.


    Telipei half nodded with a shrug, ¡°Well as a foreign man accompanied by a small half turn yes. Apologies for our lack of manners.¡±


    ¡°We knew you were not our man the moment you said Cantinio,¡± added the stranger.


    Telipei nodded again, ¡°But still¡­¡±


    ¡°We wanted to see you fight.¡±


    ¡°You lasted longer than we thought you would.¡±


    Franco shot up till he was sitting straight, ¡°How long was I asleep?¡± he asked abruptly.


    That seemed Remy¡¯s que as she stepped from her corner, ¡°Not long. Not if we leave now.¡±


    Her voice was expectantly quiet but he heard the urgency in it. She sought a drunk and senseless man, while he recalled the fleeting image of his one true love.


    ¡°Lansha, fetch me the towel! His face just heated!¡± cried Telipei.


    The pudgy man sighed to the request, ¡°It isn¡¯t a fever, Teli, what you see a sickness that cannot be cured. Lust,¡± he voiced the word with disgust. ¡°No wonder you lost to Master. Your heart isn¡¯t dedicated to your fists as it should be.¡±


    Franco pointed to his still swollen cheek, ¡°It is!¡± he boomed. ¡°Her punch was the worst I¡¯ve ever faired from a woman!¡± he trailed to that thought. He was sure Inyande could do better.


    Before Lansha could retort, as his outstretched hand suggested he would, he glanced down to find Remy there, her silver hand clutching the sleeve of his black robe.


    ¡°T-t-trou--¡±


    ¡°Right,¡± said Franco, catching her que, ¡°Have you two heard anything about a local troupe performing tonight?¡±


    Telipei and Lansha stared at each other. It happened instantly so Franco knew that they knew.


    ¡°I know you¡¯re a foreigner,¡± began Telipei, ¡°But do you by chance know of the former head student of Capicho¡¯s school for fighting?¡±


    ¡°No, not at all,¡± said Franco.


    A limping step sounded from the doorway.


    ¡°She was my best student,¡± grumbled Capicho. ¡°Damn shame she left for what she did. Music. Bah!¡±


    Franco sat straight to the sight of the old turn and fashioned a smile from his still swollen cheek, ¡°You fight well for aged metal.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯ve still a lot to learn,¡± snapped the man, finishing the last of his steps. ¡°Hmpf. But I see his likeness in you. Stubbornness to. You really are a Cantinio.¡±


    ¡°I knew it!¡± beamed Telipei.


    Franco glanced at Remy before re addressing the three men, ¡°Will you tell us more of this Troupe? We need urgently find them.¡±


    Capicho snorted, ¡°Hah! Like I know. Nonsensical bastards. Sing and dance all they like, no changing what the people truly want to see,¡± he patted his metallic bicep. ¡°A good fight.¡±


    ¡°We have a flier!¡± announced a much more useful Telipei. ¡°I left it among my things in the changing rooms. If you¡¯d like¡­¡±


    Caphicho sighed, ¡°Go.¡±


    ¡°By your leave master,¡± said Telipei before departing.


    ¡°So, what¡¯s the story?¡± began Lansha. ¡°You came to Jing Mon Ceros to fall in love?¡±


    Franco scratched the back of his head and laughed, ¡°heh, not quite. You see it all started when we came at the behest of admi-mffulfuffer.¡±


    Remy had silver hand over Franco¡¯s mouth She gave the two a nervous smile.


    ¡°H-he m-meant to find a friend. Yes! A f-friend.¡±


    She released her hand to the gasp of Franco. Lansha and Capicho shared a glance with skeptical brows raised in unison.


    ¡°If y-you¡¯d excuse us,¡± muttered the girl before pulling Franco into a huddle.


    ¡°Anxious one, why do you hide the truth?¡± asked Franco.


    ¡°Military protocol,¡± she whispered back. ¡°It¡¯s information that can harm the empire and by extension us. We keep quiet. Do not mention the man who brought us here. Especially after what he told us.¡±


    Franco pressed his brows low for a moment and raised them the next, ¡°oh,¡± he said.


    ¡°Yes,¡± said Remy.


    ¡°Fine, but let us atleast mix some manner of truth into our embellishment.¡±


    ¡°What do you¡ªhey!¡±


    Franco had spun back to the duo, ¡°Apologies for our quiet recess, but yes we¡¯ve come to find a friend.¡±


    ¡°So you can¡¯t tell us?¡± gathered Lansha.


    Franco smiled, ¡°No, not really.¡±


    Lansha shrugged, ¡°Fine by us. Our fists are the only truth we adhere to.¡±


    ¡°As it should be,¡± nodded Lansha.


    ¡°We¡¯ve also come here for another reason,¡± decided Franco. ¡°For when we do find our friend.¡±


    Remy stumbled to his side as he said that. As expected. His eyes trailed to the black window where muted rain pummeled. Had it been the day and he a clear view of the sky he would saw it move extraordinarily fast. They were moving.


    Even there, on the makeshift bed in a foreign school of fistwork, the building, the foundation, the city it stood on, all of it moved through the sky by way of a massive floating whale. And if it moved, then those who lived upon its back would have some idea as to where it moved.


    Franco recalled his second role.


    ¡°Maps,¡± he declared. ¡°In between our search I would pay a visit to the place in this city where you keep your maps. Particularly those pertaining to the outskirts of the Twelve Seas.¡±


    Lansha laughed at the suggestion, ¡°While I commend you for realising how much more we know of the world than you below landers, I doubt a turn born below the clouds could get royal permission to access our maps.¡±


    ¡°But perhaps he could.¡±


    ¡°Master?¡± said Lansha.


    Capicho had been scratching his steel chin for some time now, ¡°You are related to Fron, the very Fron who protects the sky whale¡¯s greatest asset: the Arbiter. That and a well written letter from should be enough. Very well. As thanks for entertaining an old man¡¯s wish for battle, I will get you your maps.¡±


    The door slid open as Telipei returned, scroll in hand.


    He unfurled it to reveal a gaudy depiction of musical notes and dancers.


    ¡°Found it,¡± he said flipping the scroll back so he could read it. ¡°Lets see. The show tonight should be ending near the Heavy¡­ oh.¡±


    ¡°What is it, Telipei?¡± asked Capicho.


    ¡°Master, it¡¯s the place Brother Ban warned us about before these two arrived¡­ and, I suspect, where the two wanted figures that we falsely accused Franco and Remy of being are .¡±


    ¡°The wanted ones,¡± puffed Capischo knowingly. ¡°Knowing the cowardice of that troupe they¡¯ll most likely cancel. You two will have better luck come the morrow.¡±


    ¡°If that is how it is, we¡¯ll wait,¡± said Franco.


    ¡°H-here!?¡± coughed Remy.


    The Cantinio nodded, ¡°We¡¯ll keep up the search of course, but until we find them I suggest we stay in the company of these fighters.¡±


    Capicho grumbled pleasantly, ¡°Oh? You wish for a rematch boy?¡±


    Franco leapt of the bed and landed flat on the wooden floorboards. He rose to his full height and noted how all four craned their heads up to see him. Up-landers, despite their name sake, were very short, so Franco, who was man considered tall even in the lands below, was a giant here. He punched his silver palm in anticipation. His smile followed his moving lips, ¡°As many as it takes.¡±

 My Problem and Yours

    It was raining.


    A short path of polished slabs lay black and fragmented as it led along a garden of silver pebbles. Miniature trees, gnarled and shrubby, populated the sides of the path while a clay wall blocked much of what would be behind that.


    The path started at the only opening in those walls and led to where the Professor sat now. It was the only rabbit shrine in Jing Mon Ceros.


    Rain reminded him of the Longhand of Five, though he did not know whether that was a good omen or bad. He slid his copper hands back on the cool wooden surface.


    ¡°Red would know,¡± he mumbled to the immutable rain.


    A door slid behind him. The quiet creak of wooden floor boards followed. A man dressed in black robes marked by a white lining lowered to a seat beside him.


    The stranger began nervously, ¡°W-we are truly blessed to h-have--¡±


    ¡°No formalities required, mate. Let me see him.¡±


    The Priest bowed his shaven head. His mechanization seemed to have been a clean one. Had it not been for the spotless tin skin, the Professor would have thought him a half turn. His plainness made him the ideal medium. He was a material waited to be molded and someone who had trained for exactly what the Professor required now.


    ¡°It won¡¯t hurt,¡± said the Professor, ¡°You¡¯ll only sleep for a bit. Promise.¡±


    The man nodded and the Professor reached for that peculiar tin head. The connection was immediate. The copper hand shifted white to the touch of it. White and furry.


    A heavy wind blew and rain splashed the wooden floorboards.


    ¡°Red,¡± said the Professor, ¡°Come to me.¡±


    Two long and white ears sprouted from his natural ones and the man gasped. His head flung back. The ears vanished as did the man, seemingly, utterly.


    Something flashed into existence within the still present clothes. A new man sat in the place of the priest. Red skin, red hair, red eyes and most telling of all, bushy brows. The robes settled over him. Red was quite skinny after all.


    ¡°So now you call me?¡± said Red as he glanced about himself. ¡°On a sky whale city at the dead of night?¡±


    ¡°I need your advice, Red.¡±


    The man nodded, ¡°Whatever you wish, sir.¡± He shifted. ¡°I¡¯m glad to see my spell has kept up.¡±


    The Professor smiled meekly. He was sitting back again. Once more his copper hands slid against the wood.


    ¡°About that.¡±


    Red pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head, ¡°Oh no.. no no no. Don¡¯t say it.¡±


    ¡°Oh very yes. A few of my, uh, companions saw me.¡±


    Red stood up. The wood groaned beneath his borrowed weight.


    ¡°I¡¯ll dispose of them at once.¡±


    ¡°Never one to wait, eh? Well I¡¯d rather you not dispose of anything. Savy an ear, mate?¡±


    ¡°Sir?¡±


    Red looked at him with a multifaceted expression. He had his brows pushed out, his ruby eyes sincere, and his lipless mouth a slight frown.


    The ear the Professor asked for stuck out sharply towards the ground. Red hair lapped behind it. That hair was not quite hair, the Professor thought. Rather fur as it joined directly with his skin. The hair like fur was styled back and composed, much like the man himself. Though he wasn¡¯t always that way.


    Once Red was a feral creature. Once he was lost. He was made cruel by a crueler world, the world of machines. He was a murderer, a monster, a vengeful hateful thing with more blood on him than oil. And he would have remained there had it not been for a rabbit in a blue hat.


    The Professor shrugged, ¡°They know and they don¡¯t. Something complicated like that I think. The girl, she knows, but you know that. The others, well, all they¡¯ve seen is a big dumb rabbit.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll learn eventually,¡± warned Red, crimson eyes flicking about. ¡°Especially here.¡±


    ¡°I think I¡¯ve grown to like them.¡±


    ¡°Like¡­ them...?¡± Red struggled at the words. ¡°You forget your circumstance. If any of the Twelve learn of this they¡¯ll turn against you. Must I remind you of the condition they gave you?¡±


    The Professor waved him off, ¡°Made of fear that. Don¡¯t mind it, Red. This isn¡¯t why I called you. ¡°


    ¡°What then?¡±


    The Professor thought long and hard. Even now the edges of his mind felt clearer. Sharper. It began in the islands of sand people, where for hours longer than he wished to remember, he relapsed. Everything was a dream and he had just woken up.


    ¡°I want to know if I should run,¡± he asked to the chorus of rain, ¡°if I should fulfill this prayer by myself.¡±


    Red¡¯s expression shifted to ease as he settled back down, ¡°this isn¡¯t for you is it?¡±


    The Professor laughed and rubbed the back of his spikey head, ¡°figure me out, eh?¡±


    ¡°Sir, for as long as I¡¯ve known you, you haven¡¯t changed once. You see danger in the path ahead and you walk it alone if only to spare the people you¡¯ve come to ¡®like¡¯.¡± He frowned as he articulated that last word, only to press his chin down and hold it with a claw as he thought. ¡°Let¡¯s see. Yes, I think you should run. It¡¯ll do neither party good should anything else of you be learned.¡±


    The Professor nodded, slowly leaning forwards until his hat poked out the rafters. Droplets collected on the curled lip of the headpiece.


    ¡°One more thing,¡± said the Professor as rainwater trickled to his sides. ¡°One of my companions, a half turn, real impressionable type, he reminds of the man who cured you.¡±


    Red¡¯s bushy brows cropped low, ¡°The man who ¡®cured¡¯ me also damned me.¡±


    The Professor smiled, ¡°In a way, yes, I suppose he did. But that turn. If anything he¡¯s the one reason I might consider staying.¡±


    ¡°Even after my council? He must be promising. Powerful. Do you see potential in him?¡±


    ¡°Tig?¡± laughed the Professor for the first time since they met. ¡°Mate, he¡¯s the least chosen out of any of us. But he has a power, aye.¡±


    ¡°What is it?¡± shook Red. ¡°Time magic? Transformation? Explosive intellect?¡±


    The Professor smiled at his standing companion, ¡°He reminds me of yet another turn. Only,¡± he said with shrug, ¡°a more docile version.¡± With goggle eyes retreating to the wetted slabs, the Professor strayed from the next bit. He had summoned his closest aide for another more pressing reason. It was a message that needed said and a bandage ready to open. And while he was not sure whether to rip that bandage open or to pry it slowly, he knew Red needed to hear it. He chose the former after a breath, ¡°I told him to pray to the First.¡±


    A gasp. Red¡¯s gasp. It was a striking startled thing that caught the Professor off guard.


    Red had flung forwards and his eyes balanced to the Professor¡¯s. There was urgency in them.


    ¡°You¡­ you did what?¡± spat red.


    ¡°Knew you¡¯d be mad.¡±


    ¡°Sir, if he does just that then¡­then¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be found out,¡± finished the Professor.


    Red sighed and plopped to a seat, ¡°Damn that letter.¡± He muttered.


    They sat there in silence as the rain filled the gaps. Even then the Professor was certain Red was deliberating a certain impressionable turn¡¯s demise. He would stop the man if he had to, but he knew Red had to know.


    ¡°Eh mate, I trust you¡¯ll prepare for the worst?¡±


    Red let the rain answer for moments before he decided on his words, ¡°This wasn¡¯t just for advice, was it?¡±


    The Professor smiled and tugged his head slightly.


    ¡°Very well,¡± grumbled Red, ¡°I will take the appropriate measures,¡± he stood then sat back down a moment later, crossed legged this time. ¡°Without killing the boy,¡± he added.


    ¡°Good. You may go. As will I when it¡¯s a little drier.¡± The Professor leaned back and drooped the hat over his face.


    ¡°I believe you¡¯ll do what¡¯s best, sir.¡±


    ¡°Go.¡±


    Red strayed a little while longer. The Professor could tell he was there by his scent and the faint rhythm of his heartbeat that was unlike any other. It was a war beat that drummed alone. The Professor was about ready to shoo him a third time when his aide spoke again.


    ¡°Sir, I take back what I said. You¡¯ve changed.¡±


    The Professor¡¯s hat dropped the moment Red¡¯s bright unturned flesh flashed to tin. He was gone then.


    ¡°Never one to wait,¡± murmured the copper man.


    The priest started awake a moment later. He slumped forwards immediately, taking deep and erratic breaths. His breathing slowed as he postured up. His chest settled in one last troubled breath and he turned to the Professor hopefully.


    ¡°Did I¡­ did I do well?¡± he asked.


    The Professor seemingly ignored him as the rain cleared to mists and the remnants of it trickled from the rafters. He stood up. The wood creaked beneath him. He smiled dumbly and spun on his heel, teetering dangerously to the second step of three. Then and there he became the same drunk idiot the world knew him by.


    ¡°The wellest, mate.¡±


    ¡­


    Jing Mon Ceros slept under the gentle shower of rain. A thousand thousand turns dreamt in harmony and enjoyed a deep slumber. Had they fallen asleep to the gentle chorus, they would stay so in the oil black skies that followed. So when the rain vanished, they kept dreaming. Some recalled the past days events, others saw nothing and few a hopeful future. But to those who braved the night out of merriment or fear, their eyes drifted to the speeding skies when the downpour ended. Sky whale rains ended for more than one reason. But whether the whale had swam passed the thundering clouds or whether the clouds had given up the downpour, Tig had work to do.


    More and more night goers flocked back to the streets. Plans were re-established and venues revisited. Raibo¡¯s Rats had one more performance that night and with the rain gone that performance would attract the largest crowd.


    The penultimate performance turned into the fourth to last. They were stopped on two different occasions to the anxious crowds, and on both Tig toiled tirelessly with understaffed crews to set up the stages, even whilst the rain hammered down.


    It just so happened he was good at it. Stage set up and takedown required management, proper planning and organizational skills, all of which the Rats lacked spectacularly but Tig exceeded in.  He thanked Marici¡¯s hard lessons for that. Hardwork and preparation, as Mr. Marici always said, those were steps to success.


    The moment a performance ended in earnest, he¡¯d split the assisting members of the troupe into three teams. He had Lucy and her musicians guide the guests out, directed the dancers Welt and Zhe on takedown and worked with Tang the painter for moving. He would personally organise the goods on the prop cart. Fragile props tucked beneath costumes and heavier equipment, the stage itself, tied down. They agreed to his plans at first thanks to Lucy¡¯s testimony, then followed handily when they witnessed his success. Faster takedown meant more shows. One extra show was a blessing, two was unprecedented.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    The real penultimate performance had just come to a close, and with the crowds diminishing, Tig began immediately. Lucy helped.


    ¡°You¡¯re quite skilled at this, lad. Done it before?¡±


    Lucy was a walking tower next to his half made height. He took two steps for every one of hers and both walked side by side as they carried boxes of props to the caravan. Tig carried his with both hands diligently. Lucy held hers with one.


    The street they had just performed in was a narrow one. Houses hugged either side of the road and the outline of the city walls could be seen against the brightening sky.


    ¡°A little,¡± he admitted, ¡°back when I cared for my family¡¯s estate and before that when I lived with my mother. She relied on me much since I was little. I also had a prude for a teacher who made me plan everything.¡±


    ¡°Family, eh?¡± she said thoughtfully. ¡°Well good to have that I suppose. Bile, Koto and the crew are my family and before that the Capicho¡¯s fighting school.¡±


    ¡°You were a fist fighter?¡± said Tig, craning up to Lucy. Tig frowned to her blissful grin, ¡°Why does that not surprise me?¡±


    ¡°Heh, not just any fist fighter, but Master Capicho¡¯s best,¡± she declared triumphantly.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± he said as he nearly tripped in the underlit pathway.


    ¡°Careful.¡±


    ¡°Why did you quit for this? Aren¡¯t fist fighters venerated here?¡±


    Lucy let her tin head tip up as they walked. In that angle she reminded him of Wilma. The same Wilma that told him about the above lander traditions. He had asked once about Kura and that led to a lecture on how the martial schools opened were there by up-lander nobles.


    Fistwork and the movement of the body was sacred to the above landers. Both as body guards and artists. Movement, especially in combative form, was considered the ultimate patronage to the twelve divine beasts, since every form mimicked the posture of a beast. A fist fighter had the same value as an advanced written magician in the world above the world. Tig found it absurd. There was nothing to be venerated in one turn viciously beating another.


    ¡°Music,¡± said Lucy after much deliberation.


    Tig lowered the box onto the caravan as she said that. He frowned to that answer. Musicians, on the other hand, had less value than a porter. In both worlds.


    ¡°There is freedom in music,¡± she continued as she dropped her box onto the tightly packed prop carriage. ¡°I couldn¡¯t explain it without my flute. Though it doesn¡¯t matter how or what you do with music, just that it makes a sound. You could tap or hum or whistle. Every feeling, every thought can be made with music and what¡¯s better, people will listen to it.¡±


    They were heading back for more boxes now. Music was not a concept he had much of a luxury of admiring. Not while growing up atleast.


    ¡°And of those who can¡¯t hear?¡± he asked off mindedly.


    Lucy hummed to that, ¡°They¡¯ll listen with their eyes.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think it works that way.¡±


    ¡°Just how many deaf turns do you know these days?¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± he struggled to answer that.


    ¡°Oi Lucy, managers wants to see you,¡± called an on-coming Bile.


    ¡°Now? But I¡¯ve to help our new member here.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re here to play, Lucy, not lift, no matter how muscle bound you are,¡± said Bile.


    ¡°You¡¯re one to talk, Bile.¡±


    ¡°Go, will you?¡±


    Lucy gave the boy a heavy shrug and turned dramatically to the caravan. The two watched her as she marched off like a toy soldier, each step fixed and rigid.


    ¡°I see you¡¯ve been getting to know our flutist,¡± said Bile.


    ¡°She reminds me of someone,¡± he said with a smile, ¡°two people actually.¡±


    ¡°Then you¡¯ve a knack for meeting strange turns.¡±


    ¡°A curse really.¡±


    Bile gestured towards the boxes and the two walked.


    ¡°I know what you¡¯re thinking,¡± she said as they walked, ¡°you¡¯re thinking I¡¯m a hypocrite who sent our dear Lucy away to do exactly what I told her not to. Well I¡¯m different. My music requires timing and strength hers relies entirely on her fingers.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d think a fighter would have sturdier fingers,¡± said Tig.


    Bile smiled and paused by the stack of boxes, ¡°She told you about that, huh? Well she¡¯s a fighter no longer. She¡¯s one of us, as is Koto,¡± she said turning to the aloof girl sitting on the edge of the second cart. ¡°As could you.¡±


    Tig blinked. His hands had just curled under the bottom of a crate, ¡°Me? I barely know you I can¡¯t--¡± He thought back to the night he left with Verace and his finger tensed around the crate, ¡°I can¡¯t just leave with strangers¡­¡±


    With her own crate lifted up, she bumped shoulders with him. He caught the slightest smile below her mechanized bangs, ¡°You¡¯ve two feet. Two hands. Not to mention you seem quite capable of managing the stage setup.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m to leave this city in a week.¡±


    ¡°And who says you got to do that?¡±


    Tig laughed meekly. He hadn¡¯t the heart to say ¡®one of the four admirals of Imperial Navy¡¯.


    ¡°A convincing old turn,¡± he decided.


    ¡°So you¡¯d rather follow some crumpled elder then three astonishingly beautiful women?¡±


    ¡°We¡ªI --owe him for even getting here. It wouldn¡¯t be right to deny him.¡± Nor would it be possible.


    ¡°Which brings me to my next point,¡± she said turning abruptly, ¡°How did you get here?¡±


    Again he felt at a loss. He glanced instinctively at where he thought the great closkship docked. He saw the constantly moving sky shift lazily to twilight oranges as he did. Dawn was fast approaching. And with it the end of this strange turn of events. He kept moving, a little faster this tiem to catch up to Bile who had gone ahead.


    He thought it the end but he knew he¡¯d be there for a week at most. Just as he spent a week at Kura he realised.


    ¡°Kura,¡± he lied cleverly again by her side. ¡°I came here as a student from Kura.¡±


    ¡°Well you do seem the scholarly type,¡± she dipped her chin. ¡°Right, I won¡¯t pry anymore.¡±


    That decleration came with a drop of her box on the amassed pile of Tig¡¯s efforts. He eyed the neatly packed thing with pride. In the short hours he had spent setting up two shows and taking down three, he had utterly rearranged the troupe¡¯s packing system.


    ¡°I¡¯m good at this,¡± he thought out loud. He found it strange how often he became tangled in his own thoughts.


    He heard balljoints pop and caught Bile cracking her knuckles.


    ¡°One more show, eh?¡± she said with a smile.


    ¡°One more show,¡± he nodded back.


    They boarded the first carriage shortly after. It was half a barrel fashioned with wrought iron rimmed wheels and drawn by two mechanized cows. Four cows in total sicne there were two carriages. One for people and the other for props.


    Tig sat straight in his spot at the edge of the carriage next to Koto. The prop carriage bounced along the path behind him, but never too high as he expected. Wilma had told him why. The above landers fashioned springs at the connections of the wheels. Some had even begun to experiment with rubber wheels. It reminded him of a paper he wrote once. He delayed in producing it and so Wilma lent him a hand. They had stayed up all night cooped up in Marici¡¯s personal library until Wilma was satisfied with what Tig concocted: Modern Technology: This Land and Above. He had not thought that report would ever be more than a hassle. But here he was proven wrong.


    The carriage was not the end of the above landers¡¯ innovations. Even then the shadows of flying umbrellas passed over them. Full turns pushed small yet noisy carts up and down the expanding road sucking up litter along the way. And over the tops of the houses he saw plumes of steam escaping newly awoken households and mingling with the first signs of morn. Nearly every house here used steam power. He thought back gingerly to Verace and remembered his dorms¡¯ stubborn reliance on an outdated fireplace even during the colder months. Steam was much more efficient, a sign of the times. It was the raw power of water made manifest.


    Tig watched the last traces of steam plumes expand into the fiery sky.


    A new dawn was coming and the land above the clouds would always be closer to it. Their own carriage bounced lightly. He heard the rattle of wheels beneath him. He thought back to what he was sitting on. It was a strange thing that carriage. The cows that pulled it were stranger still.


    They were made of tightly slung steel plates with the darker plates forming the spots a cow would normally have. Their eyes were yellow gaslamps.


    There was one advancement the people below made that those above hadn¡¯t. Mechanobiology. He had grazed over the subject in his paper and after two years he had forgotten it. It would have remained that way had it not been for the scientist on Mor¡¯de¡¯s ship.


    When living things turned into machines they could be used as parts. That was as potent as steam if done correctly. Powered limbs, immortality, clock ships¡­ The clever tinkerers of homeland and the next concocted all manner of devices using mechanized animal parts. Though he wondered if that stopped at animals¡­.


    He shuddered as something warm touched his shoulder. He saw Koto looking his way. It was a welcome sight. She was all flesh afterall.


    ¡°You think too much,¡± she said simply, ¡°Relax.¡±


    He tried that for a moment and for the moment the rest of everything distracted him instead. He had drained out much of the cart¡¯s noises as it traveled. There were eight others including the carriage driver, Bile, Koto and Lucy. They had been sitting in various positions as they talked amoungst themselves. Laughter often spiked from their spots. He recognized one man, a short and chubby turn, to be the manager as he nodded silently to Lucy¡¯s recollection of something that made Bile shake her head.


    ¡°I, uh, yeah not enough sleep is all,¡± said Tig, returning to Koto.


    ¡°They say when people turn into machines they sleep less.¡±


    ¡°They can sleep less, yes. Like eating it¡¯s optional...¡± Too close. He slid away. The cart had distracted him from who he sat next to and more importantly, how close she sat. He could practically smell the floral shampoos waft from her, hear the beat of her heart, her breath.


    He thought of the bathhouse and swallowed. He smiled at her briefly before sliding some more in a tactical maneuver. She destroyed the distance.


    ¡°You know,¡± she said to his frozen expression, ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking too.¡±


    The idle converse stopped. Bile, Lucy, the manager¡ªall of them¡ªturned to Koto with raised brows and open mouths splattered on their faces.


    ¡°You?¡± said Bile. ¡°Thinking?¡±


    ¡°Oh yes,¡± she said happily, ¡°I would very much like to do this ¡®mechanization¡¯ thing. Where do I sign up?¡±


    ¡°Koto,¡± said Bile, ¡°you¡­ you don¡¯t sign up for it.¡±


    ¡°What then? It seems awfully convenient.¡±


    The quiet manager and the dancer next to him, Zhe, rumbled a laugh. The chuckle spread until it caught all except Koto and Tig in its infectious grasp. A full turned man sitting next to Lucy offered a bottle, still stifling his own laugh.


    ¡°A drink to Koto?¡± said the man.


    ¡°You¡¯d drink to anything, Tang,¡± laughed Lucy.


    ¡°Ahem,¡± heads turned to the stout man on the other side of Lucy. The manager was bald with bolted iron skin and little black eye glasses. ¡°Tang, not until we¡¯re done. That¡¯s the rule.¡±


    The bottle dipped, ¡°Yes manager.¡±


    ¡°Awfully convenient?¡± scoffed Bile, redirecting them to the girl¡¯s words, ¡°Koto, the fact that our bodies turn into machines is anything but! We are fragile when we still have flesh and everything felt in that state is so much more¡­ more real. Eating, sleeping, touching, smelling, all the other animal sensations we take as a given when we¡¯re half turns, you miss it all the more when it¡¯s gone.¡±


    ¡°Bile¡¯s right,¡± said the manager. ¡°Enjoy life while you¡¯re still a half turn or a no turn in your case.¡±


    ¡°No turn?¡± asked Tig.


    ¡°Ah you don¡¯t know.¡± Lucy leaned over with her long limbs. ¡°Koto¡¯s not from around her.¡±


    ¡°Though her head¡¯s in the clouds,¡± muttered Bile.


    A smaller laugh rumbled through.


    ¡°Then where are you from?¡± said Tig.


    Koto flung her arm towards the horizon where streaks of red sliced the sky. For a moment he thought she¡¯d say what the Professor said that day.


    Squint really hard and you might see it.


    But then she swivelled that arm in the opposite direction, almost slapping Tig in the process.


    ¡°West. Far west. Really far west,¡± she answered.


    ¡°Aye, she¡¯s not exaggerating,¡± said Tang with a swish of his bottle. ¡°So damn west none of us know where it is.¡±


    Tig made a weak smile. They had not known of Verace either. ¡°Give me a name,¡± he tried.


    ¡°Red¡¯s Song, capital of the Final Verse.¡±


    Tig blinked, ¡°What¡­?¡±


    ¡°Told you,¡± snickered Tang.


    The cart bounced a bit and Tig felt her warm weight press against him. She wasn¡¯t mechanized. Not one bit. His throat clicked. Was that even possible? He had to ask.


    ¡°Then the people there¡­ they¡¯re not mechanized like we are?¡±


    Koto shook her head then caught her chin in a pinch, ¡°Well no, not really. In fact it surprised me when I first saw machine people in my travels. Though I got used to it as I saw more and more. City¡¯s worth, countries worth. Empires. Really was a lot more common than I thought. But, oh that¡¯s life I guess.¡±


    The cart began to slow. He saw walls stretch high and far in his peripherals, but it was the girl who remained in his focus.


    ¡°How long have you been traveling?¡± he asked at last.


    ¡°Four years I think.¡±


    ¡°One with us!¡± said Lucy.


    ¡°Four¡­ years¡­?¡±


    He nearly tumbled over the cart to her listless nod. While that time could have been spent in one or two places rather an unimaginable distance, her casual recollection of an Empire¡¯s worth of turns made him think otherwise.


    Koto Tet was more a foreigner than he.


    Somewhere, four years to the west, there was a land untouched by mechanization and Koto knew all about it. He thought for a moment of how Kura would eat her up. There was no mention of land further west on any maps, in any books. He had not even met a turn who mentioned it. In the East lay the Mad Tinker. The south, the endless deserts of the Hourglass, to the north the wintery version of that. The west was a mystery. The cart continued, the walls in his sights grew and larger until a shadow overtook them for a good minute and they re-emerged to unhindered light. Tig craned about with his sights half blocked.


    No longer were there houses there, nor were the umbrella fliers, nor the steam plumes. That was behind him encased in a wall as high as two houses.


    Rolling green hills stretched ahead and beyond that, white. Something black and enormous burst through the white and slowly sunk back in.


    It was a flipper. He had almost forgotten that he was on the back of a floating mechanical whale.


    ¡°This is fairly far out,¡± said Lucy. ¡°Are you sure we¡¯ll get much reception, manager?¡±


    ¡°Rest assured, girl, this inn has been very popular as of late. The sights alone invite much of the stationed soldiers to spend a night there.¡±


    ¡°Sights, huh?¡± said Bile, ¡°Sure it has nothing to do with above lander girls who do not want to be seen with their foreign lovers?¡±


    ¡°I try to be more discreet than you girls,¡± scoffed the manager.


    Bile grinned to that, ¡°Well, you certainly try.¡±


    The manager puffed and flipped his head away with crossed arms, ¡°Well of course you would know, Bile, what with your connections to the other band of up-to-no-goods who frequent this place.¡±


    ¡°My old crew is here!?¡± she chirped, leaning forwards.


    ¡°I thought you cut ties,¡± said Lucy.


    Bile sat back down, ¡°I did. Been a long time is all. While I¡¯m sure most of em¡¯s changed in the ranks, there might be one¡ªmaybe two remaining I might know.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± said Tang, ¡°Might introduce me to some, eh?¡±


    Bile frowned, ¡°They¡¯re all men.¡±


    ¡°Nevermind.¡±


    The inn in question came into view seconds later. It was a two story place with designs more reminiscent of veracian architecture. Tig could almost imagine the vines that marked its limestone walls. Or its watery reflection that splayed the red sidings in full glory. The crowds gathered at its front spoke of a popular stop worth of the Rats¡¯ final performance.


    ¡°Ah here we are,¡± said the manager as the cart began its slow, ¡°the Heavy Hare the finest inn in... in¡­ oh beasts.¡±


    Bile and Lucy were the first ones to leap off when the cart finally stopped. The crowd Tig noted was full of city guards. Some had books out while others were hoisting stretchers with bodies covered by linens.


    Tig dared to see where the bodies were transported and saw lines of them just behind the building. He felt sick. His burning village flashed in his mind.


    ¡°You alright, Tig?¡± asked Koto.


    ¡°Fine just¡­ bad memories,¡± he saw Lucy and Bile talking to a guard a few strides from their cart. Bile glanced back with her hair covered face. She was frowning. Troubled.


    She made her way back with Lucy minutes later.


    ¡°Show¡¯s canceled,¡± she said with a sigh, ¡°happened yesterday evening. Some foreigner dressed in red came in and wrecked havoc. Guards say he killed everyone who fought him. Even ¡­ even¡­ ¡±


    ¡°Get this,¡± interjected Lucy. ¡°He wasn¡¯t alone. They say he had a girl with. Little one too. I couldn¡¯t imagine why. Nor could the guards by the sounds of it.¡±


    The manager had his arms crossed tightly. He looked up with his black specs and gave a decisive nod, ¡°Sad as it may be, we have no time to rest. We¡¯ve been traveling through the night telling all manner of turns to meet us here. Now we must do the opposite. I¡¯d rather not have any poor half turn traumatized thanks to us.¡±


    ¡°Good call, manager,¡± said Tang.


    The others nodded their affirmation.


    But not Tig.


    He had been fixed on a single word that would not leave his mind.


    ¡°Did you say Red?¡±

 Red

    Bile stared at him with an annoyed frown, ¡°Aye I said red. Something the matter, Tig?¡±


    ¡°I need to go.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    Tig lowered himself off the carriage, ¡°I said I need to go. But not before you tell me what I need to know. The night¡¯s over yeah? Then I¡¯ve kept my end of our bargain. Now I need you to do the same. Where is the orange man?¡±


    ¡°Just like that?¡± said Bile, her mouth quivering. ¡°Not even a second thought, after my friends...¡± she shook you her, breathing hard. ¡°You¡¯d leave just like--¡±


    Lucy had her hand stretched in front of Bile, ¡°Rabbit Shrine. Far corner of the City. Do you remember where we met?¡±


    He nodded.


    ¡°Follow that road instead of turning. As you go, you¡¯ll see small posts with rabbits sitting on top. Follow the arrows of those signs.¡±


    Tig made a second, deeper nod, ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll be back?¡±


    Koto. She asked what he wanted to know himself. Would he? Ever since he jumped off that dock, nothing was guaranteed anymore. He could be where ever the hours wanted him to be, but he would not know until then. He knew now, however, that if he stayed their lives would be in danger.


    Red.


    A man dressed in red had killed dozens by himself. Tig knew what he was the moment he heard Red. That man had a name and Tig shared the last half of it.


    ¡°I will,¡± lied Tig, ¡°But when I do I¡¯ll find you, so don¡¯t wait for me.¡±


    He left with a running start. The figures of Lucy, Bile, Koto and the rest slowly dwindled in size behind him. He had to hurry.


    While the performing troupe could be spared, his companions were in constant danger. Vene knew and if Vene knew the others of his family did to. Had his friends been deemed a distraction as Vene deemed them then their lives were forfeit, especially if a Trimbly was truly there.


    The least he could do was find them and make sure they were safe before confronting whoever it was that ventured to Jing Mon Ceros.


    Lucy¡¯s retort played in his mind as he raced to the walls. She said he was accompanied by a little girl. That narrowed it down.


    Had Bile said the man was big and broad shouldered then he could be certain. The man who attacked the Heavy Hare last night was Lenimi, the second son of Toklo Trimbly and Tig¡¯s half-brother.


    But why here? Why now? Why at the most inopportune time when they were all scattered?


    He reached inside his robe as he ran. The soap was there. All he needed was to wet it to notify Gemjo and, with the rain, water was everywhere. Finding Franco and Remy after that would be easy with Gemjo in tow.


    He nearly tripped as he closed in on the walls. He considered the opposite scenario. Lenimi was stronger than Vene despite being a year younger. If he chose to attack while they were all gathered he could conceivably decimate them. No, he thought as he passed the walls, he had to find the professor, get him to meet with others, then run. That was the only way.


    He honed his plan as he trekked the remainder of the streets. He had to be fast. The streets were filling unendingly. Yawning faces populated the light touched stalls. Sandals clacked and splashed. The cleaners were gone and in their places untold umbrella fliers filled the skies. The steam drunk air had changed to smoke and spices.


    He looked for the rabbit signs and found none at first, then, as he reached the same street where he met the Raibo¡¯s Rats in, he saw the first sign. There he stopped and crouched to catch his breath.


    The signpost stood half the height of a house high lamp post. There were no words written on its aged wooden frame, only an arrow that pointed further down the street. An off white rabbit sculpture sat on top.


    Here, where morning lights grazed the dirt road and people had yet to awake, Tig thought of how he would admonish the drunk before pleading him to run. He practised his goodbye. He hated goodbyes. But he hated funerals even more.


    Koto flashed in his head as he stood up to reassume his run. Mechanization was awfully convenient indeed.


    He began his run. Awfully convenient. One step after another, he felt the pangs. His metal feet felt heavy in his boots. His wooden arms, heavier still.


    Mechanization meant a never ending life, but only if the body remained unharmed. He wondered if Koto knew how unreasonable that condition was. People were reckless, hateful, they killed and would be killed. His own family was the peak of that madness. If turns could live forever why didn¡¯t they? He didn¡¯t understand it. He could not. And so he ran. He ran and ran, until his mechanized lungs pained him and his still fleshy heart beat like pistons. The world bounced in his sights.


    Another rabbit sped behind him. That was third. Only houses remained ahead, marking the inevitable wall behind that in crooked rooves and gnarled scaffolding. Then the narrow street became constricting. What was once a proper street tumbled into a wide gap between houses and then an alleyway.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Produce and garbage littered the place he had to walk. It stunk terribly of rot through his un-mechanized nose.


    ¡°Awfully convenient indeed,¡± he muttered in a nasally tone.


    The last rabbit sign had pointed forwards while the alley itself was dark and the end of it blindingly bright. He heard something squish under his footing as he squeezed through.


    ¡°Keep walking Tig,¡± he said to himself. ¡°Keep walking¡­¡±


    The alley ended and he squinted to the immediate light. He smelled the earthy fragrance of rainfall intertwined with the burn of candles and when light returned to him, he saw it.


    It was a small shrine that sat upon a hill. The walls of Jing Mon Ceros towered above it and a smaller red clay wall fenced it. Curved arches made the entrance, open and marked with a sitting rabbit at its top. Compared to the rest of the red city what surrounded the shrine was green. Verdant. As if a forest could have grown there had it not been for the domineering houses that clung greedily to the hill¡¯s base.


    The trees that grew there were strange and gnarled things with bushels of mossy leaves that cast shadows over the hill.


    The wind blew and several leaves brushed over the street Tig stood on.


    He nodded to himself in the scatter of greens. This was it, the rabbit shrine. He traveled up the hill carefully. He thought of what he wanted to say to the Professor, of how he wanted to warn the man no matter what became of it.


    And Tig knew he would be there. He would not have told Lucy and the others to tell him had he not intended to wait. He had to be there. He had to¡­.


    Tig paused at the last of the steps.


    ¡°Ah, a visitor.¡±


    The voice came from within the fenced shrine. Tig placed it as the voice of the robed man who tread towards him.


    His head was perfectly shaven and tin. His eyes were closed and cheerful. He had his arms crossed and tucked in his sleeves. Each of his steps were measured as he took to the boy.


    ¡°Have you come to pray to Rabbit, young one?¡±


    Tig shook his head and glanced about as he took the first step in. ¡°No, I¡¯m to meet a man. He had copper for skin. Did you see him?¡±


    ¡°Copper? Did you say Cop¡ªahg!¡±


    The tin headed man clutched his head giving Tig a start.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± asked Tig, rushing to his side. ¡°I¡¯m a doctor. Well apprentice, let me see!¡±


    ¡°Back!¡± coughed the man, ¡°Back!¡±


    ¡°But--¡±


    Tig hesitated as long white ears sprouted out of the man¡¯s head. No amount of the Observations on Mechanization could explain that. That was magic.


    He did not know whether to run or help. The man had crumpled low now with both hands clutching his head painfully.


    Then the ears vanished and with them, so did the man. Something strange and red appeared in the robes before they could fall.


    Its pure ruby eyes flicked to Tig immediately.


    ¡°Tell me,¡± it started with a low and intelligent voice. ¡°Why do you follow him?¡±


    ¡°W-W-What did you do that man?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re afraid of me,¡± said the figure as it rose. ¡°But I won¡¯t say to rest easy. Not yet.¡± He gestured at the chest that was not his own. ¡°The man you saw was a medium. He¡¯ll reappear once I go, but I won¡¯t go until you answer my questions. Why do you follow him?¡±


    ¡°Who?¡±


    The creature reached him impossible fast and stopped moments before gripping Tig by the collar. Its long and sharp claws curled back.


    ¡°The one you call the Professor,¡± he said in instant composure.


    ¡°How do you¡­ why do you know about that?¡±


    ¡°His interests are my own. Answer me. Now.¡±


    Tig dipped his head low. He felt a shiver pass him. What stood before him, unlike anything he had ever seen before, was dangerous. He had lived among killers long enough to know one. More so it was red.


    ¡°Answer my question first,¡± said Tig in a moment of sparse bravery. ¡°Did you attack a small inn just outside the city?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    He frowned to that. He had hoped he had been wrong about his previous assumption, but he appreciated the answer all the same.


    ¡°We met by chance,¡± said Tig.


    The red thing narrowed his brows, stepping closer.


    ¡°Pure chance. I was troubled and he¡­¡±


    Closer.


    ¡°He happened to have the ship to let me escape?¡± tried Tig.


    The red man growled.


    Tig flinched, ¡°I don¡¯t know, honestly,¡± he said quickly. ¡°He was a stranger who had just beaten my instructor. He asked if I wanted to leave and I jumped and ever since I¡­ by all rights I should not have followed him. He¡¯s a perpetual drunk, caused more trouble than good and even now we¡¯re scattered because of him. He¡¯s given me and my companions every reason to abandon him but we haven¡¯t. I haven¡¯t. So perhaps there¡¯s only one reason for it. Yes that must be it,¡± Tig looked the red monster in the eye, ¡°I think I¡¯ve taken a liking to him.¡±


    The man surrendered a step. Then another. He kept back with head held low. For a moment he seemed to be lost in thought. Considerate even.


    ¡°Did he tell you to say that?¡± he said shortly after.


    Tig blinked, ¡°No?¡±


    ¡°Then perhaps I was wrong.¡± The red man fixed his robe and crouched to Tig¡¯s height. He held out his clawed hand palm first. ¡°I doubt you will see me again Tiguak Trimbly, but know that I am the master¡¯s closest aide, the one he calls ¡®Red¡¯.¡±


    ¡°Fitting name.¡±


    Red raised a bushy brow.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± pipped Tig.


    ¡°He trusts you. I do not. What has he told you about himself?¡±


    Tig stepped back to that.


    ¡°I will not harm you,¡± said the beast softly.


    The boy swallowed, ¡°He tried to tell me once what he was. Though he wasn¡¯t very clear about it. Something about beasts.¡±


    Red nodded and pointed to the rabbit sculpture on the top of the arch, ¡°What do you know of the Twelve Great Beasts, Tiguak Trimbly?¡±


    ¡°That there are twelve of them,¡± he said honestly and with his eyes quick to the rabbit sculpture.


    ¡°Then listen carefully and only listen. Everything I tell you now you will never repeat.¡±


    Tig nodded, his head still turned to the rabbit.


    ¡°There are Twelve Great Beasts that the people of these lands and a few others revere as divines. But unlike divines of lesser creatures, the great beasts are very real. All twelve of them. The Professor is one of them.¡±


    Tig blinked with an immediate spin to Red, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, what? He¡¯s a god?¡±


    ¡°Listen,¡± stressed the crouching man. ¡°He is a Great Beast, the Rabbit, but to know that is nothing special. The priests here, the emperor and his court, your admiral¡ªthey all know that and I take no offense in any more knowing.¡±


    ¡°Then¡­?¡±


    Red squinted, ¡°It is the second part that begs discretion.¡±


    Before the boy could inquire, Red stretched his arms out the space around them rippled like the waves of the ocean. Something sharp and unseen cut a glowing white circle in the dirt below them and from it grew a glass-like dome that encompassed the boy and the beast. Tig saw a single leaf as it drifted beside him and outside the ephemeral wall. The leaf slowed to a still midair. The space they were in had accelerated. Tig snapped to the man before him. He knew this trick. Not only was he the Professor¡¯s closest aide but he was also a practitioner of time magic.


    ¡°You¡¯re aware of chromodynamics, yes?¡± asked the man with gesture at the frozen outside. ¡°Then by the second law you know that I¡¯ve just stalled you. Possibly for hours, days even.¡±


    Tig started, ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Discretion mostly. What I saw now, no living thing will hear. Only you,¡± he said pointing at Tig. ¡°And me. So listen well. The Professor you know as the drunk, idiotic man is also¡­¡± he stalled deliberately, stretching to his full height and fashioning a grin, ¡°The First Hour.¡±

 Runaways

    There was something nostalgic about the children of Mother Minjo¡¯s Orphanage. Screeches intermingled with restless cries and the clatter of countless toppled things. Loud, that was it. Gemjo sat on the ¡®warm¡¯ bed she was promised and held her ears shut. Her frown was the smallest manifestation of her immeasurable misery.


    ¡°Better be a good scarf,¡± she muttered as another cry joined the first.


    The room she was in was small, but large in comparison to the humble orphanage. It had one bed, one window at the foot of the bed, dresser placed absurdly far from said bed and a door for privacy. Suffice to say, the door had failed.


    ¡°Niss Jo? Niss Jo! Are you listening?¡± two girls about half her age and height stood beside the bed. Both were above landers. One was on the verge of tears while the other, the accuser, had a tongue that was sharper than a sword. Skinny, pale, with black hair and brown dresses, the girls could have been twins with different hairstyles. Sharp tongue had a short mushroom cut that ended near her ears while Quiet girl had long drooping hair that ended at her hips.


    Sharp tongue had a decapitated rabbit doll in her arms. Quiet girl had the head held in hers.


    Gemjo yawned and pointed at Niss Sharp tongue, ¡°Right I think I understand. One of you owned a rabbit¡ª¡±


    ¡°Exactly!¡± cried Sharp tongue.


    ¡°--And the other ate it.¡±


    Both girls blinked. Their expressions became one for a moment, their slight agape mouths and lowered brows identical.


    ¡°What!¡± said one furiously while the other mumbled it.


    Gemjo waved them off, ¡°Eating stuffing¡¯s unhealthy. Bad children. Go think about what you¡¯ve done while I, uh, rest for your troubles.¡±


    The girls stared at each other as the sea wolf stretched and rolled over. It was an awful thing that bed. Worse than rain. It was tough and grainy and cold. But a bed was a bed if she could sleep on it. And sleep was sleep¡­


    ¡°Niss Jo?¡± said the quieter one.


    ¡°I¡¯m asleep.¡±


    ¡°Um, but sleeping turns don¡¯t talk?¡±


    Gemjo rolled back to them and the bed pushed her cheek up as she spoke, ¡°Aye so why are you talking and not sleeping? It¡¯s late¡­¡± her eyes rolled to the ceiling as she guessed at the time, ¡°I think.¡±


    ¡°The Matron isn¡¯t here,¡± declared sharp tongue, ¡°we can do as we wish.¡±


    Gemjo frowned, her cheek still mushed by the bed, ¡°Not sure that¡¯s how it works.¡±


    ¡°Anything we wish. Just not stealing!¡± declared Sharp tongue


    ¡°Rabbits are ugly,¡± said Gemjo. ¡°Believe me when I say I¡¯ve seen the worst of them, but if you insist on fighting over that drunk--¡±


    ¡°Drunk?¡±


    ¡°Er rabbit, then do it with a new one, not one that neither of you can repair.¡±


    ¡°What of justice?!¡± cried Sharp tongue.


    ¡°What of it?¡± asked Gemjo. ¡°No amount of justice will bring back your thing. Besides you¡¯re orphans, shouldn¡¯t you be used to owning nothing?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why,¡± said the quieter girl, clutching the rabbit head tightly. ¡°That¡¯s why it matters.¡±


    Gemjo studied Quiet girl. It was the quiet ones who had the most to say. The quiet ones who had the loudest voices when it mattered. Perhaps the girl had glimpsed the truth of it. That it was the rich who owned things and the poor that lost to them.


    For a moment Gemjo spied at their necks. Nothing, not these two, but she felt the need to confirm what she could.


    ¡°Did the Matron say anything about me when I got here?¡± asked Gemjo as she sat up on the bed. ¡°When she whisked you lot upstairs?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± said Quiet girl. ¡°Just that we could trust you and that you¡¯d watch over us.¡±


    ¡°I see. Then know that I have a lot more in common than you then you think,¡± Gemjo reached out and messed the heads of both the girls. ¡°So trust me when I say owning things will only make you sad. True, having a decently sized purse is a necessity, but only for the things you truly need. Food, place to sleep. None of this luxury.¡±


    ¡°So what?¡± bit back Sharp tongue. ¡°You want me to forgive her for stealing my rabbit?¡±


    ¡°I owned it before though,¡± whimpered Quiet girl.


    ¡°You pawned it to me for cogs remember? You really wanted that sweet puff so I graciously lent you the money. Taking it back without paying your dues, with your owed compounded interest by the way, that¡¯s a felony, a sin without a deed done to compensate. Three years mandatory prison or face judgement by the Arbiter upon plea.¡±


    Gemjo stretched her frown. This girl knew her laws. With her hands still on the younger girls¡¯ heads she turned them back to her and looked them squarely in their eyes, gold against black.


    ¡°It seems you¡¯ve both blundered,¡± said Gemjo. ¡°Aye one of you stole it, but it only broke because you, the ¡®victim¡¯, clung to it too tightly.¡±


    ¡°Only because she clung to it just as tightly.¡±


    Gemjo sighed, released them and levied a claw at the headless rabbit in Sharp tongue¡¯s hand, ¡°There are seams there. Signs of a recent repair. You held it where it was weakest.¡±


    ¡°But--¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re both at fault. Forgive each other and let me sleep.¡±


    Gemjo slung back on the bed and gestured them away with a backwards wave. The light patter of their feet followed and then quiet. Well relative quiet. The others were still awake and boisterous and no doubt on the verge of seeking her council.


    Gemjo yawned, made tired by the mere thought of it. It would be a long night unless the Matron returned. But it was not the door at the front of the house the half asleep Gemjo listened to while she lay there, it was the chatter of two little girls who were just at each other¡¯s throats.


    Her ears twitched. Every sound from the movement of dresses to the nervous breaths and the tightening of rabbits painted a picture in her mind. She saw through the sounds she heard and smiled.


    Quiet girl sniffed. She handed the rabbit back to Sharp tongue with something of remorse pocked upon her.


    ¡°Take it.¡±


    The broken rabbit crumpled as it exchanged hands. Gemjo heard the hesitation in sharp tongue¡¯s voice.


    ¡°This¡­ I¡­ but it¡¯s¡­¡±


    ¡°Niss Jo was right,¡± said Quiet girl. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°No¡­ I,¡± hairs swished as the girl shook her head, ¡°I¡¯ll have the Matron repair it when she returns. Then¡­ maybe¡­ I¡¯ll let you play to.¡±


    ¡°Really?!¡±


    ¡°But you still owe me. I¡¯ll decided the method of payment on a later date.¡±


    Gemjo pressed her paw against her head and shook it.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you mean by payment,¡± said the other girl. ¡°But sure!¡±


    Gemjo sighed. Poor stupid girl.


    A pot shattered in another room and Gemjo sighed again, this time loudly as if to make a point. She sat up tiredly and shuffled back first off the bed.


    She saw the two girls ogle at her she stretched to her full height.


    ¡°What?¡± she yawned, ¡°Never seen a sea wolf before?¡±


    ¡°Oh we have,¡± said the Sharp tongue, ¡°But we never thought we¡¯d see you rise from that bed.¡±


    The quiet one nodded zealously.


    ¡°Alright well you¡¯ve seen it, now don¡¯t expect it again,¡± Gemjo blinked, ¡°Until I leave of course, which, hopefully, should be soon. How quick does your matron sew things?¡±


    ¡°Sew?¡± asked both girls.


    Gemjo¡¯s ears flopped, ¡°Great. I¡¯ve been scammed.¡±


    Another pot shattered and her attention swapped to the floor.


    ¡°Hours, how many pots do you lot own?¡± asked Gemjo as she made to the door.


    Sharp tongue shrugged as she answered, ¡°Two?¡±


    The creak of the door was quickly interrupted by a running pair of half turns, giggling madly as they sped down the hall. One tripped near a corridor and proceeded to bawl as if that outcome wasn¡¯t inevitable, while the other watched her fallen companion, gaggling uncontrollably. Gemjo rolled her eyes as she quickly recalled the layout of the place.


    It wasn¡¯t very big, certainly not enough to delegate rooms for each child, not even pairs. There were eight children after all and only four bedrooms. The upstairs had a large dining area and kitchen with adjacent bedrooms for the matron and guest, while the lower floor hosted the two other bedrooms, a communal bathhouse and a central living space that greeted visitors.


    Gemjo paused midway through the hall connecting the guestroom to the matron¡¯s room and the dining hall. The shattering came from below. It was hard to tell at first by the old moss carpeting and brick walls but the more she recalled it the more sure she was of it. She glimpsed into the dining hall once she reached the corridor.


    Looming over the still downed half-turn, she saw no signs of a mess.


    ¡°Downstairs,¡± she muttered to the noticeable lack of crying.


    She spied at the boy who had fallen before she left and found his own constantly adjusting telescope eyes fixed on her tail.


    ¡°Your tail,¡± he said in awe.


    Gemjo frowned, swishing her tail out of view, ¡°Don¡¯t touch.¡±


    The girl who had been running with him snickered and Gemjo coolly walked to the end of the dining hall where shallow, spirally steps led to the first floor. It was dark there.


    The orphanage had as little lights as it did accommodations. Glass lamps with candles flickering within lit up most of it, splashing dim yellows across the maroon walls. Some of the lanterns had died leaving considerably darker spots within the building including one of the steps leading down.


    The dark of it engulfed her in one moment and surrendered to light the next. Her metal steps echoed loudly as she descended.


    Even with little light, she found what she sought the moment she stepped onto the first floor.


    ¡°Jo!¡±


    ¡°Niss Jo!¡±


    ¡°Niss.. I..¡±


    ¡°Quiet Yin.¡±


    ¡°But Bahu¡ª¡±


    Two boys stood in front of the scattered remains of expensive looking pottery. Gemjo stretched her frown.


    The boy who had been named ¡®Bahu¡¯ crossed is his arms as she neared. Sleeves that were too long for him stretched well ahead of his hands and even as he was forced to crane his head to look upon her, the face of defiance did not escape him. Brows narrowed, frown stubborn and jaw clenched, the expression the boy named Bahu wore now did not fit his chubbier features.


    ¡°We won¡¯t talk,¡± asserted Bahu, ¡°Not without Hul.¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­ yes! Hul speaks for us!¡± said Yin, crossing his arms in an attempt to mimic his large companion, ¡°Hul know everything about laws, she¡¯ll save us.¡±


    Gemjo leaned close, glowered even.


    ¡°The law won¡¯t save you,¡± she said.


    ¡°Y-yes it will!¡± said Bahu.


    Gemjo raised a steel brow, ¡°You stuttered.¡±


    ¡°I did not,¡± he fought back.


    ¡°You did.¡±


    ¡°Not.¡±


    ¡°Fine, not. But you broke that vase.¡±


    ¡°What if I did!¡± puffed Bahu. Gemjo fashioned a smile, stretching back to her full height, while the boy slowly, surely realised his blunder and made a wane attempt to mask it by cowering his mouth.


    ¡°Bahu, you dummy,¡± shook Yin.


    ¡°Look it was an accident. Yin and I were playing a game, ¡®Punch that¡¯.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t like that game,¡± admitted Yin.


    ¡°It¡¯s quite simple,¡± said Bahu, ¡°You punch something soft and dare your opponent to punch something harder. First one to cry loses.¡±


    ¡®Punch that¡¯. Gemjo could not think of anything dumber, though remembering Franco she realised she had. That game and the idiocy it entailed reeked of something the muscle head would do. Relish even.


    ¡°Usually nothing breaks,¡± added Bahu, ¡°but recently... well¡­¡± He pulled back his sleeves.


    His fingers had mechanized into brick members with wooden joints. He curled them in and out and looked back at Gemjo. His narrowed brows relaxed, ¡°I didn¡¯t know this would happen, Niss Jo.¡±


    Gemjo scratched her head and cursed to the side. She glanced at both of them then the remnants of the vase, ¡°Does this happen often?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Well once before with Mimi,¡± answered Yin.


    Bahu took a breath and patted his chest, ¡°But I¡¯m not scared like Mimi, Niss Jo. I won¡¯t run. I¡¯ll¡­ I¡¯ll turn myself in.¡±


    ¡°Bahu!¡± gasped Yin.


    Gemjo¡¯s ears twitched, ¡°Run?¡±


    Yin nodded, ¡°Yes. Mimi, the girl who broke a vase the first time, ran away when she did it. She¡¯s always been scared considering her dark place.¡±


    ¡°Dark place?¡± she asked, standing straight.


    Yin gestured at his neck, which was clean of any marks, and Gemjo knew.


    ¡°We¡¯re not supposed to talk about it. Matron told us so.¡±


    ¡°Where is Mimi now?¡± she asked at last.


    ¡°Her room I think?¡± answered Bahu.


    Gemjo turned to where scarce light coloured the lone corridor in placid yellows.


    ¡°On the left,¡± said Bahu. ¡°I¡¯ll be fine, right? The matron won¡¯t punish me, right?¡±


    Gemjo ignored, took a step and stopped. With a turn and slight frown, she thought to ask the burning question, ¡°What of the second vase?¡±


    Both boys looked to each other then back to Gemjo, ¡°Second?¡± they asked at once.


    ¡­


    Whether it was out of sheer ability on Mimi¡¯s part or the boys had been distracted, no one had noticed the youngest half turn of Minjo¡¯s Orphanage rush out and into the pouring streets where midnight awaited.


    There was a shattered vase in the room she shared with the three other girls, droplets of blood and worse, a letter of confession written hastily and out of shame. Mimi was gone.


    Rain hammered against the orphanage¡¯s rafters. One of several lights snuffed out in the living room quarters and seven children sat cross-legged by a knee high table. The three girls were dressed in dark brown dresses and the four boys in brown shorts and shirts. Gemjo paced by the other side, her tail swishing madly then methodically.


    ¡°I should go search for this girl,¡± she began, ¡°BUT if I do one of you may run out.¡±This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    One of them yawned and Gemjo snapped to them, ¡°no yawning!¡± she cried, feeling awfully hypocritical. ¡°I can¡¯t leave without knowing for certain you¡¯ll all stay. Therefore, we¡¯ll search together.¡±


    ¡°In the middle of the night?¡± asked Hul, thrusting her decapitated rabbit up.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°In the rain?¡± continued Hul.


    Gemjo slowed her pace, ¡°Yes¡­¡±


    ¡°With seven,¡± said the girl as she patted her chin, ¡°well, eight half turns? It seems rather irresponsible don¡¯t you think?¡±


    Gemjo took a breath, ¡°As irresponsible as it was entrusting me to watch over all of you. But here we are, tired, and left with little choice.¡± Gemjo had been studying the children as she paced about. None of them were particularly remarkable and she was certain the one she was most curious about was also the one that ran. Well there was Toji, the last of the children she met that night who had come out to the halls rubbing his eyes once she realised Mimi had run.


    Like her, Toji wore a scarf. It was a faded red thing that hung loosely around him. For as small as Toji was, two things leapt from his image the moment she saw him. First it was his mess of black hair that doubled his head and then the scarf that doubled that.


    She looked away from him as her mad pace came to an end, ¡°Honestly what is with tonight and having to search for turns!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re searching for someone else?¡± asked Quiet girl.


    Gemjo frowned at her, ¡°Yes, but not important.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± said Bahu, the first to leap to his feet, ¡°If we¡¯re going we¡¯ll need our outdoor clothes.¡±


    ¡°Oh yes. Very much so,¡± agreed Yin with a start away from the table.


    Hul was the next to stand, already barking orders half way up, ¡°Kepa, get the bags, Toji help Yin with the covers. Lim, you stay with Kepa and don¡¯t cry.¡±


    Lim, the boy Gemjo recognized as having fallen in the hallway upstairs, was sniffing even then. The girl that was with him, she realised, was Kepa.


    ¡°Long story,¡± laughed Kepa tugging Lim along.


    ¡°Hul,¡± said Yin working by the nearby closet, ¡°I don¡¯t think Toji will get the covers, you know how he is.¡±


    Hul nudged her head at Quiet girl, sighing all the while, ¡°Then hold on. Saja and I will help.¡±


    They were off a moment later, working tirelessly at their assigned tasks. Gemjo stood still, awfully contempt with the happenings, which, to her pleasant surprise, had not involved her.


    The shadows of children rushed by. The hinges of the closet yawned and jackets rustled. Little cries joined the orchestra as orders were barked from the small yet commanding Hul. The rain pressed on all the while.


    ¡°So,¡± started Gemjo, staring down at the one boy who had not moved. ¡°You like scarfs?¡±


    Toji rolled his darks eyes to her. Then he shifted his scarf until it covered his mouth. From there, he watched her quietly, expressionlessly. And she loathed him for it.


    ¡°You like words to?¡± she asked with a twitch of her lip, ¡°The spoken kind?¡±


    ¡°Found them!¡± shouted Yin.


    Before long the troupe of half turns returned assembled by the table, all dressed in yellow coats. Toji was the last of them to wear the murky yellow thing.


    Hul, who Gemjo assumed to be the leader, offered him the jacket almost religiously and he accepted it, his dead eyes unwavering from Gemjo.


    ¡°Right, we can go then,¡± said Gemjo making for the door.


    Brick fingers tugged at her shirt and she turned to see Bahu with one more yellow jacket under his arm.


    ¡°No,¡± said Gemjo, ¡°I am not wearing that.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s bigger, and it¡¯ll cover your expensive dress niss.¡±


    ¡°To be fair, this dress is not mine.¡±


    ¡°You stole it?!¡± gasped Saja.


    Gemjo sighed, ¡°Ok fine, it is mine.¡±


    ¡°Then wear,¡± he offered it again.


    Gemjo eyes panned over the crowd of imps before stopping on Toji. He had that same blank face about him. His dead eyes were piercing. She glowered back and she snatched the coat.


    ¡°We¡¯ll be quick,¡± she said glancing at the closet. There was one more coat waiting there. She pointed at it. ¡°I assume that¡¯s Mimi¡¯s?¡±


    ¡­


    They left to the backdrop of misty lights and rushing rain. Gemjo, dressed in a yellow jacket, marched ahead with two lines of six to eight year olds in tow. Two lines that started with Toji and Hul who insisted on holding both of Niss Jo¡¯s hands.


    Normally that would have been a non-issue, but Gemjo needed a way to track Mimi. That left the unfortunate seawolf with little option other than to hold mimi¡¯s jacket with her teeth.


    Worse she was certain Lim was determined to touch her tail, which left her muffled, disarmed and swishing her tail in distracted attempts to keep it safe. Worse yet, the rain had not relented. With every murky step she took the more and more she realised how much she had blundered.


    The only upside to any of it was how quickly she caught Mimi¡¯s scent. The girl smelled of jasmine and mints, a trait, as Hul told her, that stemmed from her love of the matron¡¯s soaps. Gemjo sniffed the air by the intersection to Lion¡¯s Way.


    She was close now.


    Gemjo could almost predict where she was. Three houses down, right through an alley and there. Gemjo squinted at the final spot. Tall houses blocked her path, red roofs trickling with rain water in the wetted dark.


    Gemjo tossed her down the street, ¡°Fvhat Fvay,¡±she muffled.


    She took steps and hastened.


    The children looked to each other to the abrupt start. Hul tugged at her hand, ¡°Jo, Niss Jo, what¡¯s wrong?¡±


    Gemjo lowered her head. Among the odour of rain, iron, and wood she sniffed sweat. The oily sweat of full turns. Three men and a woman. It mixed dangerously with the jasmine. She was running now, the other barely keeping up, those she tugged tripping every so often.


    The three houses passed by in a blitz and she dug her heels into a turn by the alley, splashing water upon stone. There she ran headlong into the narrow alley lit only by the buildings overlooking it until the silhouettes of four figures and a shorter fifth came into focus.


    The splash of her steps ended with seven others. She let go of the children.


    ¡°Go,¡± she warned them, waving them back, ¡°I¡¯ll get you later.¡±


    ¡°Later?¡± said a woman from ahead of them. She tapped to them with high backed shoes, appearing only within the alley light when the last of the children, save Toji, had fled.


    The woman was tall and beautiful, a model up lander. A silk dress graced her form in splendid yellows marring Gemjo¡¯s own murky ones. A tapestry of black hair snaked over the dress, stretching from her breasts to a well-kept head. Yet from there, where one would expect a face sublime to match the body rested a scowl that ruined it all. As if her visage were an ink stain on parchment, her face seemed drawn, villainous, cruel.


    The woman postured herself with one hand on her hip, the other hanging loosely with draping sleeves covering it whole. Lights from the buildings above reflected brilliantly off her porcelain skin.


    ¡°Later will be a lot longer than you think, dear heart,¡± her voice sounded groggy as if she had just woken up. ¡°You are to come with me.¡±


    Gemjo cocked her head, ¡°I don¡¯t think so.¡±


    To that, the villain gestured behind her and three men Gemjo had smelled vividly stumbled into the light. They were burly and mechanized into the same brick and wood compounds that Bahu was starting to turn into.


    One of them held a weakly thrashing tangatta girl in his arms. Toji started to that and Gemjo sniffed. The strong scent of jasmine confirmed.


    Yet then came the surprise, the one she had not smelled. One of the thugs had tugged on a rope hard and to that footsteps sounded.


    Gemjo narrowed her eyes when the other end of rope came to light. It was a blue coat, one of Mor¡¯de¡¯s men and one gagged with more rope. Something, amidst the constant downpour of rain, buzzed upon him but it was faint. She doubted the man¡¯s captor heard it.


    ¡°Two?¡± muttered Gemjo with her head tipped down.


    ¡°Were you expecting less?¡± said the woman. ¡°One you chased and the other chasing you.¡±


    ¡°What do you want for the girl?¡± asked Gemjo.


    The woman cocked her head, ¡°You. Specifically what you know. What you¡¯re hiding. This soldier you see, he doesn¡¯t like talking, which is a problem because he seemed very interested in you. Now why is that?¡±


    Gemjo shrugged, ¡°A pervert perhaps.¡±


    The man snorted aggressively, making the three larger men chuckle.


    ¡°Silence you three!¡± shot the woman. ¡°I am trying to negotiate our next pay.¡±


    The three grumbled a nigh simultaneous apology, ¡°Sorry Matron Mai.¡±


    ¡°Matron?¡± hushed Gemjo.


    ¡°Look,¡± said Mai. ¡°It is an easy question and, Beasts be damned, a question regarding foreigners that I¡¯ve all but lost the patience talking to. All I wanted was to see my darling Bile. What I got? Needless intoxicated flirtations from foreigners, a damned conspiracy, and babysitting. So if you refuse to go with me then tell me and tell me now, why are these men after you? And why should I be interested?¡±


    Again Gemjo shrugged, ¡°Don¡¯t know honestly. Best bet is that it has something to do with Mor¡¯de and his pl¡ªon second thought I do know, but that information may cost me my life.¡±


    Mai flashed a dagger under her sleeve and smiled devilishly at Gemjo, ¡°We can make you talk. Half turns are easier to convince after all.¡±


    Gemjo remained un-phased. She glanced behind her and saw what her nose already knew. Two more men had blocked her exit. The rain drummed on.


    ¡°While you do have a point miss,¡± started Gemjo as she stepped forwards, ¡°I have a feeling I would not be so easy to convince.¡± The light of the overlooking buildings was brightest where she stood now. Nothing was hidden. Not a hair on her head nor a scar on her flesh. She pointed at her neck making Mai and her follower flinch. Even Toji showed some concern at the mark she now brought attention to,


    ¡°Turns like me you see,¡± continued Gemjo, ¡°we¡¯ve been through a place that would make your convincing a happy break. I¡¯m sure you¡¯d understand.¡±


    The tangatta whimpered, ¡°Niss Jo¡­¡±


    ¡°So should you truly want answers I¡¯d say you found your man,¡± said Gemjo with a claw outstretched at the blue coat, ¡°Him.¡±


    Mai dipped her chin towards the tangatta, ¡°We could just as easily kill the girl.¡±


    ¡°I see. So I haven¡¯t convinced you then,¡± said Gemjo holding her arms to her side. ¡°Well then there is another matter. Right now, you are at my mercy.¡±


    Mai crossed her arms, ¡°And why do you say that?¡±


    ¡°Mor¡¯de is watching me. I am his guest. While he is a soldier, easily replaced. If I choose to tell him of this transgression you are done. Matron Mai was it?¡± Gemjo started paced to one wall and back again, her eyes remained fixed on Mai. ¡°Alternatively, if I end of up slain or tortured you are still done. Don¡¯t think an admiral of the Imperial Navy would lack the resources to solve a simple murder. But,¡± she said with a stop, ¡°should you free the girl and let us go, I can overlook this,¡± she turned to the man still confined and squirming, ¡°All of this.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re¡­ you¡¯re bluffing,¡± cried Mai, pointing at Gemjo then turning to the others, ¡°She¡¯s bluffing!¡±


    ¡°I could be,¡± said Gemjo. ¡°But if I¡¯m not¡­¡±


    Mai stumbled a few steps back. Scrunching her nose and biting her nails, she peered nervously into wooden walls around her.


    ¡°Damn,¡± she swore after a second¡¯s thought. She snapped her fingers and the man holding the Tangatta let her go. Splashes echoed as the matron spoke on, ¡°Fine. Fine! Take your damned half turn. But if you¡¯re lying.¡±


    Gemjo welcomed the girl in a one armed embrace, ¡°What if I¡¯m lying?¡± asked Gemjo.


    Steam escaped Mai¡¯s ears and she waved them off, ¡°Leave. Go! I¡¯m done with these ridiculous games. I don¡¯t want to see you or any other foreigner you hear me?¡±


    ¡°Yes yes I hear you. Well sort of.¡±


    Mai groaned, ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°A gesture of good faith if you will,¡± lied Gemjo pointing at the device buzzing on the man. ¡°That there is a tracker. See how it buzzes strangely? Low land technology that. It¡¯s the sort of thing that works off of, uh, clock engines. So long as you keep it on you, the admiral will learn of your position.¡±


    Gemjo paused hopefully. It was an absurd and one easily undone if the matron knew even a splinter of how clock engines worked, which Gemjo did not.


    Mai narrowed her eyes at the sea wolf. Gemjo smiled. But it wasn¡¯t enough. The woman had grinned and held her hand as if she saw through this the sea wolf¡¯s true bluff, ¡°You really think I would fall for--¡±


    Squirming. All eyes fell upon the man who had begun squirming the moment one of Mai¡¯s men had taken the device.


    Moments passed to the soft trickle of rain as the cut throats held a quiet conference. Their suspicious glances and worried expressions said it all. They could not afford to take the risk.


    So Mai grumbled and grunted at the man to toss it over. And when he did, Gemjo caught it easily.


    ¡°Leave!¡± shouted Mai.


    Gemjo gave them a bow and turned simultaneously. She grabbed Toji and Mimi by their hands and ran out. The other children saw them in their mad retreat and joined in a joyous ruckus as they rushed down the street and the next, stopping only when they arrived at the orphanage.


    All nine of them flooded in, clamoring for air, laughing then clamouring for more. Yet once again Toji remained the exception.


    ¡°You did it Jo, you did it!¡± bellowed Bahu.


    ¡°A days¡¯ worth of cheers for Jo!¡± demanded Hul.


    ¡°Jo! Jo! Jo!¡±


    The spattering of eight, seven and six year old celebrated in a flurry of mad laps, jumps, cheers and even tears while Gemjo found refuge at the foot of the stairs. There, she fixed on the Tangatta girl who Saja had been attending with careful bandages. Gemjo squinted at the tangatta¡¯s neck.


    There were no marks upon it.


    ¡°Don¡¯t run,¡± she warned the girl.


    Mimi nodded, ¡°I won¡¯t. I promise. It¡¯s just the vase¡­ I heard a noise and I¡­ I.. backed into it. I didn¡¯t mean to¡­ I only¡­ meant¡ªJo,¡± she sniffed, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, niss Jo! Please. Please forgive me!¡±


    ¡°Look, not my vase,¡± said Gemjo. ¡°Maybe the Matron¡¯s but she doesn¡¯t seem the type to punish.¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± said Bahu, flinging his arm around Mimi. ¡°You¡¯ll be fine Mimi.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ hope,¡± she trailed.


    A few of them snickered to that, then more followed until the lot of them were hooting again.


    Toji ended it, ¡°Why?¡± he asked in his strange unpracticed voice. ¡°Why did you leave him?¡±


    Gemjo yawned into her palm. Toji, the boy who seemed so adamant in not talking, seemed ready for a fight the moment he did. If so, he would not win it.


    ¡°Because I valued my life and yours above the servant of my enemy,¡± said Gemjo.


    ¡°That¡¯s not right!¡± cried Toji.


    ¡°Toji¡­¡± hushed Hul.


    Toji scrunched his brows and spoke on, ¡°No. We left him to die. I know what convincing is. I¡¯m not a child.¡±


    Gemjo shook her head, ¡°And here I thought you were the mature one. You are a child,¡± she said sternly, ¡°as am I if you¡¯d believe it. That man and the one he serves are not. They are greedy, full turns, and if they choose to endanger your life then don¡¯t let them.¡±


    ¡°But--¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re making me tired with your stupidity. I think I deserve a rest,¡± she decided as she stood up, ¡°As do all of you. Go to sleep and when we awake we¡¯ll handle this mess, understand? And you.¡±


    Toji grumbled at her designation.


    She spied at him with edge of her eye, ¡°We already had one runaway tonight. Should you do the same, I won¡¯t save you.¡±


    To that the boy hid his snarl underneath his scarf and stormed into the boy¡¯s room. The door to it thundered shut, signalling, as Gemjo thought, his response to her command. Gemjo made up the stairs and finished them with a final glance at her makeshift rescuers. The mood had sufficiently been squashed and perhaps that was for the better.


    By the time she retreated to her bed and laid in it exhausted, she could already hear the sounds of half turn wishing each other good night and the rustle of blankets. In a matter minutes the restless Minjo¡¯s Orphanage became one of complete silence.


    With her yellow coat reutilized as a blanket, Gemjo drifted.


    But only half so.


    She watched over them in half sleep. It was after all the power of sea wolves to always maintain guard. She saw the night rush into dawn, the rain fade and the shadows of the matron below the door as she paced down the hall. There was the cheerful reception of turns that got up to early, the sizzling of something fried and delicious, the sound of rushing water as baths were had and little by little came the static of the town outside.


    She heard couriers reporting of outrageous stories, of an inn struck by marauders, she listened to the whistle of steam from hundreds of houses, the rattle of wheels from passing by wagons.


    The lone window she had in her room betrayed her when morning came. It let in light and the shadows of turns that flew under umbrellas. She turned restlessly to that and soon morning became noon. But Gemjo wanted to rest all day. A week even.


    But of course that was not going to happen.


    ¡°Jo. Jo! Niss Joooo!¡±


    ¡°What!¡± barked Gemjo.


    One of the children sat on the other end of the bed. Kepa. Gemjo somewhat remembered her from her frizzled brown hair and smattering of freckles. She sat over the seawolf ¡®s legs with her hands over Gemjo¡¯s stomach.


    ¡°Breakfast?¡±


    ¡°I suppose,¡± shrugged Gemjo, frowning at where the half turn was sitting. ¡°Soon as you get off me.¡±


    ¡°Haha, but you¡¯re so warm.¡±


    ¡°Off.¡±


    ¡°No fun,¡± she pouted, before leaping off cheerily. She laughed and giggled and called after the others who cheered ever louder as she ran out of the room to where they waited.


    The door she had so rudely left open, let in the many conversations of children and matron that left Gemjo unable to rest.


    She stretched surrendering to her awakening. The Matron was bound to have questions. As had the seawolf for her.


    She had not forgotten the title the cutthroats had for their leader. Matron. Had it been a coincidence, it was a damn good one. She stretched one arm then the other.


    Just as she slid one leg out of bed the device she had cleverly stolen started up in stuttered breaks.


    ¡°Bargaining chip found at ter¡ªone tower¡ªrequesting¡ªaide¡ª¡±


    Gemjo cocked her head at the device. She knew what it was the moment she heard it go off the day prior. It was a communication device. One that was far advanced than the current written version. The sound had been dialed extremely low, most likely, she gathered, by the soldier once he realised he had been caught. Gemjo had reversed that change before she slept and now it seemed to be paying off. Mostly.


    ¡°Bargaining chip?¡± she queried aloud. She thought on the meaning. It had to have been a code of some sort. A thing? A turn?


    The clamour of utensils and a practiced chant of her name interrupted her thoughts.


    ¡°Jo! Jo! Jo!¡±


    ¡°Little cretins,¡± she mumbled with a snatch of the device. She shook her head, leapt off the bed and met the demands of her roaring crowd.


    Yin was in the hall leading to the dining room when Gemjo arrived. He nearly jumped when he saw her and she surmised he was the ¡®scout¡¯ the others sent to spy on him. She grabbed him by the back of his shirt collar before he could run off.


    ¡°Niss jo?¡± he asked nervously.


    ¡°You lied.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    Gemjo leaned close, ¡°You said Mimi had her dark place. You pointed at your neck.¡±


    ¡°Well yes her dark place. That¡¯s where her body¡¯s turned completely to flame. You know? How Tangattas mechanize to fire and slowly vanish once they complete their turns?¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± she said releasing the boy, ¡°That.¡±


    No. She did not know that.


    Yin scampered off with a bow and Gemjo found herself shaking her head and following after him.


    She nearly tripped when she got there. When the Matron promised a feast, she meant a feast.


    Plates upon plates of fried fish and pickled greens conquered the long dining table. Scents of garlic, cinnamon and hint of sage assaulted her senses. It led to a seat opposite to the Matron who sat at the head of the table. All the others seat had been taken by happily chatting half turns. The moment she sat down, carefully sweeping her tail to the side, Bahu slammed an already picked plate in front her and she swallowed to the sight of it.


    White rice, fried mackerel, pickled cabbage, a side of steaming green soup and slices red beef awaited her.


    Kepa introduced a finger long stick of taffy to the platter as a dessert and pointed at Lim who a little ways down the table close to the Matron.


    ¡°Lim cooked. Try it won¡¯t you? It¡¯s really good,¡± said Kepa.


    ¡°Suppose I will,¡± said Gemjo before grabbing the nearest beef slice and ripping into it. The children leaned in to see her eat as if it were spectacle, ¡®ah¡¯ing and ¡®ooh¡¯ing all the while. Toji and the Matron did not.


    The boy had his arms crossed and he had barely touched his meal while matron seemed content with watching her guest eat.


    ¡°Is it good?¡± asked the woman.


    Gemjo nodded and spoke with a mouthful of beef. Meaty shrapnel fired from her mouth, ¡°Exceptional.¡±


    ¡°Fantastic,¡± hummed the Matron. ¡°Think of it as thanks for what you did for little Mimi.¡±


    Mimi shied away from the unwanted attention. Gemjo spied at the weak flames that flicked from her neck.


    ¡°Oh,¡± mumbled Gemjo flapping a slice of beef at the Matron. ¡°That reminds me. The villains who captured her also called their leader ¡®matron¡¯. Why is that?¡±


    The matron smiled, coking her head slightly as she kept her eyes very narrow, ¡°Because we are the same.¡±


    Gemjo swallowed, ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°We are the same,¡± she repeated cheerily. ¡°You must be unawares to how our country works so let me explains to you the basics of it.¡±


    ¡°Spare me the tutorial,¡± waved Gemjo.


    The Matron pressed her mechanical fingers together, ¡°Alright then here¡¯s the short of it. In this land you can commit as many sins as you do good deeds. So you may steal a loaf if you give a loaf,¡± she said with a hand held out, the other soon to come, ¡°Kill a man if you raise a child.¡±


    Gemjo focussed on that second hand as if held the weight of what she just said. She wondered if the matron¡¯s wrist would snap from such a load.


    ¡°Hold off,¡± said Gemjo, ¡°Do you mean murder is legal here?¡±


    ¡°For those that are parents, guardians and matrons, yes. That is why organizations such as this often become successful in the years to come.¡±


    The implications disturbed her, bittering her food. That table of eight happily chomping half turns could someday turn into a criminal organization. The sea wolf bit into a mackerel and waved the other at the matron accusingly, ¡°That¡¯s twisted lady.¡±


    ¡°It is balanced. Land is limited above the clouds but our mechanized lives are not.¡±


    ¡°Nay, twisted. But who am I to talk? Or care,¡± she glanced at Toji who looked away. ¡°I¡¯m here for a scarf after all.¡±


    ¡°And a scarf you shall have,¡± affirmed the matron.


    Knocks intruded the meal and when a score of the half turns clamored to get it Gemjo and the matron both pushed out their chairs and stood. The half turns quieted, their eyes ogling up to the giants.


    ¡°Please,¡± said the matron, ¡°You are a guest. I insist you--¡±


    ¡°You said murder is legal did you not? Then know that the man awaiting on the other side, though he might be innocent in this country, still stinks of death.¡±


    The matron held her breath. With eyes thrust at the stairs then back at Gemjo, the matron spoke hurriedly when she released the bated thing, ¡°Children, do not go down,¡±


    Gemjo made for the stairs.


    ¡°That means you to, young niss,¡± ordered the matron.


    Gemjo grinned at her from the top of the stairs, ¡°You lot are really unlucky aren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°As will you be should you answer that door!¡± cried the matron.


    ¡°Someone has to,¡± said Gemjo. ¡°I doubt a turn who smells so heavily of killing will settle for ¡®no¡¯.¡±


    ¡°You said it yourself, he stink of death.¡±


    Gemjo shook her head and started down, ¡°Aye, smells of death,¡± she called back at the bottom, pacing to and soon facing the door where the outline of a broad shouldered man darkened the fogged glass door, ¡°and of Verace.¡±


    She turned the knob and the broad figure outside became defined and red. He towered above her. His head as bulky as his hidden body, but chin sharp and chiselled. He had the skin of chitik girl, not quite dark yet not quite fair. While beside him stood an actual girl, one around the age of the half turns a floor above yet completely mechanized.


    The man took a step forwards forcing Gemjo back. His red hat, which had been too tall to enter, flattened against the door ceiling even as he crouched to enter. He dusted his box like shoulders and glanced around.


    The girl who had nervously followed tugged at his coat but Gemjo barely noticed her. It was the man who smelled of Verace and death that held her unflinching attention. Half his face had mechanized to an intricate apparatus of dark metal clockwork while the other remained untouched, and eerily veratian. His crooked hawk like nose served as the unholy marriage between flesh and metal, where his humanity ended and the machine took hold.


    And when he spoke, she shivered. He had a deep artificial voice. In it there was menace and lethargy all at once, a rumbling melody. It buzzed and churned. Gears could be heard clicking where the jaws moved to let whatever it was within his unknowable mouth articulate his words. Gemjo stepped back.


    ¡°This,¡± he said knowingly. ¡°This will do.¡±

 Three Days into the Future

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ that¡¯s also a god!¡± Tig blurted.


    The dome vanished and their surroundings sped by in blinding fashion. He saw nights and days flicker as it were a lamp, leaves rush absurdly fast and shadows alternate like the blades of a fan. It was over in seconds.


    ¡°Three days,¡± said Red with a raised brow.


    ¡°T-t-three days?!¡± The changes in light matched. The way he felt displaced and yet present struck him deeply, as if he had gone stale while the world remained fresh.


    The creature who had cast the spell was just as stale. They would be anomalies together, but that creature more so. His red and lanky form, those robes that slung on him loosely, and his downwards facing ears seemed just apart from the world as Tig in Jing Mon Ceros.


    ¡°Were you expected somewhere?¡± asked Red ahead of him.


    Tig fell into a panic as he realised he was. He ran his mechanical hand through his hair and clutched at his scalp. He considered the worst possible scenario.


    ¡°They¡¯re dead,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ve killed them. They¡¯re dead and y-y-you!¡±


    Red raised his other brow.


    ¡°I have to find them. Now,¡± said Tig. ¡°Do you have any means to track four people?¡±


    ¡°Are you¡­ not aware of what I just told you?¡±


    ¡°Yes yes, a god, but they¡¯re in danger.¡±


    ¡°Danger?¡± puffed Red. ¡°You underestimate my master.¡±


    ¡°I mean the others.¡±


    ¡°You said four did you not?¡±


    Tig blinked and held out his fingers. After a seconds count, he flung his hand down and scowled, ¡°Not the point. I need to save them.¡±


    ¡°Ah that is your issue. While my master trusts you, I do not and so we arrived at a compromise.¡±


    ¡°What compromise? That? I¡¯m three days into the future. I¡¯ve only lost.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d say you gained far more than you¡¯ve lost. Insight,¡± he answered before Tig could ask. ¡°What you know is worth a hundred thousand days. You only lost three. Be happy, be ecstatic, for what you do from this second and the next will redefine the very air you breathe, the soil you callously tread.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± said Tig.


    Red smiled and grinned and snapped his fingers. His skin flickered as he began to vanish.


    ¡°You¡¯ll will, Tiguak Trimbly,¡± he said as his form became the priest¡¯s. ¡°You will¡­¡±


    Tig rushed to the changing. ¡°No!¡± he yipped when he got there. He clutched the new figure by the shoulders and fell low.


    ¡°Visitor?¡± spoke the priest. ¡°Can I help you?¡±


    Tig kept his form sunk low. Red had damned him fully. Three days meant everything. There was a high chance that another Trimbly was in the city. Another Trimbly and a god.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    He had brushed off Red¡¯s revelation, but he could not deny what the strange creature had said. Somehow it made sense. The Professor was the First. The First was he. All the facts and teachings on the weakest of the Hours, the First, came rushing to the forefront of his thoughts. It made sense. The god of Serendipity. Of Luck, both bad and good. The god no one worshipped.


    If the Professor had to be any of the hours, the First was the most plausible.


    ¡°Um Visitor, I¡¯m not sure what transpired between when we met and you clung to me, but did you write that in the dirt?¡±


    Tig glanced over his shoulder and let go immediately. There, written in imperial cogspeak, was a message etched on the dirt where he had stood.


    Find him at the highest clock ship dock of the city.


    ¡°But why?¡± he asked no one.


    The priests patted himself on the head, ¡°I take it I was used as a medium?¡±


    Tig nodded, turning back ¡°Does it happen often?¡±


    The Priest had been bothered by his surroundings, ¡°No but it is what I trained for. My body is a mold for a higher purpose and I accept that.¡±


    One of Tig¡¯s black brows twitched. He could not even begin to explore the faults in the priest¡¯s mindset. The creature that had manifested using his body was capable of physical contact. He could even stop time. He could even murder. Had he killed a turn, who would know? How would justice ever be served? Worse, who would be at fault? The priest that let it happen or turn who carried the act under his holy robes?


    ¡°I¡¯d be careful about who you let manifest through your body,¡± warned Tig.


    The priest cocked his head, ¡°Was the one you saw not an acquaintance of yours?¡±


    ¡°No¡­¡± edged Tig as he struggled for an answer, ¡°but he was an acquaintance of a friend of mine, a friend I must find now.¡±


    He left to the Priest¡¯s knowing nod. The piled up leaves to his side gave him pause. He imagined the priest served as the groundskeeper as well.


    ¡°Do many visit this place?¡± he asked before leaving.


    ¡°Hardly,¡± answered the priest with a smile. ¡°The Rabbit is the least worshipped of the great beasts. His followers are scarce here.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± The least worshipped Hour and Beast. Tig found some sort of pleasure knowing that. If he had truly traveled not knowing a god was by his side, then felt a little less foolish knowing him to be a lesser god.


    ¡°Though we¡¯ve had a lot of visitors as of late,¡± added the Priest. ¡°Important Visitors.¡±


    Tig grunted without looking back. The gates passed and he took the first of many steps down the hill before he heard the priest run after him.


    ¡°Visitor!¡± he cried, making the boy turn. ¡°This friend of yours...¡± he said at the top of the stairs. ¡°Cherish him. There are those devote their lives to be in your position.¡±


    Tig breathed hard. To think then he had nearly abandoned the turn and on multiple occasions. This time would be different.


    He took a step then another and another until he was well on his way through the tumbling steps. He yelled back as he ran.


    ¡°You have my word!¡±


    He felt the winds brush past him and heard the rustle of leaves that followed. He turned at the end of the steps where the leaves had blown up the hill, cascading the shrine in yellows and reds. Autumn had come in the three days he would never know. And when the leaves settled down he saw the entrance to the shrine where the priest once stood. This time would be different, he thought again.


    He took a long and heavy breath. The cold air filled his un-living lungs and he faced the city proper once again.


    This time would be different.


    ¡­


    Yellow eyes traced the backs of both figures as one figure fled down the stairs and the other shuffled back into the shrine.


    They had not noticed him where he hid behind the trees closest to the shrine. The man with a silver face smiled and the yellows of his eyes glistened brightly.


    He was right to have taken an interest in the boy back in Kura. But for a reason he had not initially imagined. He had acquired a truth not meant for him. Why was it that the youngest Trimbly knew the foremost medium in all of Jing Mon Ceros?


    The journalist fetched his notebook from his coat pocket. He had fully intended to meet the Medium for his own purposes, but once he got there he saw a strange and otherworldly orb surrounding a red bestial creature he had never seen before and a boy he very much had.


    Out of fear perhaps, or genuine curiosity, he waited outside. He bided his time. He was glad he did. For now he had a reason to question the man he would soon employ and then wrench a story that would procure him his vaunted truth.


    ¡°Another string cut,¡± he declared to a flick of a page. ¡°By Terret Tale.¡±

 Idiots Together

    Three things worried Tiguak Trimbly as he sped through the autumn streets. The first was the Professor and his immediate whereabouts. The words scribbled on the dirt told him where to go, but whether it was true or not was another matter. Tig considered the possibility of a trap as he scanned the horizon. The tallest clock ship dock in Jing Mon Ceros was hard to miss, even then as he squeezed through the alley that led him to the shrine he could see it etched against the steaming skies.


    His second worry was of his companions, Gemjo, Franco and Remy. If Venezio could dispatch them back at the Hungering City with little trouble then Lemini¡¯s success would be guaranteed. Tig would meet the Professor, save him perhaps, if only to learn the others died somewhere else. He remembered the awful rows of bodies by the Heavy Hare. That could be them. The foreigner dressed in red described by Bile flashed in his mind.


    His third worry was of Lemini, of why he was here. There was no sense in it, no logic. The viceroys were below the clouds not above. So why? Tig slowed by an intersection where a bakery sat on the corner and a pawnshop ahead of it. Rows of bread lined the bakery¡¯s display behind a glossy layer of glass. Tig spied at his own reflection and realised why Lemini was there.


    It was obvious.


    It was for him. Always him. Whether it was above inside a whale, above the clouds, or even empires away, his family would come for him. They, the same monsters who would carelessly destroy the lives of hundreds, would go to the same measures to keep their youngest member safe. Even if meant confining him to Verace until he learned to become one of them.


    On the day he jumped he had thought he had finally escaped. The truth was he had only begun his escape.


    The door to the bakery opened and Tig sidestepped out of view. A blue hatted man had come out. Tig hugged the glass panel as he considered his retreat. A few above landers glanced at him, but only momentarily. Perhaps, he thought, he had a fourth worry. Mor¡¯de. The admiral was bound to be curious why the people he had just revealed his plan to were skulking about.


    The soldier coughed.


    Tig blinked, peaking briefly over the edge at the turn who was sniffing and clearing his throat. He knew that man, though not as the lapdog of Mor¡¯de he expected.


    His porcelain white face and the crack that ran through it was one of a kind.


    ¡°Charles?¡± blurted Tig.


    Charles turned to find an empty corner and shrugged. Besides him the much plumper Pratchet stepped out of the bakery.


    ¡°You seem perplexed, Charles.¡± said Pratchet.


    ¡°Me? Oh that. I thought I heard something a moment ago. Do you remember that Tig?¡±


    ¡°The Trimbly boy. Yes.¡±


    Giggling half turns rushed by the duo. A mechanical cat purred close by and, in the distance, a factory whistled.


    Charles faced his companion, ¡°I believe I heard him.¡±


    ¡°Tig?¡± asked Pratchet as they started down the road. ¡°I don¡¯t imagine him being here.¡±


    ¡°hmpf. Exactly,¡± said Charles, his voice quieting with the distance. ¡°It¡¯s exactly why I said I ¡®believe¡¯ I¡¯m hearing things, you dolt.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to be rude.¡±


    ¡°Had I wanted to be rude, I would have called you scrap metal.¡±


    ¡°Charles.¡±


    ¡°Webly¡¯s dog.¡±


    ¡°Charles!¡±


    The list of insults continued as they did, each one quieter than the last until they were gone with various turns dotting their wake.


    Tig breathed softly as he surrendered his hiding spot. His moon crested eyes fixed on where the two soldiers had gone. Now he had a fifth worry. Webly was here.


    ¡­


    The inviting fumes of red meat and cinnamon wafted down. Lights mixed with shadows as strangers walked by the still open door. And on the top of the stairs where the matron had explicitly warned not to go, Kepa, Lim and Hul, poked their heads out the wall.


    Gemjo staggered back.


    ¡°This will do,¡± the man who smelled of death turned to his companion and spoke again, ¡°Little one, you will stay here.¡±


    ¡°Here?¡± she squeaked in her robotic tone.


    The man took another sweeping look of the place and grunted.


    ¡°Will I belong?¡± asked the mechanical girl.


    The man tilted his head low. He was blunt, ¡°No. Given what you are you will never belong.¡±


    The metal girl frowned severely, ¡°oh,¡± she mumbled. ¡°I see.¡±


    The man let off another more climatic grunt and pivoted to the door. Gemjo thought it over, the danger done. Every heavy step he took accounted for four heartbeats of hers. He had some form of blade sheathed and dangling at his hip, a gun upon the other. Both handles were worn from use and the scent of blood upon the blade was unmistakable. The steps ended. Gemjo took a breath. It was over and he would be gone.


    ¡°Wait!¡±


    The man had just ducked under the door when the metal girl had cried after him. Gemjo shook. She found the girl¡¯s finger levied her way, ¡°Shouldn¡¯t we ask for her permission to let me stay?¡± she asked.


    Gemjo swallowed. No, she thought, no don¡¯t do that. She prayed the man would not do that, not even consider it, but to her shock, he turned. His black eyes sifted to the seawolf and stayed there. His one biological eye squinted and opened while his mechanical one zoomed and readjusted. Terrified at first, the seawolf began to acclimate. Somehow he seemed familiar. His chin, his nose, even the gleam of his black hair made her feel nostalgic, as if she had seen it all before.


    He cocked his head as if awaiting an answer, and, reminded of her circumstance, Gemjo nodded madly.


    ¡°Permission? Not needed,¡± muttered the man. ¡°Whatever you want is yours. If it is your will to stay then stay. Should anyone stand on your way then kill them.¡±


    ¡°And if I cannot kill them?¡± asked the mechanical girl.


    ¡°Then follow. That is the way. That is my way and it is yours.¡± His voice seemed to further away as he did as ducked fully under the door and left.


    His wide back blocked the street view for several seconds before he vanished with a turn.


    Gemjo slumped forwards. Now it was over. She felt at her neck and felt the erratic patter of her heart. She hadn¡¯t heard it beat that fast since she spoke to the Gatekeeper. She glared at the girl. Somehow the creature that stood half Gemjo¡¯s height had been fully turned. Her skin was iron, her hair coal. She wore a white dress while a black cloak hung over her head and draped to the floor where it pooled. Her eyes where porcelain whites with ticking, exposed clockwork where her pupils should have been.


    ¡°You,¡± said Gemjo to the girl the man left behind. ¡°Tell me, did that man kill a lot of people recently?¡±


    The girl glanced low and nodded.


    ¡°When I mean a lot, I mean atleast more than twenty,¡± added Gemjo.


    Again the girl nodded.


    Gemjo snarled and tisk¡¯ed to the side, ¡°Damned monster and I let him in. I think the Chitik¡¯s bad decision making has gotten to me.¡±


    The girl approached her hastily, ¡°Did you say chitik?¡±


    With a few lazy steps, Gemjo reached the girl and pushed her back by her temple. From fingertip to shoulder, the seawolf kept the strange creature at an arm¡¯s length, ¡°I did yes. Is there an issue?¡±


    ¡°Not really no. Ah, my manners,¡± the girl curtsied before continuing, ¡°We learned of this place through a local inn, the Heavy Hare. It was recommended by a maid and--¡±


    ¡°The HEAVY HARE!?¡± steps thundered as an unlikely matron rushed down, nearly tripping at the last step. She panted when she arrived at the base and when the fully mechanical girl offered to help, the matron sprang up and covered the girl¡¯s hands with her own.


    ¡°Tell me,¡± urged the woman. ¡°What happened at the Heavy Hare? Why was a man who smells of death there? And- and my sister¡ªoh¡ªa maid who works there. Look likes me, stunning thing, was she unhurt? Was she? Please tell me. Tell me what happened to Ming!¡±


    ¡°Ming?¡± repeated the girl. ¡°Ming¡­ Ming¡­ Oh. Ming! Yes she was unhurt. For now.¡±


    ¡°Ominous,¡± remarked Gemjo.


    ¡°What do you mean, ¡®for now¡¯?¡± asked the Matron.


    The girl furrowed and unfurrowed her brows a number of times in an archaic ritual. Gemjo could hear whirrs and clicks and rolling bearings work within the girl¡¯s head. The sounds halted and the girl focussed on the Matron.


    ¡°My savior and I left after we learned of this place,¡± explained the girl in a mechanical monotone, ¡°Between then and when the authorities arrived there were others who passed us. Their clothing seemed to match a few of the casualties and I heard the woman who led them ¡®capture Ming¡¯.¡±


    ¡°But who?¡± said the Matron. ¡°Who would do that?¡±


    The mechanical girl blinked and cocked her head, ¡°The woman was dressed in yellow.¡±


    Gemjo uncrossed her arms and let them hang. ¡°A woman dressed in yellow?¡± she hushed the words. ¡°Matron--¡±


    ¡°Mai,¡± finished the matron, lifting her head to Gemjo. ¡°Mai and I have history. If it was her men who were killed over there she¡¯s bound to be mad. And should she find Ming¡­ we have to hurry.¡±


    Gemjo shook her head, ¡°No. Not we. Just you,¡± she said coldly, pacing past the matron. ¡°My thanks for the food and the bed, but I am done solving your problems.¡±


    ¡°Jo!¡± called several of the children. Gemjo ignored them, her mouth contorted in a frown and her brows lowered painfully. She convinced herself as she made out the door. This was not her problem. And no amount of false promises could it make it that way.


    She had already made it a building away when the matron rushed out and called after her, ¡°Please! I¡¯ll offer you a place to stay.¡±


    ¡°Already have one,¡± she shouted back.


    ¡°Food!¡±


    ¡°That too.¡±


    ¡°A ship!¡±


    Gemjo paused to that. She spied at the Matron over her shoulder. Atleast two dozen steps parted them. Turn who passed by spied at them, most leaving a clearing between the two.


    ¡°You¡¯re a traveler, right?¡± continued the Matron. ¡°Travelers need ships. Flying ships. I know a turn who can build you the best you¡¯ll ever know. I could introduce you! Even lower the price!¡±


    Gemjo frowned and kept moving. ¡°Not interested,¡± she echoed as she waved her paw behind her.


    The temporary clearing relented and a busy horde of turns filled the gap. Gemjo stared onwards, eyes half open. She cold tell the Matron had given up by how her scent had gone weak. But knowing the woman¡¯s stubbornness, Gemjo grew sure the future gang leader would find some more formidable aid. Perhaps they would not be as smart as her, or as charming, but they would do. They would do¡­


    Her tail moped and she cursed the thing for betraying her.


    ¡°Not my problem,¡± she muttered under her breath. The events the night prior, the blatant animosity of Mai towards foreigners and an admiral whose very mention was a contingency made the seawolf realise how much of a danger Jing Mon Ceros was.


    Luckily she would be leaving, unluckily that departure was the longer part of a week away. She needed to bide her time, hide in safety for the remainder of it. Searching the Professor had been a mistake. Even now she kept her nose active for any signs of Franco¡¯s fabled soap. Nothing. No Tig nor Franco nor Remy. They were still searching. She cracked a smile at the thought of an empty room. A quiet room, a room that would let her sleep for a week.


    Her hands interlocked and supported her neck as she continued comfortably. The inn wasn¡¯t very far, so she took the time to forget the orphans, forget the children with supposed scars on their necks, forget children who trusted her and followed in reverence. She decided her place was that of comfort and a well-deserved rest.


    The door was shut when she got there.


    The man she remembered vaguely as the owner of the place stood on the other side and grumbling. He had a crumbling lead face, purely jade eyes, and selfsame red tailcoat he wore the day prior.


    Regal and shrill, his voice matched his skinny figure. ¡°No,¡± he said bluntly.


    ¡°No? I am your guest.¡±Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    The man spied her from top to bottom and crossed his arms furiously, ¡°I shall fall for no more of your deceptions, not you nor the twenty other imposters who¡¯ve come to me in the last week. Look there.¡± He pointed further in and Gemjo saw a stout half turn with black hair and coat and silver jaw. From behind the glass paneling and rotary doors he looked to be a poorly outfitted Tig look-a-like.


    ¡°And there,¡± said the Innkeeper with a gesture at the creature who sat at Fake-Tig¡¯s foot, ¡°Is what you are trying to impersonate.¡± He frowned at her, grunted. ¡°And poorly at that.¡±


    One of Gemjo¡¯s brows twitched. It was a mechanized dog with long silver hairs.


    ¡°What exactly did the admiral tell you about your guests?¡± she asked.


    The Innkeeper snorted as if the answer was obvious, ¡°Oh I thought you knew. Imposters these days hardly put in the effort. Ahem,¡± he started as he read an imaginary list. ¡°A half turn chitik with black hair, a man dressed in blue with wild hair, a girl dressed in blue with long hair, a muscular man with sharp nose, and a silver dog.¡±


    Gemjo ran her hand across her face, ¡°Silver¡­ dog?¡± she asked in disbelief. ¡°Not dog. Seawolf. Report to whatever idiot gave you those descriptions and ask for clarification. Those,¡± she said pointing at the dull face boy and the dog who had its hind leg lifted by the counter, ¡°those two are not even close to who we are.¡±


    A soft trickle sounded behind the man and Gemjo pinched her nose to the stench of it. The owner had been too distracted to notice as he continued. ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter,¡± he said. ¡°The reporting officer¡¯s been busy with some un-named search. So even if you were the silver dog¡ª¡±


    ¡°Seawolf.¡± She corrected him a nasally tone.


    ¡°You would need to wait atleast two, no, three days before I could confirm anything you say. So good day.¡± He turned to that theatrically and took two triumphant steps until he realised what the other Gemjo had done and nearly fainted.


    Gemjo sighed. She stood with a locked door ahead of her and city that would have her killed behind her. And worse, with no place to sleep. Well, except one.


    Nearly a half an hour later she arrived at the doorstep to Mother Minjo¡¯s Orphanage. The door clicked and swung in to her lazy knocks. Children resounded.


    ¡°Jo!¡±


    ¡°Niss Jo!¡±


    ¡°Gemjo,¡± said the Matron behind several squirming half turns.


    Gemjo puffed, ¡°Not a word.¡±


    ¡­


    Later that day, a man the matron hired as private investigator returned with news that confirmed the mechanical girl¡¯s report. Ming was Matron Mai¡¯s captive. Unharmed, but as the man reported, likely not for long.


    It was evening by the time Gemjo assembled the others.


    Gemjo unfurled a map on the living room table. Nine children and the Matron gathered around her. The matron had risen the table through a pair of crisscrossed metal extensions with the hope that it would keep the children away. There were two exceptions. One was the mechanical girl who the Matron held up in her arms, the other was the tallest of the children, Bahu, who whispered the goings on to those that could not see.


    The seawolf pointed at a spot on the map just outside a thick outline, ¡°Based on what you¡¯ve told me, this must be the Heavy Hare,¡± said Gemjo, ¡°And this,¡± she continued, drawing her finger across the map to a crowded portion of it, ¡°is where Mimi was taken.¡±


    The Matron nodded, shouldering the girl up as as she freed one arm and tapped the map, ¡°Mai¡¯s place is here.¡±


    Gemjo squinted, ¡°That¡¯s awfully close to where we are.¡±


    ¡°This was all I could afford when I started, besides, Mai wasn¡¯t always a problem. Why, it all began when--¡±


    ¡°No backstory. Please,¡± urged Gemjo with a raised hand. ¡°All I want to know are the places Mai was last night and how fast she moved between them. When I know that, I can form a plan, and when I have plan, we wait.¡±


    ¡°Wait?¡± coughed the Matron. ¡°My sister is in danger!¡±


    ¡°Is Mai known to kill her hostages?¡±


    The Matron lowered her head and shook it.


    ¡°Had she saw you or your sister, would she exercise her right to murder on you?¡±


    Again a shake.


    ¡°Does she want something from you?¡±


    The Matron hesitated. She glanced at Toji briefly before answering.


    ¡°If she does?¡± asked the woman.


    ¡°Then she¡¯ll use your sister as leverage.¡±


    ¡°Wait. Stop,¡± said the Matron. ¡°It doesn¡¯t make sense. She might want something from me but she does not know I have it. And I¡¯ve gone to great lengths at that to avoid letting her know I have it. It¡¯s not possible, ludicrous. I¡¯ve done everything right, I¡­¡± she wavered for a moment, her chin postured on her free hand. ¡°Last night. You took the children out last night. All the children.¡±


    Gemjo shrugged and bobbed her head, ¡°What of it?¡±


    Again, the Matron turned to Toji. She pointed at the boy who had refused to leave Gemjo¡¯s side, ¡°Did they see him?¡± asked the woman.


    Squinting at the child, she nodded. She remembered how the boy stayed when she directed him back.


    The Matron breathed hard with her gaze held low. ¡°Beasts,¡± she muttered, flipping back to Gemjo. ¡°As I¡¯ve said, Mai and I have history. Things happened. We fought, I left, she became the new matron of our orphanage and I found my own. She thought she won, but she didn¡¯t. I did. I took Toji.¡±


    Gemjo caught Toji staring back at her. The thought of asking why had crossed her mind, but it would not change her plan so she decided against it. Instead, she considered why Mai did not approach the Minjo Orphanage if she knew they had Toji.


    ¡°Why?¡± she voiced the question aloud. ¡°Why? Unless,¡± she stared at her own paw and curled it in, ¡°that¡¯s why.¡±


    ¡°What is?¡± asked the Matron.


    Gemjo grinned at her and thumped herself on the chest, ¡°I am.¡±


    Her actions the night before had unintentionally caused their newest ordeal and provided them the solution to it.


    With all eyes both turned and not, Gemjo voiced her thoughts, her own eyes meeting each of the other¡¯s, ¡°Mai will not announce Ming¡¯s hostage so long as I am here, but she will the moment the I leave. So when I do¡­¡±


    The Matron swallowed, ¡°I will have to choose.¡±


    Gemjo wondered who considering the matron¡¯s less the honorable intentions for the children. In a darker part of her mind, Gemjo thought she knew the answer. One was flesh and blood, the other a means to an end. It made her sick. And she did not know why. Only that she needed prevent it. The meeting was adjourned, the council dismissed.


    The day quickly passed and bled into the next where Gemjo took to the living room as she concocted her best scheme yet.


    The children had taken turns watching her. On this particular near evening stretch, Yin, Bahu and Toji sat on the last step of the stairs as their eyes rolled from end of the room to the next, following Niss Jo¡¯s pace perfectly.


    ¡°She¡¯s doing it again,¡± said Yin.


    ¡°Silence, let her think,¡± barked Bahu.


    Yin rolled his eyes, ¡°you¡¯re the one who said we should watch.¡±


    ¡°Only cause Toji was doing it,¡± argued Bahu.


    ¡°Toji¡¯s hasn¡¯t stopped watching her.¡±


    Bahu swept his arm over Yin and held him low, ¡°quiet!¡± he hushed. ¡°She¡¯ll hear you!¡±


    Gmjo stopped mid pace and turned to them, annoyed. ¡°See these delightfully fluffy ears?¡± she said with a gesture at her strange butterfly winged ears, ¡°they are fantastic for hearing. Also, I don¡¯t care if one or three of you watch, I¡¯m used to it.¡±


    ¡°Sorry Niss Jo,¡± said Bahu with a bow. Seeing Yin smile dumbly, Bahu pressed the boy¡¯s head low and apologised again, ¡°Sorry. Sorry!¡±


    With that, the duo sprang up and ran up the steps, disappearing at the last. Toji remained.


    ¡°I don¡¯t mind being watched,¡± sighed Gemjo, ¡°But I¡¯d welcome the silence.¡±


    Toji nodded and Gemjo grimaced at the quiet creature. She had welcomed the silence but Toji¡¯s brand of silence was unsettling. It was if he had wanted to say a thousand things but had been made mute.


    ¡°Right,¡± said Gemjo, speaking for both of them with a reignited pace. ¡°We need to get back Ming and we need some form of muscle to do it.¡±


    She had considered contacting Mor¡¯de for that muscle, but knowing she owed anything to the man was something she knew would cause her grief at a later date.


    ¡°Franco perhaps?¡± she thought aloud, ¡°No,¡± she shook, ¡°Not enough.¡±


    Squeals and laughter played above. Little steps followed then metallic ones. The mechanical girl, the one who went by the name Mira, had quickly adapted to the children of the orphanage and the children to her. They were suspicious of her at first, careful not to get close, but when they did they became fast friends. Amidst her plan making Gemjo noticed how the metal girl had begun sharing made up stories to entertain her new friends.


    She spun stories of an age long past before those below the clouds roamed the streets, when the languages their peoples spoke were two. Her tale pertained to her make belief life, of how she had been a palace maid long ago and how one night disaster struck and she found herself slowly drifting. Then of a tireless black slumber and her abrupt awakening.


    Gemjo listened most closely to Mira¡¯s description of her red hatted attendant. He was a man who gave no name, but spoke highly of his half Chitik ancestry and his yearning to understand the spirits. She called him reasonable. Better yet, a dependable protector to those like her, his successful experiments.


    While Gemjo had not lingered on the subject of experiments, she had recalled how adamant the man had been when it came to delivering Mira to the Orphanage. She seized her pacing for the second time that day. The man who smelled of death was also an option.


    The door flung open as she thought that. Kepa and Lim stood there, panting.


    ¡°Fight,¡± puffed Kepa pointing down the street, ¡°Niss Jo you should see this.¡±


    A rush to the door, a practiced lean out. Within seconds Gemjo could see the gathering crowds a stone¡¯s throw down the cobble street. While most saw entertainment, she saw opportunity.


    She gestured at the children to her side. ¡°Listen, a fight is something you orphans should learn to take advantage of. Get a container, a pot, a hat-- anything, and follow me.¡±


    After a minute¡¯s shuffle and the topple of kitchen ware, Gemjo, Kepla, Lim and Toji left to watch the fight outside.


    Gemjo led the way with a cooking pot in hand. She smelled something familiar, but it was hard to place in the presence of a crowd. They pressed through that crowd with hurried apologies and when they got to the precipice of the show, Gemjo handed the pot to Kepa.


    The fight had yet to begin. Brutish figures dressed in black occupied the far end, eight in total. Slender, well-toned individuals held a place closer to Gemjo and the others. This group had only four members, but by their shifting steps and careful postures, Gemjo could tell they were experienced fighters.


    She nodded to that, leaning low so the children could hear her, ¡°This is the important bit. You see, most fights have two sides to them, so there¡¯s bound to be a victor. You use that. Have the audience bet on who they think will win and gather the funds in your collection hat.¡±


    ¡°Hours,¡± cursed a familiar voice. ¡°Gem, are you training them to take bets?¡±


    Gemjo frowned. Of course he would be there. Fighting in the street in a foreign state with no hope of bail was the pinnacle of stupid. And Franco Cantinio stood above that pinnacle. He was dressed the same way as the smaller group. Folded white silk covered his torso, glossy red pants hung loosely below. Beads of sweat rolled down his temple, and his eyes, alit and relived, fixed tightly of Gemjo.


    ¡°Franco,¡± she said, peaking at the pot then Franco, ¡°This¡­ This is exactly what it looks like.¡±


    ¡°Friend of yours?¡± he said, gesturing at Toji. Gemjo glanced at the steely eyed boy and saw that the other two had already been making the rounds. She could hear cogs dinging even from there.


    Gemjo shrugged, ¡°More of a charge.¡±


    ¡°The Professor?¡± he asked quickly. ¡°Did you find him?¡±


    She shook her head, ¡°And neither have you. I take it fighting on the street isn¡¯t a means to that either.¡±


    ¡°Bets!¡± cried a happy Kepa as she navigated circle of turns. Lim followed her, nervously tugging along.


    Franco half smiled at Gemjo. ¡°Nor is teaching half turns to take bets,¡± he said smugly.


    ¡°Right right, ok,¡± puffed Gemjo. ¡°So we¡¯ve established that neither party has done what we set out to do.¡±


    ¡°Oh but we got close!¡± chirped Franco.


    Gemjo lowered her brows, ¡°We?¡±


    ¡°The Professor is most likely with some performing troupe, um, Raibo¡¯s Rats. And if not them, then I know of a very attractive woman who might have seen him.¡±


    ¡°Attractive?¡± questioned Gemjo in a monotone. ¡°Please do continue.¡±


    Franco blushed to the invitation. He smiled dumbly and let his nostrils flare, ¡°Where to begin?¡± he said in a manner that made Gemjo gag.


    ¡°Please don¡¯t,¡± spoke one of his companions. Gemjo leaned out to see him. He had a strong build, stout and plump. He was in a stance as were two others.


    ¡°Lansha¡¯s right, Franco,¡± said a taller and thinner man besides the stout one, ¡°Well he was rude, I think, but still right. We have a fight on our hands.¡±


    The third man grunted. Bandages covered most of his body, including his mouth, leaving his clean shaven head and face bare and clearly wooden. He had glass spectacles for eyes.


    ¡°Aye that we are,¡± straightened Franco, jogging to the front of the group. ¡°Lansh, Telipei, Chou, with me!¡±


    Gemjo stepped back with Toji as the four men ran violently and suddenly into the group of eight others. Their enemies had scarcely readied themselves when Franco¡¯s team crashed into them, giving cause for confusion and instantaneous defeats as the crowd roared in ecstasy.


    It played in the manner of any roadside tussle, above the clouds or no. Both sides were unarmed. One outnumbered the other, but the difference in skill was painfully noticeable. Franco and his men kept form, his opponents did not. They moved in a well kept circle, their backs to each other.  What resulted was a weird display of footwork. When one man stepped right, so did the others, leading to strange turns which swapped one enemy for another and back again.


    When eight enemies turned to five, and five to three, Franco grabbed the man Gemjo assumed as the leader and landed a blow to his gut that was heavy and audible. The crowd silenced in the instant after and when the two others fell low, they cheered again.


    Gemjo saw Kepa nearby and pulled her close.


    ¡°How many more betted on the eight man side?¡± she asked the girl.


    ¡°Twice as much!¡±


    ¡°Good. Then double the bets on the four man side made and keep the rest.¡±


    Kepa nodded, ¡°Will do Niss!¡±


    Gemjo let her go and faced the oncoming Franco. He kept to a steady pace as he approached her, waving and smiling at his newfound fans on his way.


    ¡°You see that, Gem? I know, I know, I¡¯ve gotten much stronger.¡±


    ¡°And clearly more humble,¡± she quipped and frowned. ¡°You¡¯re bleeding. You stink. You got sweat and dirt and grime smeared all over you.¡±


    ¡°Tis a scratch,¡± waved Franco.


    Gemjo sighed, ¡°Come.¡±


    ¡°Hah!¡± laughed Franco. ¡°While I appreciate the offe¡ªhey!¡±


    Gemjo had pulled him by the arm. She cut through the dissipating crowds and he quit all resistance once she gestured at the orphanage.


    ¡°We need to talk, but only,¡± she said with a snarl, ¡°after you bathe.¡±


    ¡­


    Sounds of kitchen work played loudly from above. Dishes clanked, water ran and knives chopped. Gemjo waited on the lower floor with the three men who Franco chose as companions.


    The moment she stepped into the orphanage with Franco and the others in tow, the matron had insisted on making them lunch. Now, while they waited, Franco could be heard singing folk songs from within the bath-house. He butchered the lyrics to most songs and hummed in places he didn¡¯t.


    The short, wood-skinned man had drifted to sleep slouched on the living room table. Kepa and Lim snored on either side.


    From where Gemjo leaned by the wall with the stairs and Toji besides her, she kept her eyes fixed on the remaining two standing across the room.


    They swapped from Gemjo to Toji and back again


    ¡°Your tail,¡± began Telipei in an attempt to end the silence.


    ¡°No,¡± shot Gemjo.


    Telipei laughed, ¡°Then your relation to Franco. Are you¡ª¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    Telipei smiled nervously, ¡°I didn¡¯t ask anything.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t want you to.¡±


    He laughed again, urging Lansha to step in with a telling look. When Lansha did not, Telipei sighed and gestured at the corridor that led to the bath house, ¡°I understand you let Franco bathe here since you know him, but couldn¡¯t we do the sa--¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    Lansha shook his head and grumbled, ¡°She won¡¯t answer any question, Telipei. Nor is she obligated to do so. What happens between Franco and his sister are none of our concern.¡±


    Gemjo titled her head. Somewhere down the hall, the shower knob creaked shut and wetted steps slapped out.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± said Gemjo. ¡°But did you say sister?¡±


    Silence as Lansha delayed from answering. Toji glanced between Gemjo and Lansha and then at the corridor as if to confirm the resemblance when Franco got out.


    ¡°Well aren¡¯t you?¡± said Lansha.


    ¡°No!¡± she spat gingerly. ¡°We aren¡¯t even the same species.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± said Lansha. ¡°Adopted then?¡±


    Telipei nodded stupidly and snapped his fingers, ¡°I can see that.¡±


    ¡°How?!¡± cried Gemjo.


    ¡°See what?¡± asked Franco as he stepped out the corridor. He was dressed in one of the Matron¡¯s pink bathrobes, which seemed to stretch far more than it was intended to. A white towel had been wrapped around he pointed hairdo.


    ¡°Why are you wearing that?¡± asked Gemjo, her eyes on his pink robe.


    ¡°Oh it¡¯s fine dear,¡± echoed the Matron from above. ¡°I let him!¡±


    Franco dug at his ear as he spoke, ¡°You heard her.¡±


    ¡°Right. Ok,¡± she sighed with a stretch, ¡°Now that you¡¯re here--¡±


    ¡°Food¡¯s ready!¡± called the Matron.


    Franco slapped his stomach, ¡°Wondrous timing. I could eat a whale right now.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s culturally inappropriate,¡± said Telipei as he pushed himself the wall.


    ¡°A cow?¡± questioned Franco on his way to the stairs.


    ¡°That to.¡±


    ¡°Stop,¡± said Gemjo, ¡°All of you just stop.¡±


    Steps ended. A towel flopped to the floor. Franco, Telipei and Lansha paused on the stairs, then all of them, including Toji, swatted their eyes from Gemjo to the corridor Franco had come out of.


    Gemjo took a breath and shut her eyes. She convinced herself that there was nothing that could make that moment more absurd and infuriating than it already was. Thinking that, she turned.


    She frowned harder than she had her entire life.


    Remy Le Rici stood at the mouth of the corridor. A dirtied red scarf hung from her neck.


    With glance at the front door and back again, Gemjo asked the question they were all thinking, ¡°How did you get in here?¡±


    ¡°Through the bathhouse window,¡± she answered quietly.


    ¡°Why¡ªno I don¡¯t want to know.¡±


    She answered anyways, ¡°Security. I had to survey this locale before intruding it. Standard military protocol.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re an idiot,¡± said Gemjo, soon turning to Franco, ¡°He¡¯s an idiot, his friends are idiots and I¡­¡± she sighed, ¡°Am also an idiot.¡±


    Franco pressed his brows down sincerely, which seemed a bizarre gesture considering how he was dressed. ¡°Gemjo¡­¡± he hushed.


    ¡°But this idiot needs to talk,¡± continued Gemjo, rotating till she stopped at Remy, ¡°with all of you.¡±


    ¡°Alright, go on then,¡± said Franco.


    ¡°No, you first,¡± she urged him.


    ¡°It¡¯s a long story.¡±


    Gemjo plopped to a cross-legged seat and crossed her arms, ¡°We have time,¡± she insisted.


    ¡°We really don¡¯t,¡± said Toji.


    ¡°Shut up.¡±


    ¡°Where to begin?¡± mused Franco. ¡°Well, I¡¯d say it started when I met the most beautiful woma--¡±


    ¡°Skip that part,¡± said Gemjo.


    ¡°But--¡±


    ¡°Skip.¡±


    Franco settled to his own seat on the stairwell steps, ¡°Fine fine. It began when I had just barely lost to Master Capicho. Why not a day passes by without me recalling the sting of his punch. And funny story that, because only a day has passed by. Now where was I? Ah yes, the pledge. It started with the pledge.¡±

 Clues

    The journalist and the priest sat in the underlit confines of the shrine. Rays of turmeric orange seeped through the paper walls surrounding them, casting long shadows that overlapped their figures.


    Terret Tale glared at the man known as the medium. In that moment he despised everything about the man of cloth, from his tin features to his brown robes that pooled around his legs. A cup of copper tea rested next to his own violet robes, a dried rabbit foot next to that.


    ¡°This won¡¯t do, visitor,¡± said the cross legged medium. ¡°You need an essence of a beast to complete the spell as well as personal connection to whoever you summon.¡±


    Terret dragged his hand across his face and spoke in a sigh, ¡°So I can¡¯t summon the Mad Tinker is what you are saying?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°The man who I spent a sprocket for in order to get to?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°The man who I spent months researching how to contact and promised to write about?¡±


    The priest nodded, ¡°Yes. But--¡±


    Terret sprang to his feet and kicked his tea cup, sending the ceramic thing skidding and spilling tea along its way.


    ¡°Visitor?¡± pressed the priest.


    Terret breathed hard and slowly. He remembered the technique for calming the nerves. Deep breaths, he reminded himself, in then out. It was his father who had introduced him to the mind doctor that taught him that. And it was that doctor who revealed to him that lies were told to strengthen bigger, more prominent mistruths, the strings that ruled all.


    Terret found himself calm again, thinking. He sat down and motioned at the priest. ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± he said. ¡°How did the boy do it then? What essence did he use? Did he truly know who he summoned?¡±


    The Priest, still distracted by the cup and its fallen contents, shook his head at the man a moment later. ¡°I cannot say,¡± he said.


    Terret frowned. That was a lie. Violet robes fluttered.


    When the priest tried to speak again, Terret swiped him up by his collar and held him near.


    ¡°V-visitor?¡±


    ¡°Is that all you can say? Visitor, visitor, visitor¡ªPah! Answer my question damn it!¡±


    The priest squirmed as Terret held him closer, ¡°I¡­ c-cannot say¡­¡±


    Terret¡¯s eyes glimmered brightly. Something clicked within his coat. ¡°What are you hiding?¡± asked the journalist.


    This time the priest hesitated. Terret could tell by the bound of the priest¡¯s eyes and the oil that dropped like sweat off his forehead, that the man knew what Terret had in his coat.


    ¡°D¡¯you know,¡± said Terret, pressing his gun against the priest¡¯s ribs. ¡°They say Rabbit is the Beast of luck. Is that good luck? Or is it bad?¡±


    The priest shut his eyes and muttered the words Terret did not want said, ¡°I cannot say.¡±


    A telling pang echoed as the pistol whipped across the priest¡¯s face. He fell back, released from Terret¡¯s grasp and codling the dent that had formed there.


    Terret stood with his gun postured at the priest. A turn could lose a limb without dying. All his limbs if need be. The drainage of bodily fluids would do nothing, nor the inhalation of once deadly poisons. On paper it would seem nothing could kill a full turn. But that was a lie. Because a gun could.


    A single shot to the head or heart would sever the life that called itself immortal. A single shot that severed the connection between the heart and head would do it to. Terret wavered. The gun lowered. He couldn¡¯t shoot, for as much as Terret saw ugliness in the creature before him, the man was still the only medium in city and Terret still needed him. Sheathing his gun, Terret took a breath.


    ¡°Fine,¡± he breathed, ¡°Where did my manners go, honestly? I¡¯m your guest, not harasser.¡± He took out a cheque book from his lower coat pocket. The edges of it had been tattered and its green cover faded from age. He counted the notes as he flipped through. ¡°How much to overlook this? A hundred, two hundred cogs?¡±


    The Priest glanced away. ¡°Three hundred,¡± he said sorely.


    ¡°Three hundred. Done,¡± Terret ripped the notes from his books and tossed it over the priest. He snorted as he saw the man scramble to pick them up. ¡°Typical.¡±


    He knew the moment he walked the steps that the shrine had been a poor place. Rabbit or whatever Hours-cursed thing the cretins called it, was supposedly a humble god. Never one to want for money, so the people gave none. By the lack of fresh garments on the priest or repairs on the shrine, Terret could tell his money was the first the priest had seen for some time.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be leaving now,¡± continued Terret as he paced to the sliding door at the end of the room. ¡°It seems I was mistaken to pursue you first.¡±


    The Priest looked up from the crumpled notes to the swish of the door.


    ¡°Oh yes,¡± hummed Terret, glancing back from the exit, ¡°I¡¯ll be back. Soon too I hope, and with the boy of whom you cannot speak.¡±


    He left the shrine quarters to the wash of evening rays. The chill of autumn was stinging here. It had been too close to the walls where winds from the outside swept in headily. Terret shivered as he walked out. Leaves gusted his way and he swatted at them listlessly.


    Then as he drew his eyes from relentless gusts to find refuge below, he saw something marked in the dirt. It had been worn from the gusts but he could still make it out.


    ¡°Find¡­ him? At the highest¡­ clockship dock of the city?¡±


    Terret smiled and crouched to feel the marks. They were cut deep and jagged as if an animal had clawed the dirt to leave it there.


    ¡°Well,¡± said Terret, ¡°I guess you can say.¡±


    ¡­


    ¡°It had been a cruel and stormy night. The hero¡ªnay legend¡ªcould not have been born on a day less deserving. For his would be a story of many trials, both daring and trying.¡±


    Nerves twitched in the seawolf¡¯s head. ¡°I said after you met the supposed love of your life, not your life story,¡± she groaned.


    ¡°But it¡¯s all important!¡± bickered Franco from where he sat on the stairs.


    ¡°Aye,¡± she sighed. ¡°Just as important as your dead mechanical squirrel or that dog you thought was yours for two weeks but belonged to your local Navy officer.¡±


    ¡°Carlo was a great companion¡ªnay a legendary one!¡±


    Gemjo growled with a flick of her paw, ¡°Would you please get on with it?¡±


    ¡°Sorry. With what?¡± said Franco.


    Telipei his skinny companion, nudged him and whispered, ¡°The pledge remember? The Pledge.¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± said Franco. ¡°Yes that. On the day after my daring defeat. Master Capicho officially took me in as a student. He was moved utterly by my fighting spirit, and I, the ever humble, handsome, charming, and manly Franco accepted. He nearly kissed my feet when I did. Hah!¡±


    ¡°Shut up,¡± said Lansha.


    Gemjo sighed from below, ¡°Please don¡¯t. We¡¯ll be here all day if he takes a break.¡±


    ¡°So Master Capicho, after inducting me into his school thought it best to challenge me with a pledge. You see, fist fighting is revered in these lands, as an art both fearsome and necessary. Every fist fighter must commit himself to brutal training and in between training he must also give back to society. In this, I was tasked with fighting nere-do-wells in the local militia.¡±


    Lansha rolled his eyes, ¡°We train in morns and nights and patrol in between. In other words, guard duty.¡±


    ¡°A duty indeed! I bested the very streets. I tussled with terrible boredom and worst yet, the wiles of innumerable beauties.¡±


    Lansha slouched on his arm, ¡°We passed the red light district. Passed mind you, not through.¡±


    ¡°I could smell them from minutes away, their suggestive chuckles and chirps like water to my parched lips. A younger Franco would have buckled, but not me. My heart, being owned by the love of my life, who I met the day prior, had kept me sober. No amount of lascivious birds nor suggestive sandcastles could sway me, Franco Cantino.¡±


    Gemjo blinked, ¡°Did he say suggestive sandcastles?¡±


    ¡°So, with slavering hardship, I bested this first and clever trial of Master Capicho. I overcame my mortal chains and I ascended. They¡¯ll sing about this in my song you know.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure,¡± said Gemjo. ¡°But really, what¡¯s this about sandcastles?¡±


    ¡°Eat,¡± cried the Matron above, ¡°Come on loves, your food getting cold.¡±


    They adjourned momentarily to the rumbling of stomachs. The matron had made up meals for the lot of them as promised. Gemjo suspected an ulterior motive from her quest giver as the woman happily directed the four men to their seats on one side of the table and Gemjo to the other. Their unassuming host came in now and then to see whether her guests enjoyed the food. She¡¯d comment on how strong Franco and his companions looked, how growing fighters needed strong meals if they hoped to get stronger. It was all a farce. Gemjo had expressed how they needed fighters. Well here they were.


    Franco started again as they munched on salads and bread, ¡°Sho, here I wash tashked with mffl¡ªsorry¡ªpatrolling the streets east of Lion¡¯s way when I encountered my first foe. Now we weren¡¯t supposed to fight, but I took the initiative. I knew there was trouble when I heard a woman gagged and dragged into a darkened corner. Naturally, I followed¡­ Alas! It was a trap!¡± He said, slamming the table. A chunk of bread crumpled to the floor. ¡°Suddenly I was surrounded by ten men¡ªno twenty¡ªno! Fifty men. Tough as nuts. I said to Lansha, I said ¡®we¡¯re done chaps. This is it.¡¯ But Lansha told me ¡®no, you¡¯re Franco Cantino. The Franco Cantinio¡¯ I daresay we rallied to that.¡±


    ¡°Fvanco,¡± said Telipei besides him, swallowing before he spoke. ¡°There were five men, not fifty, and Lansha had advised us to retreat.¡±


    ¡°But we didn¡¯t! We pressed on and we won.¡±


    ¡°Aaaand shortly retreated,¡± added Telipei. ¡°We beat the five men with our three, but realised we were outmatched when Lansha and I examined their outfits.¡±


    Lansha nodded where he sat on the other side of Franco, ¡°Yes, they were Mai¡¯s men.¡±


    ¡°Mai? As in Matron Mai?¡± asked Gemjo.


    ¡°Aye,¡± said Telipei, ¡°she runs an orphanage down Lion¡¯s Way, one of the three biggest to. Among the twenty original orphans, only Mai and seven others remain, but that¡¯s enough I think. They serve as commanders in Mai¡¯s personal army.¡±


    ¡°So you fought them and ran away?¡± said Gemjo.


    ¡°Tactfully retreated,¡± reworded Franco.


    ¡°That woman you described must have been my sister,¡± those gathered by the table turned to the woman who spoke. The Matron greeted them, standing at the head of it. She had just brought out a new plate of bread, ¡°Tell me, was she unhurt?¡±


    Franco began to speak but then shook his head, ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°Beasts¡­¡± hushed the Matron.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure she¡¯s fine,¡± said Gemjo, focussed on the bread, ¡°But less of that. This food. How is it you managed to get so much of it in the last few days?¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± said the Matron. ¡°You know how I work nights? Well, I got a different job now.¡±


    ¡°The Matron worked in a tavern,¡± whispered a nearby Hul. She had been listening intently around Gemjo. In fact most of the children were enthralled by Franco as they stood around Gemjo and listened. Enthralled, she thought, but still not brave enough to approach him.


    Franco¡¯s cone hair tipped as he ripped another bread loaf with his mouth and Gemjo caught the sight of Remy and Toji well behind the man. They had been sitting side by side at the top of the stairs. Remy had finished her meal in record time and left for isolation as soon as she could. It seemed Toji had stopped her retreat. That, or they had been talking.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    ¡°The quiet ones have gathered,¡± she thought aloud. Even with her hearing, it was hard to tell what they were talking about with Franco¡¯s story and worse with Hul¡¯s pointed recollection of the Matron¡¯s employment history.


    ¡°¡­ First, second and third fifth of every month,¡± said Hul. ¡°Those were her shifts at the Heavy Hare.¡±


    ¡°The Heavy Hare?¡± said Gemjo. That got her attention. ¡°The place that got attacked?¡±


    The Matron nodded, ¡°Wasn¡¯t working that night.¡±


    ¡°Then you¡¯ve got less money to spend.¡±


    Her target of interrogation shifted uneasily. ¡°Long story,¡± laughed the woman.


    ¡°Long story?¡± said Franco. ¡°Well please do tell after mine. Now where was I? Ah yes, I was-- Gem, are you even listening?¡±


    She had her eyes on Remy again. Slightly, just slightly she saw the scarf move, a tip of that black haired head as if she had been talking with Toji.


    ¡°Gem!¡±


    The seawolf rolled her eyes to Franco and her paws pushed her cheeks as she answered, ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°Are you listening?¡±


    ¡°Of course. I¡¯m listening¡­ albeit only to the important bits.¡±


    ¡°All of it¡¯s important!¡± he shot.


    ¡°Right. Important,¡± said the seawolf. ¡°From what I¡¯ve been hearing, your story tells me nothing of the Professor nor Tig. Not even Mor¡¯de. Did you see any of them?¡±


    Franco shook his head, ¡°I was hoping you did.¡±


    She shrugged. He was right to think that. She did have her nose after all. Considering Remy and Franco were with her now and without the Professor, regrouping would have been their best course.


    The seawolf focussed on her sense of smell and remembered the scent of Tig. The Professor, the night he had disappeared had also somehow extinguished his scent. Well, he had done so everytime he shifted into that rabbit thing, so losing his scent again was not new. So Tig was a start.


    She sniffed a couple times and found a trail of where Tig had gone, but not immediately of where was currently. She swore softly. She would need time. Especially, she thought, with so many distractions.


    The loudest distraction continued, ¡°Now where was I? Yes, my second foe¡­¡±


    Franco listed each of his battles as if they were entries in the war annals. There were surprisingly many for a two day span, and unsurprisingly made mostly of outmatched instances. A glance at Lansha¡¯s exhausted expression told her that maybe, just maybe, Franco had stretched the truth.


    Again her eyes shifted to Remy as she sought out Tig¡¯s trail. She was sure of it now. The two were talking. But of what? Of who?


    She didn¡¯t know why she wanted to know, just that she did. Toji barely talked to her and somehow Toji was important. For the first time in a long time, Gemjo found herself yearning to know what went on in the head of her least favorite rich girl.


    ¡­


    Remy shuddered.


    Franco was loud.


    But her breathing and thump of her heart seemed immeasurably louder. It had been minutes. Minutes of failed attempts on Remy¡¯s part to pardon herself from the boy who stared at her for uncomfortably long.


    Each time she tired, she shied back meekly, her heart beating twice as fast. It was if his gaze had seen what lay underneath her goggles, as if he knew. This child, barely half her age, was different from the others. He didn¡¯t talk for one, only stared. Normally when turns talked, Remy had time to adjust, to respond the moment she felt comfortable, but not him.


    His natural eyes held her like a snake¡¯s ready to pounce. She controlled her breaths. The scarf was warm against her and she hid in it thankfully. She wandered to her happy place deep inside her conscious and as Franco spoke on she remembered the day¡¯s events. Had it been any other day, she was sure she would have bested her steely eyed foe. But not today. Not after what was said.


    Her cheeks reddened as she found Franco in the corner of her eyes. He knew.


    Thankfully, he had skipped that part of the story, mentioning how they had found what they were after there before returning to the fight. But he knew. As if the memory had not been done justice left unsaid, she recalled it vividly.


    They had just made it to the Palace of Knowledge after Franco¡¯s eleventh foe. It was marked by two porcelain white columns just as Telipei described it and it lay east of the central plazas, closer to that end of the city. Rays of dusk made the pillars seem more orange than white.


    She had spotted those columns some distance away and assumed something remarkable waiting at the bottom of them. But once they defeated the rolling hill that hid the majority of the structure she could only frown. This was no palace. The building was more of an inn, complete with wooden arches and hollow flooring. It was longer than it was wide and much shorter than either. It had a single floor with a pyramid roof. They were by the entrance in minutes.


    Designs of silver flowers pocked the nigh translucent white walling and oblong shadows, which darkened the white, hinted of long bookcases behind it. Remy spotted a few half turns by the steps to the Palace reading scrolls. However small the place was, there was no mistaking its purpose.


    The door slid before they got there, and a few scholarly types wandered through. They bowed when they saw the two and Franco bowed back, bowing his head on the low rise entry as he attempted to raise it. Remy quietly followed.


    There were rows upon rows of book cases that populated the Palace. Thousands of scrolls within those.


    ¡°Excuse me,¡± came a shrill voice from their side.


    Remy placed the voice at a counter that hugged the wall there. It was from an old full turned woman made of lacquered maple. Her hair, which was combed under her wooden ears, was slick and a darker shade of maple.


    ¡°Do you have permission to be here?¡± continued the wooden woman.


    Franco hesitated form answering. She wore glasses. Normally that distinction would not have warranted any pause from neither Franco nor Remy, had it not been for how the woman¡¯s eyes had turned to paper.


    They studied her paper eyes for longer than they should have.


    ¡°Um your eyes?¡± started Franco


    ¡°Yes yes, them. I can see quite well thank you. Now your business, foreigner? Have you the Emperor¡¯s seal to be here?¡±


    Remy stepped ahead of him and attempted to answer in a mess of stutters, drawing a few looks from the few turns that attended the bookshelves.


    ¡°Master Capicho has spoken for us,¡± said Franco, relieving the red faced girl.


    ¡°Capicho?¡± she raised a finger as she foraged for something through various sliding shelves behind her. ¡°Ah yes,¡± she said, unfurling one of the many scrolls she took out. She glanced at the two then back to the scroll again, ¡°You do fit the description. Very well, thrice great grandson of Fronesto and his unnamed companion, you are free to access our maps.¡±


    The woman raised her gnarled hand and pointed a row of bookshelves far behind her, ¡°You will find them in the south wing. I¡¯d give you the corresponding letter but given your unfamiliarity with our written language, look instead for the letter that looks most like a butterfly.¡±


    ¡°We will,¡± said Franco with a bow. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    The two traveled down the north wing, eyeing the many book shelves as they tapped passed them. It smelled of old books and dust, but in a pleasant way that reminded Remy of the grand library of Verace. She had been too young to understand the world of books that her sisters loved. Then she had merely enjoyed how they looked and how massive the library seemed to her. How wondrous it was filled with silent figures flipping through pages and pages of ancient texts.


    That sound was gone now. Books were replaced with roll down scrolls. The figures were silent. Quieter still near the further end of the library where few, if any, turns remained. She heard a cough, the odd scrap of a scroll.


    ¡°Over there,¡± she whispered, pointing at one of many symbols hanging of the tops of each shelf. Franco cocked his head. The symbol that marked it was that of a butterfly.


    ¡°I suppose¡ªyes that¡¯s it,¡± he decided. ¡°Thank you. Why is it you¡¯ve chosen to follow me by the way?¡±


    Remy glanced about anxiously as they slowed to the row with the butterfly.


    ¡°I wanted to know,¡± she said quietly.


    ¡°About what?¡±


    ¡°Why you want to topple the Navy.¡±


    ¡°Ah that,¡± shadows covered him as he stepped between the looming rows. ¡°A good question but not one I¡¯ll answer before you tell me why you¡¯ve chosen to follow the Professor.¡±


    Something caught in Remy¡¯s throat and she distracted herself by pulling at the scrolls one after the other.


    Franco shook his head, ¡°Won¡¯t answer, eh? Well then you won¡¯t pry anything from me.¡±


    She kept at the scrolls.


    He frowned as he worked at the scrolls himself, one eye always on the girl, ¡°No matter.¡± he continued, ¡°I¡¯ll be just as stubborn, nay more so! I won¡¯t speak,¡± he puffed. ¡°No matter how much you ask I won¡¯t. don¡¯t even try, ok? I¡¯ll shut up now. Just you wait.¡±


    Silence except the scraping draw of scroll after scroll.


    Franco sighed, ¡°D¡¯you know you ought to open them to.¡±


    She spied at him with her unflinching goggles, ¡°These are all of the Twelve Seas.¡±


    That caught him off guard. None of the scrolls had pictures on their canisters, only writing in above lander words. ¡°Hold off. Remy, can you read their writing?¡±


    A nod.


    ¡°Hours you really are rich. Gemjo was right. They say only the well-off get educated in the people¡¯s tongue.¡±


    Remy frowned. She spoke as she scrutinized each scroll quicker and quicker in machine like order, ¡°I would not describe it as well off.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡± asked Franco as he listed the points with his silver fingers flicking out, ¡°Money, education, social standing, fame, and did I say money?¡±


    ¡°Expectations,¡± she muttered to another pull of a scroll.


    ¡°Such as?¡±


    Her frown deepened, only now she directed it at Franco.


    ¡°Answering when asked,¡± she said sharply.


    ¡°Ah that, well funny thing that,¡± he laughed. ¡°Ahem. Fine. Fine! You win. Where to begin?¡±


    Remy held a scroll out midway. Her goggles remained fixed on the contained literature as she lipped the words bitterly.


    ¡°The Navy.¡±


    Franco stepped back and crossed his arms. His eyes trailed the wall ahead of him. Hundreds of scrolls, if not more, awaited his search but only one Remy Le Ricci awaited his answer. She wondered what he thought of her. A pest? A threat? A girl who would use him as an excuse to get what she wanted? She was their newest addition, sure, but so was he until a week before.


    ¡°I suppose I owe you an answer. As one new crewmate to the next,¡± he said.


    Her breath caught.


    ¡°We¡¯ve always known about them,¡± he started. ¡°Siblesey being an island, the Navy held sole jurisdiction there. We¡¯d see them the doing the rounds once a month, twice on festival months. Sometimes the soldiers would tell us half turns stories,¡± he smiled and puffed. ¡°Foolish little tales that would make us gush over the strength of her majesties forces. We all knew of the four Admirals, though only by name. I swear if I had known that was Mor¡¯de when I first met, I would have¡­ I would have¡­¡± he shook his head, ¡°But I digress. We knew of them and how strong they were, so it was only naturally for most kids to want to join them when they fully turned. Me? I wanted the opposite. I wanted them beat.¡±


    ¡°But why?¡±


    He smiled at her, ¡°Why else? The man who bested the Navy would become synonymous with legend, worthy of the name ¡®Cantinio¡¯.¡±


    The girl paused her searching.


    ¡°A name¡¯s a heavy thing you know?¡± continued Franco. ¡°Especially mine. Hours, we¡¯re only here because my thrice great grandfather happens to be Fron. Not just Fron, but The Fron. So I thought I¡¯d best the Navy and that be that.¡±


    Remy nodded to herself, ¡°I think¡­ I think I can rela¡ª¡±


    ¡°That was my reason anyways.¡±


    Slowly, perhaps nervously, Remy pivoted her head to meet the monstrous man¡¯s height. His unflinching gaze seemed to waver just that once. His crossed arms tightened. The air stilled. Their breaths became howls between bottomless cliffs.


    ¡°I had someone close to me. Long time ago. She dreamt of becoming a captain since before I wanted to topple the Navy. We were just half turns, dreaming as half turns do. But she meant it. One day we were playing as always by our favorite spot on the cliff, the next she had been swayed by some lofty sailor to set sail. D¡¯you know, the same gits that told us those navy sotries. After that?¡± he asked, his voice quieting. ¡°Well, after that she was gone.¡±


    The air in the library seemed to churn. Someone, somewhere had left a window open, and a chilly wind rattled a few of the bookshelves. The creaks and moans of wood joined the quiet ruckus.


    Remy did not know what to say. A moment before she thought she had found someone she could connect with, someone who shared her trouble that which she had not shared with anyone, but now it was different. There in the eyes of Franco Cantinio lay an unmistakable grief, an eternally wallowing pain that no Remy Le Ricci, with her pitiful dilemmas, could ever understand.


    She dipped her head, finding refuge in the maroon carpeting. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said quietly.


    The window that had been open shut abruptly and she jumped to find Franco staring at her, speaking to her.


    ¡°They searched for three days and nights. Nothing. But I say she¡¯s still out there. Alive. Probably traveling the seas right now and yet to leave a mark.¡±


    ¡°You¡­ you want to find her?¡± she managed to ask.


    Franco nodded, prodding his chest with renowned vigor, ¡°No. She¡¯ll find me. I¡¯ll make a name for myself that¡¯ll spread everywhere in our world,¡± he turned to the wall of scrolls, ¡°and the next. And then she¡¯ll know I¡¯m out there.¡±


    The mechanisms in her eyes whirred and adjusted focussing on the smallest details on Franco¡¯s face. She shook it off. That was a malfunction of hers, a known hiccup. Her eyes had a tendency to readjust on things that fascinated her.


    She took a breath, pushing a scroll she had taken out back in. ¡°I follow you because you are my best chance at finding the Professor,¡± she said. ¡°And I follow him because he¡¯s promised to undo a mechanization.¡±


    ¡°Undo?¡± said the Franco, leaning low to meet her eyes. ¡°Hours. Can that be done?¡±


    Remy pressed her brows down and her head with it, ¡°I don¡¯t know, not for sure, but he¡¯s my best chance at undoing what should have never been done. It¡¯s my oldest sister,¡± she said slowly. ¡°When she mechanized, the part of her that went was the part she needed for children.¡±


    Franco muttered her words, ¡°The part she needed for¡­ oh.¡±


    Remy nodded, ¡°Her betrothed was set to marry me instead, so I may ¡®carry on the family legacy¡¯. Problem is... is¡­¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t want to?¡± he interjected.


    She looked up to him, ¡°I want her to. Things were good before she turned. I had my machines, Micette had grades, the books she always read, the love of her life¡­ we were well off.¡±


    ¡°A tragedy of circumstance,¡± he named it. ¡°It was just you then? No other sister to marry off?¡±


    ¡°There is, but she¡¯s similarly betrothed to another family.¡±


    ¡°Hours. You upper class types have no freedom. What a contradiction!¡± he said waving his hands at the innumerable scrolls. ¡°You¡¯re taught the languages you need to read any maps, given the funds to go anywhere you please, and yet you¡¯re denied the choice to love who you want? I¡¯d much rather be the opposite, illiterate and free.¡±


    Remy reached for another scroll, ¡°I have to find the mad tinker. I have to. For Micette.¡±


    ¡°Then you¡¯ve chosen the right company,¡± remarked Franco.


    She held the scroll and glanced his way, ¡°You?¡±


    Franco nodded, ¡°Me, Tig, Gemjo and the Professor. We¡¯ll find that tinker. Us five, I¡¯m sure of it.¡±


    The memory vanished as a chair toppled by the dining room table. It was Gemjo.


    Franco had just barely ended his story. The others, stunned as Remy, stared at the girl expecting answers.


    ¡°Gem?¡± asked Franco.


    ¡°Why?¡± started Gemjo, glancing at Franco then Remy. ¡°Why didn¡¯t I notice? It¡¯s Tig. He¡¯s gone.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean he¡¯s gone?¡± asked Remy, finding her composure return to her.


    Gemjo shook her head, pacing madly, ¡°It¡¯s as if he¡¯s left the city.¡±


    Remy started, ¡°He wouldn¡¯t do that.¡±


    ¡°How would you know what he would do and wouldn¡¯t, rich girl?¡±


    Remy took steps to Gemjo who met her halfway. The two were breaths away when both stopped. Remy pressed close, ¡°Am I wrong?¡±


    For once, the seawolf hesitated.


    ¡°Aye, Remy¡¯s right. Tig wouldn¡¯t leave,¡± said Franco. ¡°You sure you¡¯re not mis-smelling?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure,¡± said Gemjo.


    Telipei stood up second, prompting the others to turn to him with tense, fixating looks. He raised his hands, ¡°Look. Your friend is gone, possibly left, is this reason to panic? Did he have something on him or know something damning?¡±


    Gemjo, Franco and Remy shared a look.


    Gemjo spoke first, ¡°Point is, I can¡¯t smell where he is now and my best guess is that he left this place with the Professor. I haven¡¯t been able to smell that drunk for a while either.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s even less likely,¡± argued Remy. ¡°The Professor will not leave without me.¡±


    ¡°Well he did, princess. Tig to.¡±


    Before Remy could retort, Franco took to his feet with a scrap of his chair, ¡°What about where he was then? Can you smell that?¡±


    ¡°I can,¡± said Gemjo, holding her chin low as she continued. ¡°And if he did leave with the Professor, we¡¯ll know that way to.¡±


    Franco nodded, ¡°Then that¡¯s where we¡¯ll go, captain¡¯s orders. Lansha, Telipei, Chou, can you assist this woman in finding her sister?¡±


    Lansha had been resting on his elbow, ¡°Mai has an army by her.¡±


    ¡°Well wait for me then. Just make sure the woman¡¯s safe.¡±


    Franco made to the stairs where Remy and Gemjo waited. Before he took the first step however, he turned and looked at Telipei, Chou and Lansha. Remy could tell why. A vague command never did well for morale. The three Franco left behind seemed uncertain, sharing troubled glances and timid shrugs.


    Franco cracked his shoulders and stole their attention with a punch of his palm, ¡°Trust me on this,¡± he said. ¡°We¡¯ll save Ming. An army? Pah! That¡¯s nothing. After all, I¡¯m the man who¡¯ll topple the navy.¡±


    That made the others smile, albeit slightly. Even Lansha cracked a small grin.


    ¡°So you are,¡± said the larger man. ¡°We¡¯ll try our best. So do whatever it is you need to do and get back to us.¡±


    Franco went ahead to that and Remy followed. She made it two steps before stopping. The Seawolf had paused midway down the stairs. She had her head balanced on her hand as if in mid thought.


    ¡°Navy, the device, the captured soldier¡­ That¡¯s it!¡± said Gemjo.


    ¡°What¡¯s ¡®it¡¯?¡± hissed Remy.


    ¡°How we¡¯ll beat Mai. How we¡¯ll do all of it and quick so I might finally get some sleep,¡± said Gemjo.


    Franco gripped her by the shoulders. ¡°Oi, oi, Gem, you have a plan?¡± he asked.


    Gemjo eyed the two of them and smiled lazily, ¡°I do.¡±

 The Buzzing Box

    There were five buildings that dominated the night skyline of Jing Mon Ceros. The first was the emperor¡¯s palace, standing grandly in the center of the city. The other four were scattered around the city proper. One was a tower that offered the highest point for incoming clockships, another the temple of the arbiter with high piercing spires. A cluster of sky whale embassies gathered around the temple¡¯s base. The last two buildings were orphanages.


    With ruddy bases, wide and impassive, the orphanages squatted on opposite ends of the city. If a passerby were to look upon the city by the whale¡¯s starboard eye, they would have caught a singular structure as the two orphanages aligned perfectly with emperor¡¯s palace.


    Both orphanages stood as mock reflections of that center structure. The red tiles on the pagoda towers were dull and dark, the walls more yellow than white. Had the palace be gone, there would be no imposters, because between the orphanages there was yet one difference.


    The place built furthest back, the first of the two orphanages, had its highest top crumbled off. That was Matron Feila¡¯s orphanage before she had opposed the emperor. And just as her home lost its head, so too did she.


    Its army was stripped, its funding gone. The turns who had once grown up and served for the orphanage were conscripted into the Emperor¡¯s survey teams. Feila¡¯s once esteemed organization was reduced to its fundamentals. It became a home for displaced children.


    That had happened a week ago.


    Elsewhere, the black coated counterparts to Feila¡¯s red coats rushed about in organised troops. They marched the still wetted streets. They rummaged the alleys and downtrodden places. Onlookers whispered awful rumors as they saw the happenings. In their minds Mai must have been planning what Feila had. And that meant trouble. What the suspicious few lacked was what the emperor did. Proof.


    Gemjo had it. It buzzed in a knitted pack that hung off her shoulder. The organised steps of Remy mixed messily with Gemjo¡¯s lazy ones and Franco¡¯s longs strides. In between the houses that shadowed them and sporadic clusters of turns, the three made discreet work to the place the buzzing box would go.


    They passed through the largest street in all of Jing Mon Ceros. The palace waited at the end of it, while a bustling crowd filled the space between. Gemjo smiled under the shadows of passing umbrella fliers, her eyes craning high, higher than the source of those shadows. Her plan that was brilliant and mad and daring would start from the very top.


    ¡­


    Charles and Pratchet had been walking for a while. They munched on loaves of coal as they made quiet work of the city¡¯s quieter roads. It was dusk still. Glancing at the city skylines, Tig knew that would not last. Bright borders traced the structures. Shapes of pagodas, low buildings and, most notably, clockships towers lay ahead of the wayward marines. Tig behind them.


    He wondered if they knew he was following them. The streets north of the inn weren¡¯t as cleanly as he wish they were. But now, as he ducked behind yet another crate, he thanked the hours for the mess. It gave ample places to hide.


    Among the litter and the browning leaves, puddles of rain water coalesced where the cobble had cracked. The factories the puffed gasses were close now, their fumes pocking the sky in steamy mists.


    Houses hugged either side of the road, their fronts covered by planks in mock repair. The full turns who wandered the streets were not much different. Some had missing limbs, others dents and tears in their metalwork faces. He saw a full turn eye him from a porch. He coughed as that turn let out a smoke ring in his direction. He read about that in Wilma¡¯s library. Some turns had engines in their bodies that let out smoke.


    Tig ducked between two houses as Charles peaked over his shoulder.


    A shrug and the two continued moving. Tig read his porcelain lips as the men continued away.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    Thought I heard a cough.


    Charles and Pratchet had been traveling exactly where Tig needed to go. He was unsure whether Webly or any of his other men would appear behind him at any point, but he was certain the Charles and Pratchet would see him if he chose to go ahead.


    Charles was sharper than he looked. A cough or a misspoken word was all it took to alert the man. It made Tig just as careful. He hated being careful. Now was not the time for caution. His brother was in the city and every moment he wasted trying not to get caught was an opportunity for that man to kill his companions. Tig paced a little faster. He could not risk that.


    Charles slowed a little and again Tig rushed into an alley.


    ¡°What¡¯s with you today?¡± said Pratchet.


    Charles glanced about wearily, ¡°I feel as we¡¯re being watched. Followed.¡±


    Sweat dripped down Tig¡¯s forehead. He didn¡¯t dare to see where Charles was looking now.


    ¡°By who, dear Charles?¡±


    Charles swallowed and said the one word Tig hoped he wouldn¡¯t.


    ¡°Trimbly.¡±


    Tig paused. It was strange. Charles had spoken in another direction. Just as Tig spied around the corner he heard the heavy steps.


    There, opposite to where tig had been hiding and few houses ahead, Lemini Trimbly stepped out of an alley and greeted the men with a tip of his hat.


    He was as bulky as Tig remembered him and seemingly more so as he flung open one side of his coat. There were long scrolls tied to the fabric.


    Lemini cocked his half mechanical face, unaware of Tig glancing at him.


    ¡°Are you my hunters?¡± he said in a low, rumbling voice.


    Pratchet and Charles struggled for their rifles. Charles gestured at the turns walking about. He flung his free arm madly.


    ¡°Run! Get out of here! This is dangerous.¡±


    All that got him were confused glances and unconvinced shrugs as those walking kept walking.


    Pratchet sighed, ¡°My turn, Charles.¡± He fired into the air.


    The street fell into panic. Screams and hurried steps followed turns as they tumbled into alleys and volleyed down the road. Within seconds, Charles, Pratchet and Lemini were alone.


    Lemini cracked his shoulders, ¡°Leave and I will not chase. I have no wish to kill what need not be killed.¡±


    ¡°Well sorry then, Trimbly,¡± said Charles, his rifle wavering at Lemini, ¡°But our old sergeant will give us a lecture if we do that.¡±


    Lemini nodded, ¡°It is your will then?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Charles, his gun practically doubled by how much he shook it, ¡°It is.¡±


    Lemini had taken out a scroll, unfurled it. Tig could see the tell-tale signs of time magic, the white lines, the distortions in space.


    ¡°Then let us begin,¡± said Lemini.


    Charles fired.


    ¡­


    The plan was a simple one.


    Gemjo realised it on her descent down the orphanage stairs and explained it to Franco and Remy on their way out. They would not find Tig first, in fact they would find him shortly after ensuring Ming would be rescued. As to how, it all depended on her little buzzing box.


    She remembered how Toji loathed her decision to leave the soldier behind. And how guarded Mor¡¯de seemed when Remy thought to reveal his plans. All she needed to do was let the admiral know. Or perhaps not Mor¡¯de at all.


    It was a quick trip down the border streets into Lion¡¯s Way. From there, amidst the massive crowds, it was slightly longer before they reached the palace at night.


    There were two guards by the entrance and that was where Remy, Gemjo and Franco split. Franco and Remy entered as guests of Mor¡¯de and continued on saying they had a message for the admiral. The guard asked simple questions that warranted simple responses. Why find him here? What message? The two explained it had to with a secret getting out. Gemjo snuck in behind them.


    Members of Mor¡¯de¡¯s navy soon joined the two guards and an escort was fashioned further into the palace. Naturally, word of a soldier wanting divulge a secret at night gathered a crowd of painted faces and worried soldiers alike.


    When court was assembled, Remy and Franco stood before a room split between navy and palace officials. The emperor waited upon the throne, yawning loudly. They waited for one of Mor¡¯de officers arrive before continuing and when the man got there, they lied between their teeth.


    They claimed a marine had deserted Mor¡¯de¡¯s forces and Franco, upon one of  his many tours, spotted the man board a vessel and escape on a clockship. He bid those present if any soldiers had been reported missing of late. Mor¡¯de¡¯s officer, a man by the name of Jinshe, a skinny and tall above lander that had been conscripted as an immigrant, was sweating as Franco spoke.


    When the Emperor insisted Jinshe answer the question he did. It was a nod and a message to both the emperor and the navy present.


    He¡¯s deserted. Find him.


    The meeting was adjourned, the navy dismissed and when all the blue coats had filed out, the door closed.


    The palace officials who waited for their emperor to dismiss them paused as the dog did. The emperor¡¯s beady eyes had been fixed on something by the door. Two dozen heads turned in unison. Gemjo waited by the palace door. She waved at them with one hand and held out her little buzzing box with the other.


    ¡°The man you seek is still in this city,¡± she told them, her voice echoing. ¡°And you better find him before they realise he is.¡±

 Reunited

    While the city slept, its armies did not. Night had just fallen. The blue coats marched down the dimming streets and into clock ship towers, where a number of ships took off in quick succession. They split in unknowable directions, quickly vanishing behind increasing cloud cover.


    At the same time, the personal troops of the emperor led a raid on Matron Mai¡¯s orphanage. The turns that glimpsed out their windows and eyed the soldiers and police run down the road thought it was a matter of time. The redcoats had only rebelled a week ago.


    Rumors began of an official purge of the orphanages. Those rumors gained traction as more and more turns saw the increase in soldiers around Mai¡¯s orphanage. Rifles clamored. Orders echoed. Streets upon streets were barricaded and on the other side there was terror.


    Most of the black coats did not understand the sudden mobilisation. Over the span of a night they had been made enemy of the state. There was confusion amongst their ranks and arguments more.


    Scores of turns surrendered before the fighting began, and when it did, it lasted barely a night. The Emperor¡¯s troops moved in mercilessly, many having lost comrades in the struggles against the red coats. They aimed for their heads.


    Like clockwork, the fire of guns repeated throughout the night. It could be heard throughout the city.


    Gemjo had been pacing in the orphanage hall. Half turns pattered above. Franco and Remy had been gone for sometime as a part of the emperor¡¯s assault force. They fought under Capicho¡¯s school as well as a number of other schools.


    The deal Gemjo made had been a tenuous one. If Mor¡¯de¡¯s confrontation with Remy told her anything it was that the admiral could not be trusted. More so, the emperor let her keep the box. Now that box sat on the table, momentarily letting out commands of faraway soldiers. There was value in the box that Gemjo used as proof. It let her know what Mor¡¯de would do and going forwards that was essential. Everything else within the city she could detect.


    First there was gunfire. Then there was the smell of black powder. It engulfed the streets in the hours of the tussle and Gemjo knew it would. Tig¡¯s scent that she so desperately clung had vanished within it. Her senses were dulled. She was blind in five ways instead of one.


    When the shots silenced, Gemjo stilled.  It was in these moments, these seconds captured in ice, she felt at the peak of her desperation.


    Anything could happen during a fight. Anything.


    The door clicked and her worry vanished. Three figures appeared by the door. It was Franco supported by Telipei and Lansha. Franco¡¯s face was mess. Tears streamed down his cheeks and kept streaming. He signaled the other two let him down and he tumbled to a ball.


    ¡°Franco?¡± started Gemjo. ¡°How did it¡­ go?¡±


    The grown man glimpsed at her, sniffing madly and balled, ¡°Terrible.¡±


    The Matron rushed down the stairs, deadfaced once she reached the last steps. ¡°Then Ming¡­¡± she trailed, her black eyes wetting, ¡°She¡¯s dead?¡±


    Telipei smiled at Lansha who shook his head. The two split to the sides and a woman walked through.


    The matron wiped at her cheeks and leapt into the woman¡¯s arms where the two embraced tightly. They spun in circles and when they stopped, they parted only at an elbow¡¯s length and embraced again.


    ¡°Oh beasts,¡± sniffed the matron. ¡°Oh Rat, oh Rabbit, oh Pig and-- and even dragon! You¡¯re alive!¡±


    ¡°Sister,¡± said Ming. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry. I led them to you. Mai¡¯s men were looking at me when that man asked his questions and they mentioned you.¡±


    ¡°Hello,¡± waved the girl.


    Ming parted fully, glancing between her sister and the girl, ¡°Oh. She¡¯s so¡­ small.¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t agreed to anything,¡± said the matron sternly.


    ¡°Oh but Ling you must!¡± clamoured her sister.


    ¡°Must do what? Add another mouth to feed? I have scarcely the resources or the help to handle these eight, let alone handle a ninth.¡±


    Ming shrugged, ¡°What about me?¡±


    ¡°What about you?¡±


    ¡°Well the place I worked is¡­ out of order at the moment. I could help you in return for a place to stay.¡±


    ¡°So then what was said is true? There was a massacre?¡±


    Ming nodded.


    ¡°Oh Rat, bless their souls.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s a massacre?¡± chirped Kepa from up top.


    ¡°A bad thing,¡± answered Ling, ¡°A very very bad thing.¡±


    ¡°Most of the turns that were killed were Matron Mai¡¯s boys. They say she was supposed to hold the funerals tomorrow, but I don¡¯t think they can now...¡±


    ¡°Never liked Mai,¡± muttered the Matron.


    ¡°But it¡¯s horrible what happened to her.¡±This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    ¡°What? The raid or the massacre?¡±


    For a moment the two smiled at each other before hugging again.


    ¡°Missed you,¡± hushed Ming.


    The two entered their own little world while Gemjo returned to the balling Franco. She frowned at him and decided to ask his two more sensible companions.


    ¡°What happened?¡±


    ¡°Simple version?¡± started Telipei. ¡°We won. Never expected the Emperor to have been so motivated in attacking Mai nor would I ask why, but his forces settled it quickly. Our people found Ming amidst the raid. She wasn¡¯t harmed.¡±


    ¡°And him?¡± asked Gemjo, gesturing at the broken Franco.


    Telipei bit his lip, ¡°Ah that¡­¡±


    ¡°That, below lander, is what happens when a fighter prioritizes lust over his fistwork.¡± said Lansha.


    ¡°I met my beloved,¡± wept Franco,¡± B-but she was¡­ she was¡­¡±


    ¡°Mai,¡± finished Lansha.


    Franco wept even harder.


    Gemjo crossed her arms and raised a brow, ¡°You fell in love with Matron Mai? The former most wanted turn in all of Jing Mon Ceros?¡±


    Breathing deeply, Franco stumbled to his feet and pointed at Gemjo viciously, ¡°You wouldn¡¯t understand true love.¡±


    Gemjo bobbed her head, ¡°I hope not.¡±


    ¡°True love,¡± he continued, ¡°Is something far more pressing than any manhunt or tinker. True love is the essence of happiness. Without it we¡¯d be¡ªoi, you even listening?¡±


    Gemjo recalled how he had asked that same question the day prior. She shrugged this time, ¡°No. What about Remy? Did she find them?¡±


    The girl in question passed through the open doorway as she said that.


    ¡°No,¡± she said quietly. ¡°I searched the empty streets in the confusion just as you said to. I saw no traveling troupe.¡±


    Franco wiped at his cheeks, ¡°Why did you say to look for the troupe again, um, Raibo¡¯s Rats was it? Why them? Why would Tig be with them?¡±


    ¡°Makes sense,¡± shrugged Gemjo, pacing with her arms crossed, ¡°They¡¯re the only ones who traveled to all the places I sensed the smell. Also, had the Professor truly been with them, Tig would have a reason to follow.¡±


    ¡°And with the cleared streets, your best chance to find them would be during the fight. Clever girl,¡± said Telipei.


    ¡°Seems they¡¯re better at hiding than I thought,¡± said Gemjo. ¡°Which is why we look again tomorrow.¡±


    They shared a nod, all of them exhausted.


    They spent the night in the orphanage. Matron Ling insisted they should. The guest room where Gemjo shared half a bed with Remy was soon a crowded place. It housed not just the two girls, but also Franco, Lansha, Telipei and Chou, who arrived later. The three students of Capicho slept cross legged with their backs to each other in one corner, while Franco hogged the other, weeping softly a he remembered his beloved.


    The lights were out, but Gemjo could see hints of it lining the gap under the door. She heard muted chatter of the Matron and her sister beyond that. She imagined the two had a lot to talk about after the week¡¯s events.


    They were sisters after all.


    Gemjo shifted and her back pressed against Remy¡¯s. She felt movement and sighed.


    ¡°You¡¯re awake?¡± she mumbled at the soldier.


    Seconds passed before she answered, ¡°Can¡¯t sleep.¡±


    Gemjo rolled her eyes, ¡°Listen, what I said about Tig, it¡¯s not that I care what he is to you. It¡¯s just¡­ well you¡¯re a liability.¡±


    ¡°I follow because the Professor is there.¡±


    ¡°Yea and I don¡¯t get that.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡± The sheets shuffled behind her and Gemjo turned to the sound.


    They became face to face. Gemjo¡¯s golden eyes reflecting upon her blackened goggles.


    ¡°You¡¯re the same as Tig,¡± hissed Gemjo. ¡°You both follow that drunk and it gets you nothing but trouble. Why?¡±


    Remy shifted to her back, ¡°I can¡¯t say. But he owes me something I want, and I intend to collect.¡±


    ¡°Money? Is that it? You high society turns are all the same. You may move in the same direction as us, but don¡¯t think we trust you.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t expect you to,¡± said Remy.


    Gemjo snarled and toppled back to her other side until she faced the open side of the room. She stayed silent for some time but by the breaths Remy took she could tell the girl was awake.


    ¡°We do make exceptions, I think,¡± said Gemjo after a pause. ¡°I don¡¯t like you, but if Mor¡¯de keeps you from that side of the law, I¡¯m sure¡­ I¡¯m sure that idiot over there will be the first to defend you.¡±


    Franco snorted between sobs and snores.


    She heard Remy breathe a laugh and she forced back her own smile. Then the sheets crumpled as the soldier returned back to her side. This time, Remy had gone to sleep. The light chatter outside had also hushed, the lights to. The window rattled slightly to the autumn winds and if she listened hard enough she could feel the heartbeat of the creature the city slept on.


    It was like thunder slowed in time, impossibly low and quiet. She listened to it as she drifted to her false sleep. Thoughts of Tig¡¯s disappearance and the raid and its effects filled the gaps left by her waning consciousness. What could happen, what most likely would, Gemjo felt she had a plan no matter how unlikely.


    She wondered then if the others would trust her again. If that was her place in the small tribe they had assembled.


    ¡°It¡¯s family,¡± spoke Remy again. ¡°I do it for family, not money.¡±


    Gemjo dipped her chin. When she was sure Remy was asleep, she reached up out the blanket and touched her neck. Her hand stayed there, tracing the scars. Remy¡¯s words seemed to distract her from any plans she could concoct. It played and played on repeat. And for some reason, she smiled. Below the covers, her tail swished.


    The company of six split in half come morn. Caphicho¡¯s students, Lansha, Telipei and Chou left ahead for the school while Remy, Gemjo and Franco took to the streets.


    The children gathered to wish them goodbye.


    Ling and Mign stood behind them. The cries for ¡®Niss Jo¡¯ were quickly silenced by Matron Ling. Gemjo knew their¡¯s was a momentary departure.


    She nodded at them, shuffled a few heads. ¡°If all goes well,¡± she said. ¡°We¡¯ll find Tig, the Professor and meet back here.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll have food for you,¡± promised Ling.


    Gemjo narrowed her eyes, titled her chin, ¡°And answers I hope. Mostly, about where you got your money.¡±


    ¡°Money? What money? Ling?¡±


    ¡°Long story, Ming, but a story I suppose I¡¯ll have to give when your saviours get back.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, we¡¯ll be back as soon as we can,¡± promised Franco. ¡°You¡¯re going to love Tig! But be sure to keep your distance from the Professor.¡±


    ¡°Why¡¯s that, Co?¡± asked Kepa by the door.


    ¡°Co?¡±


    Gemjo smiled at the freckle faced girl and crouched to her height. There she bared her fangs and spoke menacingly, ¡°Because he devourers children.¡±


    Squirms and shrieks filled room and Ming struggled to collect the children. Matron Ling remained, smiling briefly.


    ¡°You will return, won¡¯t you?¡± she asked quietly.


    The three glanced at each other and gave her a nod.


    ¡°Promise,¡± said Remy.


    From the orphanage the three traveled to every point the scent led them. They began at the Royal Rabbit then traveled to southern ends of the city near the red light district. They traced the roads closest to the walls, ventured out near the boarded off remnants of the tavern Ming worked and found their way back into the middle networks of the city.


    At some point, Tig¡¯s scent seemed to half and the remaining bit had traveled all over the city. They followed its trail religiously. They saw signs of the night¡¯s struggles, broken barricades, splintered wood, even bullets where turns worked at cleaning the mess.


    A morning of searching turned into nearly a day when they came across Lion¡¯s way. There and then, when hordes of pedestrians surrounded them in the busiest street of Jing Mon Ceros, the one trail became two.


    That made her pause just long enough to realise the first trail was close to its end. Close enough to see instead of smell. She strained her eyes on the place where the scent led her and there she saw them.


    Sitting cross legged on the street side were two full turn women and a half turn girl

 Chapter 50, What Do Mechanical Whales Eat?

    It was cold but the oranges and yellows of the fading sky made it seem otherwise.


    She watched the clouds race by. They rushed in one direction, while the ground she stood on went the other way. The ground was alive, beating. It breathed, it stretched, it yawned and sweat. Then, in the rarest of moments, it sang in a way that was beautiful and sad. A eulogy she thought. Most didn¡¯t hear it and understandably so. The city was loud with its factories and pistons, crowds and criers. Sometimes she thought they didn¡¯t want to hear it.


    No, they insisted on selling their wares. Every so often she¡¯d hear the sales pitches. Dresses! Spices! Parts! The very best fish!


    She cocked her head as another thought occurred to her.


    ¡°What do mechanical whales eat?¡±


    Bile lowered a brow at her. Lucy laughed. The three sat cross legged on the street side, their respective instruments attached to them in various fashions. Koto had her twynet tied to her back, Lucy balanced her flute on her lap and Bile spun her drum sticks between her fingers. A busy street bustled ahead of them.


    ¡°What now Ns. Cloudhead?¡± said Bile.


    Koto turned to her companion, ¡°If mechanization removes the need to eat. Then not eating makes sense, but what did they eat when they were not machines?¡±


    ¡°That,¡± said Bile, ¡°That is a history lesson. Long one to. And by the crowds our wonderful crew is bringing for us today, I doubt we¡¯ll have time to go over it.¡±


    ¡°Short version?¡± asked Koto.


    Bile sighed, ¡°Really Koto?¡±


    ¡°Ships perhaps? Or¡­ or monstrous anchovies!¡±


    Another sigh, ¡°Alright, well here¡¯s the short of it. A long long time ago our peoples lived on highlands that stretched over bottomless cliffs. In come a horde of hungry gigantic, land eating whales, and well we lost that land. Still a long time ago, some brave stupid soul thought it wise to live on said whales and they did and failed miserably when the whales went to mate or perform acrobatics. Imagine a city on whale¡¯s back yea? Now imagine it turned upside down. Not pretty. But our ancestors were stubborn, so they kept at it. Built easy to repair houses, ways to keep airborn in any turning events, and entire systems to accommodate a moving home. Then mechanization happened¡­¡±


    Lucy who had stayed quiet for some time, thought it best to enter then, ¡°That¡¯s the long part, Bile.¡±


    ¡°Not really. Whales no longer needed to mate, to eat, to flip, anything really. Our societies flourished, grew and kept growing. We had a few wars, in came the arbiter then no more wars. Done. Not long see?¡±


    ¡°So they eat rocks?¡± concluded Koto.


    ¡°Well not the rocks exactly, but all the nutritious living things that live inside of them,¡± explained Bile.


    Koto imagined a country being eaten by a whale. It must have happened slowly. Like a disease the land knew it had, but could do nothing against, slowly surely letting itself fade into food. She wondered if nonliving things could get sick and unintentionally turned to Lucy who had been busy clearing out her flute.


    It did not seem that they could. Disease was a fleshy thing after all. The only disease people spoke of those days were off the foreign soldiers. She fixed on a moving squadron just then. They were not far off from Lucy who sat to Koto¡¯s side.


    ¡°Blue,¡± said Koto suddenly, ¡°Like the man Tig wanted to see.¡±


    ¡°Blue? Where?¡± Bile leaned over her and started.


    ¡°What is it, Bile?¡± asked Lucy.


    ¡°Rat. The navy. Below landers. We best be making ourselves scarce, ladies.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s going to be hard,¡± said Koto calmly, her hand outstretched and pointing. ¡°One of them is looking our way.¡±


    ¡­


    Somehow she recognized them.


    The smell that had conveniently converged to where they needed go split off here, and, following it, Gemjo found the three women that stunk most of it.


    She sniffed audibly, giving the other two pause. Turns sped by hastily. The others hissed inquires at her but she only glared. Too late. Somehow they had noticed her first.


    ¡°They¡¯re guarded,¡± she said softly. ¡°But why?¡±


    Franco pointed at them, looked at Gemjo, ¡°Those three? The two full turn women and the half turn girl?¡±


    Remy stepped ahead of Gemjo. ¡°From the bathhouse,¡± she hushed.


    ¡°Aye the same,¡± confirmed the seawolf. She took steps, wading through the oncoming traffic. Franco and Remy followed closely.


    One by one, the three they approached stood up. They had an air of suspicion about them. Well the full turns did. The half turn, or no turn, as Gemjo quickly recalled, was waving.


    The other whispered questions into that girl¡¯s still fleshy ears. Confused perhaps, the girl refused to answer. She stared at the seawolf who stared back and neared. Closer and closer. Gemjo parted her lips. An inward breath.


    Then silence. A shot. Ringing. A thousand and one steps shifted to stops.


    Breaths became confused, the panic audible. Somewhere close by a shot had been fired. Multiple in fact. And Gemjo¡¯s acute senses numbed.


    Franco stumbled in front of her, saying tihngs in low rumbles as he shook her. Turns brushed past.


    Little by little sounds started to return to her. Amidst the screams and whistles of police, Franco¡¯s mumbles slowly became words, ¡°Gem. Gem! Hey!¡±


    Gemjo snapped to, ¡°What? Gunfire?¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t have time for this,¡± urged Remy ahead.


    The three she smelled earlier had fled into an alley behind them. Remy was in pursuit.


    ¡°Oi Gem, did you sniff Tig on them?¡±


    She nodded. He swore.


    ¡°Alright. Alright,¡± he said, calming. ¡°We¡¯ll have to catch them.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll catch them,¡± said Gemjo.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Go after them with rich girl. I¡¯ll meet you up ahead.¡±


    The streets had nearly emptied now. Nearby, policemen dressed in black with red armbands directed turns out and away while more of them rushed into where the shots sounded.


    Franco gave her a look, and she sighed at him. ¡°Trust me,¡± she said, scanning for ways to run.


    She found it not far from the alley. It was a smaller entry between two buildings. Franco nodded back at her, running off as she did. While he made down the alley, she rushed into the smaller one.


    A few police saw the two¡¯s mad start and called at them, but Gemjo kept forwards. She had run the alley and turned its corner by the time a single officer arrived at its mouth.


    The path became a labyrinth. Alleys blurred into more cobbled paths with momentary breaks in residential areas. She closed of her senses. The sight of grimy roads, the sounds dogs barking and the cold touch of autumn, none of it mattered now. They were distractions. She sniffed between breaths. Tig¡¯s smell was her sole concern and it was close.


    Leaping over a crate, she stumbled around another corner and slammed shoulder first into frosted boards. The trail wavered in the time lost.  She cursed her blunder as she made back to her path.


    She ran again, faster this time.


    The wider roads of Lion¡¯s way fell haphazardly to the much smaller residential ones. Here, where the buildings were condensed and the cobble work broken, Gemjo found herself struggling to keep up with her opponent¡¯s unyielding pace. Her steps became a mixture of splashes and taps. She swatted at low hanging clotheslines and dodged various half turns who crossed her path without warning. It seemed the streets were working against her. The pink dress she wore had gone heavy drenched as it was in the muddy waters.


    Stumbling by another hard to make turn, she tried to rip the foot of her dress and cursed repeatedly when she noticed the smell falter.


    She had hoped Franco and Remy would divert the three to her, but that relied on her being quick. Running in a dress, she realised bitterly, was not the best way to accomplish that. Worse, the dress would not tear cleanly. The seams where the fabric folded held the piece together tightly and resisted the sea wolves best efforts.


    She snarled bitterly at the now awkward half torn thing and let her back slide against closest wooden wall until she was sitting.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    The smell was nearly gone now. Even had she tossed aside the dress and run in her undergarments, and she was not inclined to, catching her surprisingly fast prey would be a challenge.


    Thinking that, she saw a child giggling and running down the road with a gnarled black dog chasing her. She envied that dog. It needed neither clothes nor an awkward bipedal body to navigate the streets.


    The girl and her dog vanished behind a skyline of fluttering clotheslines. There was one way, she realised, studying her steel palm as she drew her fingers inwards. Transformation. She had done it before on the border isles. But back then had been strange, an exception. She had not told the others how she had managed to shift or how she struggled when she tried to train it the day prior. Nothing had worked back then and she thought nothing would.


    Then when Franco was taken out and the Professor leapt in to fight, Gemjo saw Tig focussed on the witch doctor. She remembered him murmuring how the spell could be dodged. He had no book in hand. He had no way to fight against the witch doctor and still he tried to find a way. Taking on losing battles was bad practice, yet there was always an idiot who tried to do it anyways. Lately she had met too many of those idiots. They were mice who bit at the ankles lions, slaves who pulled at their chains.


    She touched her neck.  Her still fleshy skin felt cold without her scarf. Cold just as she felt that night, right until she saw Tig mouthing the words ¡®it can be dodged¡¯. It was a sudden feeling, but she remembered it then as if it were the most important feeling in the world. Hot, up to her ears. A burning determination, a want. It was as if every part of her told her to protect the boy. Run now, sleep tomorrow.


    And she obliged.


    Gemjo stood, the ends of her steel fur bristling. Her eyes narrowed. She thought of the smell and what it meant rather than the physical sense of it. The smell led to those who had met Tig recently. The smell led to Tig.


    Her transformation began. Leaning forwards, the steel of her body engulfed the rest of it. The coils that made her arms split apart, shimmered. They whipped over her clothes and from the gaps the coils left silver furs gushed out, covering her form. Her face stretched. Her butterfly ears melded into two pointed ones. And her back shifted and tensed as her bones rearranged under her silver coat.


    She fell forwards onto two canine paws and her hind legs pushed back to her newfound weight. She sniffed the air with her angled snout and growled. Ahead, the girl and the dog had returned, but seeing Gemjo, they retreated behind a barrel, soon after peaking over a barrel as she could not see them.


    Gemjo ignored them. She could smell the trail again. The form she took now had doubled her smelling and made her legs just as powerful. She wanted to move. Whipping her head in the direction of the smell, she did just that.


    All across the lower residential streets of Jing Mon Ceros, turns bounded out the way of something fast and fierce. It blinded them in its silver brilliance. Those who saw it firsthand would report that they saw a silver blur and nothing more.


    Gemjo finished a dozen streets and alleys as if they were nothing. The rush she felt was incredible. Cold air swept over her furs. The smell got stronger. She could taste it. Another corner and her mark was there.


    The silver wolf leapt into an open space surrounded by tall wooden houses. She took steps, four at a time, as she circled what she saw standing in the middle of it. They had been focussed on the only other exit to the space. Remy and Franco stood there. She drew their attention with a growl. And then they saw her.


    ¡°We¡¯re surrounded,¡± said one of the three, the woman who had bangs covering her tin face. ¡°Great.¡±


    The tallest one clapped her hand and nearly leapt in glee when she saw Gemjo, ¡°You have a wolf!¡±


    Franco smiled at Gemjo, ¡°We have a wolf.¡±


    ¡°Can I pet it?¡± asked the tall woman


    Gemjo shifted back to her seawolf form and spoke mid shift, ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°A shapeshifter!¡± chirped Tall woman, glancing low behind Gemjo. ¡°Kept the tail though. Can I touch it?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Hold on,¡± said the woman with black bangs. ¡°You,¡± she continued, pointing at Remy. ¡°Blue coat. We heard gunfire. I¡¯ll be blunt with you, I don¡¯t like hearing gunfire and seeing bluecoats at the same time. Hearing gunfire, seeing bluecoats, and being chased? Now that¡¯s alarming.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not with the navy.¡± said Franco.


    ¡°Why the blue coat then?¡± asked Bangs.


    Remy spoke up before Gemjo could.


    ¡°Army.¡±


    ¡°Military, a foreign military. I lived long enough to know how these. Lucy with me. Koto do your thing.¡±


    Within moments the two full turn women took open fighting poses, leaping from one foot to the other, while the half turn girl untied her twynet and started tuning it.


    Franco took up a similar pose while Remy navigated the edges towards Gemjo.


    The Seawolf backed up cautiously. The part of her that enjoyed the wolf transformation yearned for the fight, but the rest of her, her true self, wanted nothing more than a simple resolution. The three they cornered were not Mor¡¯de¡¯s men nor did they seem to be the criminal type. Talking was still an option.


    ¡°Wait,¡± said Gemjo. ¡°Before we all punch each other silly, I suggest you lot listen. We¡¯re not here to fight.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not?¡± said Franco.


    Gemjo shook her head, her paws rising beside her, ¡°I just want to talk. About Tig.¡±


    That got Tall Woman to lower her fists. ¡°Tig?¡± she said, smiling. ¡°Ah then you must be¡­¡±


    Something buzzed in Gemjo¡¯s satchel. It whirred and clicked a number of times as Gemjo searched for it madly. Then, just as she drew it from the bag, it started speaking in a mess of static.


    ¡°Gunfire in Lion¡¯s Garden.¡± Gemjo flipped the device over and knocked on it a number of times. ¡°I repeat Gunfire in Lion¡¯s Garden. This is a free signal, requesting any back up available--¡±


    Gemjo grimaced as she managed to shut the thing up. There were two issues with the report. One it was said in voice she recalled all too bitterly, that of Charles. And two, the guarded looks of the three that heard it.


    ¡°Ha,¡± laughed Gemjo, holding the box for the others to see. ¡°This is not what it sounds like.¡±


    ¡°Koto,¡± said Bangs.


    ¡°Yes, Bile.¡±


    Gemjo had no time negotiate. She dropped the box as Bile ran at her. Running along the edge of the space, Gemjo scarcely spotted Franco meeting the Tall woman in mid charge.


    She heard punches, quick grunts, the splash of footwork, and strangely the strumming of a twynet. Her own opponent caught her with ease.


    Gemjo ducked the first blow, but not the next. It connected low and hard. Several steps splashed as Gemjo struggled back for her balance, her hands covering her gut where the blow had landed.


    Behind Bile, she saw Remy running to her.


    ¡°The gun!¡± cried Remy.


    Gemjo looked to Bile, who narrowed her brows. Not good. Bile¡¯s face zipped about Gemjo, looking for where she kept the weapon.


    Bile was three-- maybe four steps away and had she known where the gun was, Gemjo was sure to lose it. The punches from the other fight grew flurried.


    Sweat trickled down the seawolf¡¯s head. Reaching for her weapon now would tell Bile where it was. And Remy, Remy was close.


    Bile held out an arm, her head flicked to the side, ¡°Stay back, bluecoat. You don¡¯t seem the close combat type. Firearms? No. You would have fired if you were.¡±


    Remy¡¯s slowing steps ended with regretful glance at Gemjo.


    Bile turned back to Gemjo, curious now. ¡°No, you are firearms. But you don¡¯t have your gun do you? She does.¡±


    Gemjo took a step back. Bile grinned.


    ¡°Knew it,¡± said Bile. ¡°A competition then. Who¡¯s faster? You¡¯re shooting or my moves?¡±


    The seawolf took a step back, her opponent one forwards. The music that played from the twynet seemed to slow. The quick twangs of plucked string became low bursts.


    Gemjo reached for the sash of her dress. Bile lunged.


    With a single pull of the sash, the seawolf twirled out the dress and threw it at Bile, momentarily blocking her view.


    The woman swat it aside, but flinched when she did. Something silver pounced from where the girl once stood.


    They met in a feral embrace. The wolf snapped furiously at her neck and the woman kept it away by the will of her hands, locked with wolf¡¯s own paws.


    Bile¡¯s feet rasped as the weight of the creature pushed her back. Further and further. Behind her, Remy made quick work to the fray, commanding Gemjo release the gun, her gun.


    ¡°I was right,¡± puffed Bile, flicking her eyes at Remy. ¡°She¡¯s your gunner. But it¡¯ll do me no good should she get me. Koto!¡±


    A sudden twang wrought the wolf¡¯s attention to the girl with twynet. The ground shook. Then, in seconds frozen in ice, the pounding steps of Remy Le Ricci stopped splashing. And not just her. Franco¡¯s steps to, even the Tall woman¡¯s.


    Gemjo pushed back Bile and balanced herself on her canine feet. Her snout flicked in one direction then the other. Sure enough, the puddles that dotted the space had vanished. No. Her snout lifted. The pools had moved.


    All around small globules of water collected in midair.


    ¡°Koto¡¯s magic that,¡± said Bile. ¡°To control rain with music. Wonderful ability, eh?¡±


    Gemjo glared at Bile. She wanted to remark just how wonderful it was to be against, but she found herself distracted by how the rain globules seemed to be taking shaft-like shapes. The stringing of the Twynet began again and the water transformations hastened.


    From the way the still shifting shafts seemed to be turning to Gemjo, Remy and Franco, Gemjo knew she had to stop them.


    Bile seemed to read her intention. She was upon Gemjo in a matter of steps, and Gemjo seeing the attack, met her head on.


    Yet this time it was not a wolf that slammed into Bile, but an orca. The impact was audible, crushing. It sent Bile floundering, while the Gemjo turned to Koto midshift into a wolf.


    Her run ended before it began. Cracking ice clutched at her paws. She glanced at Remy, saw ice at her feet. It seemed Koto had sacrificed one shaft to halt her attackers. More so for Gemjo since she was the greatest threat. And now, with a new shaft prepared from the remaining globules, Gemjo guessed it was only a matter of time. They were waiting for their execution.


    The music tormented her. It was a sad rendition of ¡®Give Thanks to Metal¡¯. Every note, every sound that marked the famous lyrics seemed to bend the alien water to a more and more arrow like projectile.


    Cursing under her breath, Gemjo realised there was only one way to forestall the watery shots. She needed shots of her own.


    She shifted back into seawolf form, stood in the half a second that she had and flung her gun behind her. The ice ensnared her a moment later and she became a half-naked statue caught mid pose. She stood exposed, with nothing but a drab wrap and loincloth covering her.


    But she did not care.


    She heard the click of the gun first, the practiced cry for surrender second. Remy held Koto at gunpoint some seconds away. No watery arrow was faster than a bullet.


    A little ways away, where the Tall woman had been pummeling a foot-frozen Franco, there was a halt. The woman looked to Koto. Bile staggered up and did the same.


    ¡°Nobody move. Break the spell,¡± said Remy. ¡°We just want to talk.¡±


    Koto¡¯s fingers wavered from her instrument. Already, the other two had been considering the command. Gemjo could tell how important Koto was to them by that. In them she saw Tig standing against his brother in the Hungering City. It was his fault that what happened there happened, but even so, following the days she awoke, Franco only had praise for Tig¡¯s action. That they would¡¯ve died if not for Tig. She hated that sentiment. It was if she¡¯d owed Tig something and no matter what she did to repay that debt, nothing worked. What these three had between them was different. Knowing the half-turn¡¯s life was in imminent danger, they had seized all attempts of resisting. It wasn¡¯t a debt to be repaid, no, it was Tig standing before his brother. It was instinct.


    Then came the tapping. Gemjo snapped to Bile. She was cross-legged on the floor. Her drumsticks repeated a military tune on the cobblestone. A flute sounded in similar fashion and Gemjo noticed Tall woman playing one.


    Remy waved her gun, annoyed, ¡°I said nobody move.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not attacking you,¡± laughed Bile. ¡°Well least not yet.¡±


    The shafts of water dissipated into a myriad of droplets. The droplets danced. They ebbed in and out in waves as if guided by the erratic drumbeat and the calm whistles of the flute. They raced and dribbled to the taps on the stone. And then, they coalesced around Koto in dome of water made manifest.


    Bile continued, making cymbals out of stones, ¡°There¡¯s a thing bout magic and it¡¯s true no matter where you¡¯re from: anyone can learn it.¡±


    The dome vaporized. Koto vanished. And Remy fired.


    Moments passed as the echo of the gunshot replayed between the alleys. There was a stillness in the mist, an uneasiness in Gemjo. She smelled no blood nor heard no thump.


    The mist swirled and Remy swerved her gun. Too late. Two arrows zipped at Remy. One hit her face and the other splashed her gun away. It clattered to the ground and out of reach.


    Koto strung her Twynet once more, and the mist burst into a momentary rain.


    Koto¡¯s unassuming eyes ran from Remy clutching at her exposed mechanical eyes to Gemjo in her undergarments and stopped there. She cocked her head at the wolf of the sea, ¡°You know Tig?¡±