“Captain!” Lieutenant Commander Dauphin, executive officer of the Bête, shouted, “A communiqué, for your eyes only.”

  “Merci, commander.” Captain Bonaparte took the ornate, black and yellow letter and retreated to his quarters after dismissing Dauphin. Then, he opened it, his eyes widening only slightly in shock. He wasn’t expecting the circumstances to progress so quickly, but he knew it would happen sooner or later. He sighed, putting his feet up, and taking a drag of his pipe.

  “Jack, seems your faith was misplaced.” He said to no one.

  Captain Bonaparte of the UAS Bête, read this notice in full. The UAS Saber, currently captained by Lieutenant Douglas Graave, has failed to report for three consecutive check-ins. Her last reported heading indicates she’s heading insea, likely near or at Tanendille. Do not disregard earlier orders, stay outside of the city, but if you come across the Lieutenant, you must order him to return to his post, or, failing that, you must arrest him. He threatens to unravel everything the Union is working towards, Jean-Baptiste.

  This has been an official notice from the office of Admiral of Fairview, outermost ring of Corlagnoa, sector three, Marcus Fishburn.

  —

  “Lieutenant,” Gareland said in a sickly-sweet voice, “I’m sure this has all been a big misunderstanding. I’ve only been aboard his ship, I assure you I’ve nothing of substance to do with Paracelsus.”

  “And yet, you shouted for his help, did you not?” He retorted, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “That much is true.” She conceded, “But I was scared! Someone snatches me off the street, how should I know it was the marines?” The whole time, she was wiggling her hands as silently as she could, allowing Lorenzo to get at her ropes. Can’t you cut any faster, idiot? She thought as she swore Graave was about to turn and see them.

  He did turn, in fact, but Lorenzo’s face was as impassive as it usually was, and the leather glove was angled in such a way the hole in it couldn’t be seen. Graave walked around them, examining the pair with scrutiny for a few moments.

  “And if you knew - would you have cooperated?” He asked.

  “Of course!” She shouted, “I’ll have you know - we fairies are very grateful for everything the Union has done.”

  “Indeed? So why are you trying to cut the ropes?” Lorenzo’s eyes widened by a tiny, imperceptible amount. The lieutenant grabbed his wrist and pulled off the glove, revealing the hole in it. He got another glove for the fox, wrapping some cotton around the fingers to ensure a total blockage before he made him don it again.

  “I hope you understand the only reason I haven’t tortured you is because of your boss’ influence in Morrelone.” He threatened, “But my goodwill only extends so far.”

  Both of the captives looked at each other, wondering if the marine truly intended to make good on that.

  —

  Paracelsus laid on “his” bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. For once in his life, he lacked the words to describe his situation, and a throaty groan was the only sound that seemed sufficient to describe it. He looked at his body, what was once completely free of blemishes (save the scar across the bridge of his nose) was now covered in little cuts, lacerations that would scar over, and more bruises and burns than he cared to count.

  His eyes had long since failed to make tears, having been wrung dry of any moisture for at least two hours, so he just threw his arm over his eyes, unwilling to stare any further at the proof of his weakness. His gift was still absent, of course, and he kicked himself for overdoing it before, in Bataine, as that seemed the most likely explanation to him. He decided then and there to damn the consequences, he would use his weapon against Silver next time he saw her.

  Then, he heard some shuffling outside. There was a bang - like a door being slammed, and some shouting. The other didn’t see Silver, to his memory, or hear her voice, so if this was his crew - and most likely it was, based on the voices - they were woefully ignorant of who they were talking to.

  “Come on…” He pressed his ear against the door and confirmed it certainly was his crew, at least Serpacinno and Tariq were there - and there was no way they could’ve found him without Lonceré’s help. He shouted, “I’m in here!” But they didn’t seem to hear him.

  He took the length of wood and jammed it into the deadbolt on the door, wiggling it and trying to pry it open. It almost gave, but the wood broke earlier, splintering all over the ground. He heard Serpacinno ask “What was that?” To which Silver replied, “You can see how old the house is.”

  With nothing else working, he started banging as loudly on the door as he could, in a manner so rhythmic it would be hard to pin it on a random noise of an old house.

  “We have to go in.” He heard Lonceré say, “Please, we just need to take a look around, madam.” He was probably trying to seduce her, a tactic he knew the cook to employ.

  Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

  There was a silence for a few seconds, before Silver spoke up, “I’ll be in my room. Please take care not to disturb anything.”

  He scrambled to clean up the fragments of wood dropped on the ground, shuffling them under the bed. He maintained a neutral face as she shuffled into the room, locking it behind her.

  “Keep quiet,” She glared at him, “I don’t think I have to warn you of the consequences.”

  He did, but he also knew of the rewards. Still, it wouldn’t do to be too obvious at this moment, and he waited impatiently as his crew searched for him, unaware he was less than ten feet away. A few minutes later, they reconvened, discussing their lack of success.

  A knock at the door sent Silver to her feet, “Ah, finally done then?” She cracked the door a tiny amount, not enough for them to see him. Her concentration breaking was all he needed though, as he shot up and whacked her on the head with his makeshift weapon.

  She fell over shortly after, and he stopped over her to the door, grabbing her gun in the process. Before opening the door, he kept it trained on her head, putting pressure on the trigger like he was about to fire.

  “You alright?” Serpacinno’s voice brought him back, and he stowed the gun and walked out with a forced smile.

  “Better now that you’re all here,” He wrapped her in a hug which she hesitantly reciprocated, “Where’s Gareland?”

  “What happened to you?” She asked, checking him up and down.

  “Don’t worry about it,” He patted her on the shoulder and turned to address the whole group, “Glad to see you’re all acquainted.”

  He tried to walk away, to lead them (and himself) away from what had just happened, but his mate grabbed his arm and pulled him to look at her, “We can all see you’re shaken up. What happened?”

  “I’m fine.” He chuckled, squeezing her hand sympathetically, “Really, I appreciate the concern. And I’ll admit the experience was unnerving, but it’s settled.” As he passed her, he leaned in close, and whispered, “Not here. Not now.”

  She stewed, but allowed it for the time being, if only in the interest of moving along and regrouping. The lack of an explanation was getting to her though, she glared and grinded her teeth the whole time.

  “About Gareland,” Tariq said, stepping over the unconscious form of some individual, “We uhh… don’t quite know. We haven’t seen her since yesterday morning.” Then, he had an epiphany and turned to the cook, “You - can’t you find her?”

  “Me?” Lonceré put his hand over his chest, offended, “I’m not an inquiry agent, I can’t just find someone based on their name.”

  “She’s short,” Tariq added, “Shoulder length green hair, pointy ears - cause she’s a fairy.”

  “Boy!” He clapped the larger, younger man on the shoulder, “You should’ve led with that.”

  “So you can find her?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Is that a no?”

  “I didn’t say that either.”

  “Be nice, Lonceré,” Paracelsus chided his cook, “Can you or can you not?”

  “I can -” He grabbed his chin, “I may already have.”

  “Well?” The captain gestured with a rolling gesticulation.

  “I’m assuming I should’ve led with that?” He smacked his lips, embarrassed, “I think she’s held by someone - she even called for your help.”

  “And you didn’t think to start with that?” He asked.

  “Well I was hoping you would introduce me first?” He tried to sidestep the criticism.

  “Don’t lie, you forgot,” Paracelsus punched him in the shoulder, “Lonceré - Serpacinno, my first mate, and Tariq, my helmsman. Serpacinno, Tariq - Lonceré, my cook. There, introduced.”

  —

  As she prepared to sleep, the mayor thought back to her earlier meeting with the national Counsellor of Defense. Her tea tasted more bitter than normal as she recalled his words - “The president has some concerns about the recent affairs in our capital.”, which came as no surprise. The situation had spiraled out of control, but what confused her was that any request for military intervention from the national government was met with denials and refusals.

  She was a hair’s breadth away from uncovering a conspiracy, she was sure. Someone higher up was gumming up the system to stifle her efforts. A political opponent? Someone sympathetic to L’Orange? Oddly enough, with the challenge in front of her, her headaches had dissipated, leaving her mind clear of pain for once.

  It was probably for the worse, to be honest. The headaches had become a sort of partner to her, keeping her mind focused, dedicated towards her goal, even when her aspirations seemed further than ever. As her consciousness started to dim and her eyes felt like lead weights, she let her mind wander back to her past.

  —

  “Veronique! Veronique!” Bordeaux, a more youthful man than now, hailed her, “Wait for me!”

  “Why would I slow down for you?” She huffed, in fact slowing down, “You need to keep up!”

  The two currently found themselves on the ovular track field. It was a recreational activity they both partook in, but Montpellier was much more athletic by nature and quite frequently left Bordeaux in the dust.

  “I’m trying my hardest,” He bent over, hands on his knees, “I think I’ve gotten better recently.”

  “Your stamina leaves much to be desired.” She harrumphed, crossing her arms. They looked at each other wistfully, examining the rising and falling of their chests. All panting and flushed, they both knew what they wanted - and they could’ve easily acted on it, were it not for -

  “Greetings,” Copain greeted, “Sir, Ma’am.”

  “Oh, please,” L’Orange recovered from his distraction and rolled his eyes, “You two are barely two years younger than me.”

  “It is simply a matter of respect,” Copain informed with a raised finger, “Tell me - how did you find the professor’s lecture? I thought it was most interesting.”

  “Agreed, mon ami.” Bordeaux, ever the good-natured fellow, wrapped his arm around his friend’s shoulder and pulled him in in a not so subtle way to regain his stamina, “Say, Copain, have your plans après-dipl?me changed at all?”

  “Well of course not!” Veronique answered for him, “We’re going to be the most famous painters of our time! We’ll be modern-day Pourés!”

  “She is correct.” Copain confirmed, though all three of them knew he wasn’t going to go against her wishes, “Although it may be somewhat arrogant to assume that level of success.”

  “I’m not arrogant!” She pouted, “I’m just confident in our abilities.”

  “Ah but confidence is one of those,” Bordeaux put his fingers up, “‘Human feelings’ you don’t understand, eh?”

  “Not entirely. I understand the feelings, I simply can’t empathize.” He clarified.

  A trait that would prove their undoing.