by Perrin Briar
“He can hear something,” Elian said.
Elian followed Puca’s scampering back legs. A fat rat standing between two crates hissed at Puca. Puca morphed into a rabbit and bit the rat on the nose. It ran away. And in the silence Elian heard it. Humming. From inside a crate. The tune tugged on his memory, but he pushed it aside. Puca scratched at a crate with his tiny claws.
Elian seized the crate and pried it open. No food spilled out, and no one emerged. The humming had stopped. Elian looked inside. It was dark with shadows. He reached in and felt the muggy heat on his face. His hands caught on something. He pulled, and a pink wedding dress emerged.
“Jera?” Elian said. “Jera?”
Her dress was damp with sweat, her hair clinging to her forehead. Elian put his fingers under her nose.
“She’s not breathing,” he said. “What do we do?”
“I don’t know,” Kali said.
“She was humming. She must have just run out of air.”
Elian ran his fingers down her face. Her lips were beginning to turn blue. Elian felt a stinging sensation in the back of his throat. His hands shook.
“No…” he said. “Please, no.”
He bent down and pressed his lips to hers. They were soft and still warm. He kissed her, and out of pure instinct, forced his air into her lungs. He would breathe for her forever if he had to. Jera’s chest rose artificially. Elian let the air out and tried again. And then a third time, and a fourth. Elian felt a hand on his back.
“She’s gone,” Kali said.
But Elian breathed into her mouth one last time. Jera’s eyes shot open. She coughed and gasped like she’d dove down to the icy sea’s depths. She sat up, regaining her bearings. Puca threw himself at her, morphing from rabbit to goat to horse to his original self, all in the blink of an eye.
Jera saw Elian and hugged him tight, wrapping her arms around his neck. She breathed out wracking breaths that shook her whole body. She pressed her head to his neck and he felt the sweat on her forehead.
“You came back,” she said in a weak voice.
“I couldn’t face losing you,” Elian said. “Especially not to an Ascar.”
Jera hugged Puca, who licked her arms and face.
“What happened at the wedding?” she said.
“They got a couple of imposters to pretend to be you.”
“They got away with it?”
“What? No. They’re still at it.”
“We have to stop them.”
Jera got to her feet. Unsteady, she braced herself on a crate.
“Don’t you think you should rest?” Elian said.
“I’ll rest when I’m dead. Come on.”
Chapter Seventy
“This is outrageous!” Arthur Ascar said. “Get on with the ceremony!”
Gregory turned to ‘Kali’.
“Do you also love me?” he said.
“I do.”
“Then we have nothing more to discuss,” Gregory said.
He gestured to a pair of constables standing beside the stage.
“Men,” he said. “Arrest that man and take him back to his prison cell.”
The constables ran out onto the stage and seized Craig.
“No!” Craig said, pulling against his captors. “Let me go! Kali! Kali! Help me!”
Despite Craig’s struggles the constables succeeded in dragging him off the stage. Gregory, a little flustered, turned to the bishop.
“Finish marrying us, if you please,” he said.
“Certainly,” the bishop said, clearly shaken. “By the power invested in me by the mighty king and ruler-”
“I object!” a voice shouted.
Gregory growled in the back of his throat. Necks arched to see Elian standing atop the warehouse roof.
“Under what grounds?” the bishop said. “Do you also love Kali Wythnos?”
“No,” Elian said. “I love Jera Wythnos.”
Gasps. Screams. A few people fainted. The bishop turned to Jera.
“Is this true?” he said.
“That’s not Jera Wythnos,” Elian said. “This is Jera Wythnos.”
Jera joined Elian on the roof. She was slow and weary and leaned against him for support.
“This is ridiculous,” an audience member said, standing and marching away. “I’m going home.”
Arthur Ascar clicked his fingers. His serving men took hold of his throne and began to carry him away.
“The Ascars switched the Wythnos sisters for imposters because they were going to deny their vows,” Elian said. “They sealed them in crates and put them on a Wythnos ship, where they would suffocate to death. The same fate, I would wager, was awaiting the imposters.”
The two veiled women on the stage shared a look.
“Craig has the plans of a whole Gap network the Ascars will use to spread across the world unless we stop them now,” Elian said. “If you take a look in the cargo holds of these tribute ships, you will see they are packed with the disgusting compound.”
Dock Master Matthews stood up from his chair on the third row of the audience.
“That’s all very well,” he said, “but under maritime law we cannot board a tribute ship without the express permission of its owner.”
The whole audience turned to look at Lord Wythnos, who sat in the middle of the front row, hands in his lap.
“I’m sure that should such permission be granted,” Elian said, “the law might be a little more lenient on said owner?”
Matthews nodded.
“It might,” he said.
Lord Wythnos looked at his wife, who nodded. Lord Wythnos stood up, looked at Richard and Gregory on the stage, and then smiled. The blood drained from their faces.
“I give my permission,” Lord Wythnos said.
“Thank you, my lord,” Matthews said.
“You fool!” Gregory said. “You’ve just destroyed yourself!”
“What will be, must be,” Lord Wythnos said.
Matthews selected two men. They crossed the stage and headed toward the docked ships. Gregory walked alongside Matthews.
“You’re making a big mistake, Matthews,” he said.
“Am I?”
“I’m sure we could come to some financial agreement should you not find anything on board.”
“The truth is reward enough for me.”
Gregory, fuming, turned to his men arranged around the stage.
“Arrest that man!” he said, pointing to Matthews.
“Under what charge, sir?” Constable Stern said.
“For… For provoking civil unrest.”
The constables looked out at the audience. They didn’t seem very rebellious.
“Sir?”
“Then arrest him for corruption! I have reason to believe he has taken bribes in the course of his duty.”
The policemen surrounded Matthews. They lacked their usual aggressive stance.
“Sir,” Constable Stern said. “Can you come with us, please?”
“No,” Matthews said. “And if you obstruct me once more in my duties I will assume you are in collaboration with whatever is going on here.”
Matthews pushed through the Force without resistance and stepped onto the quay.
“It’s no good,” Richard said to Gregory. “It’s over.”
“It’s not over until I say it’s over!”
Gregory seized one of the fake brides, clasping her neck in the nook of his elbow. The bride’s veil fell off and slithered to the floor, revealing Gizelle, her face curled up in fear. He put a pistol to her head. Constable Stern stepped toward him with her hands out.
“Put down the pistol, Commander,” she said. “There’s no reason for anyone to get hurt.”
“Oh, I think there’s plenty of reason,” Gregory said, turning to face those on the roof. “Come down, Stump. Or I’ll shoot her.”
Jera clung to Elian’s arm.
“Don’t go,” she said. “You don’t know her.”
Elian gently pried
her fingers off his arm and looked at her with determined eyes. Jera watched as he walked toward the edge of the roof.
“That was always your problem, Stump,” Gregory said, aiming a pistol at Elian, now within range. “You always mistook yourself for the hero.”
BANG!
The retort echoed over the flat of the dock and out to sea. Elian froze, his eyes clenched shut, hand on his chest. Then he opened his eyes and looked toward the stage.
The pistol fell from Gregory’s fingers, tumbling end over end and clattered on the stage floor. A red stain spread across the front of his white uniform. He coughed, and blood dribbled down his chin. He blinked, as if waking from a dream. His eyes alighted upon a puff of grey-white smoke. He followed the wispy trail to the barrel of a pistol. The smoke cleared to reveal a tall, plain-looking man in dirt-stained riding boots.
Gizelle squirmed free of Gregory’s grip and, losing his crutch, Gregory hit the stage. The audience, their reaction belated by shock, turned and ran in panic, knocking over chairs and stomping on flowers. Mac put down his pistol and approached the warehouse.
“Glad to see you changed your mind,” Elian said.
Mac shrugged.
“I couldn’t let you hog all the glory, now could I?” he said.
There was a high-pitched scream. Gizelle had her hands over her mouth. It took them a moment to realise why she was screaming. Gregory, lying on his side on the floor, a bloody mess around his lips like clown make-up, had his pistol aimed at Mac.
BANG!
A puff of smoke, a slap sound like two carriages colliding, and an instant later Mac spun around. He clutched his chest and looked down. His palm was a deep scarlet. He slumped to his knees and then onto his face. Gregory’s pistol arm fell and lay flat and motionless, his eyes seeing something no living person would ever see.
Felix took to the stage and kicked the pistol out of Gregory’s hand. Richard stared at the unmoving lump of his elder brother, and leaped down from the stage and joined the frenzied mass of human bodies. They screamed, like a monster had leaped out amongst them. Felix took aim at the fleeing figure, but he was too close to the wedding guests. He lowered his pistol.
“Mac!” Jera said, climbing down from the roof.
Mac put his hands to the ground and tried to lift himself up. His body shook with the effort, and he lowered back. Jera knelt beside him and turned him over.
“I thought I was going to get shot for you, not a pretend you!” Mac said. “It’s not a bad way to die. It’s okay. I knew it was coming. I knew.”
A shadow fell over him.
“Felix,” Mac said in a weak voice. “Is that you?”
“Yes,” Felix said. “It’s me.”
“Where are you?” Mac said, slowly extending his arm.
Felix took one of his hands.
“Here,” he said, voice thick. “I’m here. What can I do for you?”
“I need you to go to my family and make sure they’re all right. Drop in on them from time to time. Do some work for them if they need it.”
“Sure, Mac. Anything you say.”
“Let me take a look at that wound,” Jera said.
“Don’t waste your time,” Mac said. “I’m a goner.”
Jera pulled up his shirt. It was sodden with blood, mostly from his side. The wound, a hole on the side of his chest, had stopped weeping blood. Felix took one look at it and dropped Mac’s hand.
“You’re not going to die, you halfwit!” Felix said. “Look, it’s barely even grazed your skin!”
“No,” Mac said, voice still hoarse, “I saw a vision. I skipped forward. I’m going to die now.”
“But you’re not dead. You’re still, unfortunately, very much alive.”
Mac frowned and then sat up with ease. He looked at his injury, his hand coming across something sticking out of his breast pocket. He pulled out the necklace Jera had given him, what felt like a lifetime ago. The bullet was firmly jammed into the chain’s links.
“But… I was supposed to die…” he said.
“Think about it,” Felix said, “did you actually see yourself die? Or only about to die?”
Mac’s eyes moved to the side.
“Skipping can only show you part of what you’ll do in the future, never everything,” Felix said. “As I well know.”
Then it occurred to Jera why it was strange seeing Felix in his current surroundings.
“Felix?” Jera said. “You’re in a town!”
“With the clock fixed and no more skips it didn’t seem like I had anything left to worry about. My skip must have just been a nightmare.”
“As I’ve been telling you all along,” Mac said.
Felix shrugged.
“Still,” he said. “It kept me out of harm’s way for a while.”
Lord Wythnos approached his daughters.
“Are you both all right?” he said.
“We’re fine,” Kali said.
“Jera?”
Jera wrapped her arms around him and held him tight.
“Thank you,” she said. “For saving us.”
“It’s what I should have done all along.”
Constable Stern placed her hand on Lord Wythnos’s shoulder.
“I’m very sorry, sir,” she said, “but we have to take you into custody. At least until this whole thing sets sorted out.”
“Of course,” Lord Wythnos said. “I just want to do one more thing before I go.”
He extended his hand to Craig and Elian.
“I think we have a lot of catching up to do when I’m back outside,” he said. “Tell me, what do you do?”
“I’m a baker,” Craig said.
“Former thief,” Elian said.
“I’m a former shipping magnate,” Lord Wythnos said. “Perhaps there’s something we can work together on. I’ve heard of these new baking processes in the Capital that doubles work efficiency.”
“Isn’t it difficult to start a business all over again after losing everything?” Craig said.
“No, it’s actually rather exciting,” Lord Wythnos said.
Constable Stern led Lord Wythnos away without cuffs.
“At least the Ascars can’t harm us anymore,” Jera said.
From the vantage point of the roof of the warehouse, Elian could see across the main street. The locals rushed to the safety of their homes, while out of towners blocked up the road in an attempt to get to the exits. The Force marched in all directions, some aimless, others helping control the sudden panicked foot traffic on the streets. Amidst all the chaos Elian spied the door to the Clock Maker shop across the way gently closing. Then Elian looked up at the clock tower.
“No,” Elian said. “There is one thing they could do.”
Chapter Seventy-One
Arthur Ascar was carried into his giant carriage and deposited on the finest rugs from Pillager’s Keep. The roof was hand-carved with angels on fluffy clouds.
“We must leave for the Capital immediately,” Lord Ascar said.
His men hustled from the carriage. But it didn’t move. Ascar tapped the roof with the golden dragon’s head of his walking stick.
“Let’s go!” he said.
The door opened and Matthews stepped on board.
“Lord Ascar, you are hereby arrested for the growth and distribution of the compound known as Gap,” Matthews said. “You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”
“I had nothing to do with it!” Arthur Ascar said, spittle flying. “If there’s anything on those boats it was planted by someone else!”
“I have evidence describing your involvement with the profiteering and dispersal of the compound known as Gap.”
Ascar pressed his fat toad lips together.
“I want my lawyer,” he said.
“I thought you might.”
Chapter Seventy-Two
A man in a brown jacket slipped and almost fell over as he gripped his house’s front door. He threw himself inside and slammed the door behind himself. Horses reared up high in the air, front hooves scrabbling at the air, and then landed and took off at a gallop, tearing through the streets, knocking over discarded market stalls and smashing produce.
Elian ran across the road at full sprint, winding around a mother, who cradled her child in her arms. A horse pulled up in front of him, its shiny black coat glossy in the dying sunlight. Elian skidded to a stop, his boots kicking up the dry brown dust. He made to go around it. The horse stepped forward. Elian made to go around the back. The horse stepped back. Elian looked up at the rider. A black boot flew up from its stirrup and struck Elian on the chin. He stumbled back and landed on his backside.
The rider hopped down from the saddle and stood over him. He had a week’s worth of coarse stubble on his broad square chin. He grinned through gold teeth.
“Any last words?” Bull Bill said, pulling back the hammer on his pistol.
Elian shook off his hand where he had lumps of a brown foul-smelling substance on his fingers. He looked back and noticed a handprint in a pile of horse manure.
“Got a handkerchief?” Elian said.
Bull Bill reached into his pocket and extracted a piece of cloth little cleaner than the manure.
“I have to admit, this isn’t quite the way I imagined I would get my revenge,” Bill said. “But it’ll suffice.”
Elian got to his feet. Bill watched him warily, his pistol tracking every movement.
“Killing me won’t bring back your crew,” Elian said.
Bill blinked in surprise, as if it was the last thing he’d expected Elian to say. He frowned, deep creases on his forehead.
“Only starting a new crew can do that,” Elian said.
“You took away my reputation.”
“No one can take that away.”
“You did.”
“Did I? Everywhere I go I see your poster. Everywhere I go I hear your name. That doesn’t sound like a damaged reputation to me.”
A long silence followed when neither of them took their eyes off each other. Then Bill lowered his gun and held it by his side.