by Aaron Yeager
“Yeah, yeah,” Privet groaned, walking past her without saluting. As he approached the judgment seat, the doors of the hall closed with a sweet reverberating tone, and he became acutely aware that he was now alone with the Queen. His earlier impression that she was just a regular person evaporated away as he saw her sitting upon her throne of judgment, her long cape of flowers winding around the podium like a serpent climbing a tree. She was intimidating, wise, beautiful, and terrible.
“Mister Tamarack,” she began without using her commanding tone, “I have a special task for you.”
Chapter Twenty Six
Comings and Goings
“Hi, I’m Bunni Bubbles, what should we play today?” asked the cute little fist-sized golem that sat on Alder’s shoulder. The doll was dressed in a miniature maid costume, with ridiculously large red curls in its hair. As it spoke it held its tiny hands up to its chin in a fashion like a little girl would do when asking for sweets.
“Oh, I think we’ve played enough games for one day,” Alder told it proudly as he patted it on the head, causing it to giggle sweetly.
“Donation?” asked the sample golem as it followed a few paces behind Alder.
“Can you please get those things to be quiet?” Athel pleaded wearily.
Athel’s legs and hands ached so badly that they had become numb. She felt like complaining about their defeat, but every time she started to, two things stopped her. First, the sting of her mother’s tongue held her fast. In her mind's eye, her mother’s tongue whipped out like a serpent. Of course, the reality was nothing so dramatic, but Athel felt like it would have been simpler if it were.
“Forsythians do not weep in defeat,” Athel could hear her mother say. “There will be plenty of time to weep in your next life.” The second thing that silenced her complaints was that the rest of the crew of the Dreadnaught was just as tired as she was, and she didn't feel like starting a fight. After an exhaustive three-day search through the subterranean catacombs, Captain Evere had finally given up.
“I still don’t understand how that schooner got away,” Dr. Griffin grumbled. “We were beneath the water level of the sea. There was no way to get a ship that size down there in the first place, let alone escape with it.”
“And whose fault is that?” Spirea spoke up. “Your stupid potions knocked us all out, and when we woke up they were gone without a trace.”
Dr. Griffin nodded, adjusting his glasses. “Yes, I didn’t think the vapors would reach high enough to affect me and Ryin as well.
“Not without a trace,” Captain Evere said, holding up a gold-tooth necklace. “They left this around your neck.”
“Well, at least we know it wasn’t all some hallucination,” Mina surmised, her white tail hanging limply behind her.
“Do you really think we’d all dream up something like that?” Athel questioned.
“You don’t know the kind of potions our good doctor can cook up,” Mina retorted. “Frankly I’m surprised you can still speak.”
“The point is if we had just collared them ourselves, then Dr. Griffin’s actions wouldn’t have been necessary,” Athel said, punishing herself.
“Yeah, we should have brought some oregano. That would have beaten him for sure,” Spirea commented.
“There’s got to be some way we can track him down...” Athel grumbled.
“And what are you going to do when you find him? Season him to death?”
“Shut up, Sotol. I told you to drop it!”
Spirea laughed out loud for the first time in front of Athel. At first, it bothered her wounded pride, but after a moment, her feelings softened and she tried to imagine what a difficult life Spirea must have had.
Spirea’s laughing settled down and she noticed Athel smiling at her as she wiped a forming tear from the corner of her eye.
“What are you smiling about?” Spirea demanded.
“Nothing,” Athel remarked. “I’m just happy to see that you can still laugh. That’s a good sign.”
“So, can we learn anything from that necklace?” Odger asked, drips of sweat creating streaks of clean flesh across his normally filthy face.
“Donation?” asked the child-sized golem, tapping the sample tray on Alder’s back.
“There’s nothing to learn,” Evere snapped back, holding the necklace aloft. “This was a message.”
“If you were all knocked out but they weren’t, then they could have killed you if they wanted to,” Mina explained. “The necklace is a warning that you’re alive only because it pleased them to let you live.”
“But we still don’t know who they are,” Spirea complained, “or what they were doing, or for who or why. We might as well have just stayed home for all the good we accomplished.”
Athel stopped walking for a moment and raised her eyes. Twilight in the Thesdan tourist districts was particularly lovely, by design. Starlight from the emerging stars reflected off the seas below, blurring the distinction between sea and sky, making her feel as if she stood on a pillar of stone, surrounded on all sides by the twinkling of the heavens. This night was especially lovely, as it was the Festival of Materia, which Thesdans celebrated during the summer equinox. Displays of distant fireworks burst quietly in flowery colors in the sky above them. The beauty of it filled the hole in her heart, and for a moment she forgot the sting of failure and felt life return to her weary limbs.
“It wasn’t all bad,” Athel commented, jogging to rejoin the weary group as they walked down the street. “We saved that shopkeeper, Margaret.”
“Yes, we wouldn’t want I Luv Wysteria to close down, would we?” Spirea sniped.
“But you didn’t save her, they left her behind,” Mina corrected.
“And we still don’t know if they had anyone else in those crates,” Athel added. “Why do you think they would leave her behind?”
“It was because you had seen her face,” Odger suggested, digging and scratching at his wrist. Athel moved to question further, but was interrupted.
“Bunni Bubbles wants to sing a song,” insisted the little maid golem on Alder’s shoulder.
“Shut that thing up or I’ll toss it in a garbage bin,” Spirea threatened. The small golem gave out a cute little shriek and hid under Alder’s collar.
“That old lady is scary,” Bunni said, sniffing as if about to cry.
“And just who are you calling an old lady?” Spirea demanded.
“I don’t think anyone wants to sing right now, Miss Bunni,” Alder soothed the little golem.
“I can’t believe you’re just walking around with that thing on your shoulder,” Ryin said. “That thing is for little girls.”
“That makes no difference to me,” Alder explained, straightening the hem on her maid uniform. “I won her and she’s mine.”
“Donation?” asked the golem from behind.
“Just how many accolades did you have to spin before you finally won that little thing?” Athel asked curiously.
“One hundred fifty-seven,” Alder boasted, “which is statistically ahead of the curve.”
“Yeah, well, I still say that lady only gave it to you to stop you from coming back again,” Ryin complained.
“Alder, if you wanted a golem, you could have just said something.” Athel reassured. “I would have bought you one.”
“No, Miss Athel, that would have been inappropriate,” Alder explained warmly.
“Well, like it or not, that thing is too annoying to let you hang onto for very long,” Athel said.
“She’s not annoying, just a little precocious,” Alder defended.
“Are you sure you’re not just jealous because you’re not the only crew member with red hair anymore?” Dr. Griffin grilled.
“That thing is not a member of the crew,” Evere insisted, “unless it can do something useful like polish the insides of a cannon barrel or something.”
“What do you think, Bunni?” Alder asked in a fatherly tone, holding her in the palm of his hand. �
��Do you want to polish the inside of a cannon barrel?”
“That sounds yucky,” Bunni insisted, sticking out her small clay tongue. “I want to play dress-up.”
“Donation?” the sample golem demanded.
Ryin screamed and turned around, pulling at his short brown hair as if he would yank it out of his scalp. “I can’t stand that thing any longer!” Ryin pulled out a coin and shoved it into the slot on the golem’s forehead. “Here! Here’s your filthy rusted donation, now leave us alone!” A small pleasant jingle signaled the receipt of the donation, and the golem bowed formally to Ryin.
“Thank you very much,” it said politely, then walked up to Alder and held out its smashed tray.
“Donation?” it asked again.
Ryin screamed again and fell to the ground, curling up in the fetal position, as though his mind had just completely shattered.
“I’m very sorry,” Alder explained to the sample golem, “but I don’t have any money to make a donation right now.”
The golem tilted its head to one side in confusion then asked, “Donation?”
“By the Mother,” Athel cursed, “it’s just a dumb toy, Alder, it doesn’t understand formal speech. Just say ‘no’ to it.”
“No,” Alder said cautiously.
The golem then bowed politely and said “Okay, thank you,” before skipping away.
The crew of the Dreadnaught stood in shocked silence for a moment and watched as the small golem skipped away into the night.
“You mean this whole time it was just waiting for Alder to give it a straight answer?” Spirea said, in disbelief. On the ground, Ryin screamed again, louder than before then began weeping and sucking his thumb.
“Come on, big guy,” Dr. Griffin said, helping Ryin to his feet. “You need to keep moving for a few more hours until the new skin takes hold.”
Ryin was lifted up and began to walk again. The Advan healing magic that Dr. Griffin wielded never ceased to impress Athel. From a small sample, he had managed to grow new skin for Ryin's feet. It reminded Athel vaguely of the way cultivators would use leaf clippings to grow duplicate flowers. For a moment Athel imagined Advan magic as being a sphere, every component of their magic ascribed into one whole, and she imagined Wysterian magic as a similar sphere. Now she imagined the two spheres placed side-by-side, a small part of them intersecting, covering the same area, utilizing the same magical energies, as if they fit together like pieces of a great jigsaw puzzle. For a moment, Athel’s imagination flashed before her as if it were a real image she could see, dozens of spheres overlapping and connecting, forming together into a single great whole.
Athel blinked and the image was gone as quickly as it had appeared. She shook her head and scratched her wrist, convincing herself that she was now officially weary enough to be seeing things.
“Hey Athel,” Ryin began, snapping her out of her thoughts. “I heard about what you did for me back there.”
“Did?”
Ryin sighed and rolled his eyes. “Please don’t make this harder than it already is. I just wanted to say thank you for saving my feet.”
Athel just looked at him and blinked.
“I was told that if you hadn’t kept me warm while I was out, they might have had to amputate my feet.”
“I appreciate the thanks, but it wasn’t me,” Athel admitted. Ryin looked at her confused then turned his gaze to Spirea who shook her head as well.
“Well, then, who stripped down and kept me warm?” Ryin’s face slowly changed from confused to horrified, and he turned his gaze slowly to Dr. Griffin who blushed and turned his eyes downward shyly.
“NO! Oh, no no no no no-oooooooooooo!” Ryin called out, tears of shame flowing down his face.
Athel and Spirea shared a glance of amusement, and neither could resist smiling as Ryin wept. Athel felt like the wall surrounding Spirea had begun to come down, and she felt the warm glow of friendship begin to bloom between them. It reminded her of the way she and her sister had been when they were children...before her sister had gone insane, that is.
Feeling very satisfied, Athel looked up and saw the dome-shaped dry dock in which the Dreadnaught had been undergoing repairs since they arrived. From what she had gathered from Mina, she and Evere were owed more than a few favors by the owner, and the Dreadnaught was undergoing a refit far more extensive than just simple repairs. Up until recently, only Mina and the Captain had been allowed to go inside, but now that the refit was complete they would all be allowed to go in and inspect the new ship.
Alder sidled up alongside Athel and held out a small brown satchel he had been carrying, asking permission without words, as he had been taught. Normally, she would have found his stubborn insistence on ceremony irritating, but her spirits were high so she simply nodded permission as they neared the entrance.
“It is with great personal pleasure that I present to you a gift from my Matron,” Alder said formally as he held the package out to Spirea. His formality caught the attention of the others, making Spirea decidedly uncomfortable as she took the satchel and slid out the box it contained.
Spirea tried to hide it, but her surprise stole her breath away as she opened the case and removed the authentic silver-adorned Wysterian seed pistol inside.
“I noticed you drooling over it back at the curio shop, “Athel explained, unable to keep herself from smiling.
Spirea looked up at her, conflicting emotions in her eyes. “This thing cost a fortune,” Spirea began quietly, “why would you do this for me?”
“Because you wanted it,” Athel said warmly. She moved to slap Spirea cordially on the shoulder, but Spirea recoiled.
“Just what is your angle, here?” Spirea whispered. “Is there some information you’re trying to wring out of me? Some ‘favor’ you want me to do?”
“Nothing,” Athel said, feeling a sting of pain in her heart.
“Then why give this to me? What do you want?” Spirea asked coldly.
Athel was speechless and could only stare at her shipmate. Mina broke the silence and positioned herself between the two.
“Look,” Mina began, “I know what it’s like in a guild, so I understand. I was the same way when I first met Evere...” Mina continued speaking, but Athel could not hear any more of it. Spirea’s eyes were full of confusion as she gripped the pistol tightly.
She really can’t understand, Athel realized. Just what did her mother do to her, anyway?
Mina asked Spirea a question, and she nodded silently. Mina stepped aside and Spirea looked at Athel, her eyes shifting from anger to confusion, and back again. Finally, she seemed to settle something inside of her and the tension went out of her shoulders.
“Um,” she began awkwardly, “just because I’m keeping this doesn’t mean that...”
“No,” Mina interrupted sternly.
Spirea bit her lip and turned her gaze downward. “Thanks,” she finally said quietly.
Athel and Mina smiled and both slapped Spirea warmly on the shoulder. Spirea managed a weak smile and the group began their way toward the entrance to the dry dock. Spirea was quiet as she walked. The way she held the pistol and kept her eyes down made her look like a completely different person. She was timid, unsure, the haughtiness and pomp completely gone from her demeanor. She seemed much younger than she had before. Although they were the same age, Athel had always thought Spirea older. Now, she seemed little more than a child carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.
Am I seeing the real Spirea for the first time?Athel wondered.
As the group approached, the doors creaked open and the thin form of Pops slipped out quietly, worry on his face as he clutched his mop and sauntered up to the captain.
“Sir,” Pops began, his voice aged and trebled. “I tried to stop them, but there’s a gaggle of Navy Police tearing through the ship looking for something.”
Evere’s expression changed to alarm, and he began running toward the doors. The rest of the crew exchanged furtive
glances then ran to catch up.
Before they reached them, the doors swung open and Ms. Recaldier from the Naval office came out. Her hair was pulled back even more painfully tight than usual, and the expression she wore behind her glasses was sharp and vengeful. On either side of her were officers of the Naval Police, easily identified by their black uniforms. Thick and stoic, they made Ms. Recaldier look even shorter than normal as she pulled out a stack of papers, each adorned by large wax seals.
“Captain Evere, you are a disgrace to your uniform,” she said, as if expecting him to fall down and confess before her.
“My uniform? Well, I suppose I’ll begin apologizing to my pants and shirt immediately, as soon as you give me a short explanation of what I might be guilty of.”
Recaldier’s eyebrow twitched at the word ‘short,’ but she retained her composure otherwise. “Did it escape your attention that one of your crew has been intimately associated with a highly dangerous pirate guild?”
She paused for effect, and waited for Evere to answer.
“Believe it or not, you’ll need to be a bit more specific than that,” He urged.
“Why should I? As captain, your duties include checking into the background of anyone who boards your ship. Do you think your archive crystals are for mere decoration?”
“No, it’s not that,” Evere clarified, “it’s just that the way you said it, ‘associated with a guild’ can mean just about any of my crew.”
Recaldier huffed, obviously thinking him obtuse.
“Spirea Sotol is a felon, wanted for trial and execution in the kingdom of Wysteria. I have the extradition papers right here.”
She handed the papers over to Evere, whose face pinched as he read them.
Spirea moved to run, but the Naval Police officers were holding her fast before she could even blink. Several of the crew reached for their weapons, but each found that they were completely unarmed. Athel looked over and saw a third officer in black, holding a box with all of their weapons placed in it.