Inspector Faulks listened with a small frown to the ragged men’s brief explanations, and though he was inwardly disappointed that they didn’t have any solid information, their general state seemed like a sign that the end was near. He gave them a perfunctory nod, “All right,” and fell in with them, hastening towards the inner fort.

Despite his broken ribs, he was able to keep pace with the men, who were also injured in various ways. After a few hurried steps, he told them, “If things don’t look good at the fort, there is always the secret escape tunnel to the northwest. It leads into the graveyard—that is, if the explosives haven’t been detonated.”

He wasn’t planning on leaving—yet—himself, but for now the best thing it seemed he could do was pass the information on to civilians who seemed as determined to live as he was himself.

“If only we knew what they’re after, we might have something we can use,” he added, thinking out loud and not expecting a response from the panting civilians. The champagne and gin were still lingering in him and he felt relaxed, in spite of the climbing din of weaponry and death cries, the smell of blood. Or perhaps his calm feeling resulted from the slow rising of the tide of fate that creeps over every man, barely-noticed, until it is already dragging him to his end.

But every man thinks he is going to live to tell his tale, and Faulks didn’t believe he was going to die, however much he swished the possibility around inside himself, as if testing the notion on his nerves. He just didn’t believe it. The moon, for one thing, was coming up a ripe orange, low in the smoky horizon, breathtaking in that way that only very real things can be—things that stop time during the moment you first see them. Surely he would see another moon. The funny thing was that he couldn’t remember the last time he saw one. He’d stopped noticing years ago.

“The name’s Faulks, by the way,” he told his ad hoc traveling companions. “Guyer Faulks, inspector for the police detachment. But I have the feeling I’m out of a job.”

Elija, Frankie and the rest of the Shoddy End Gang made their way under the trainyard and through the industrial warehouse district,on the northern end of Fort Glory. Laiden with fire bombs and dynamite, they talked of which groupu they would go with. They finally stopped at a junction of three sewer tunnels. One went south under the Castle, One east and the other west. Sam shoved Elija forward and said "L here hees gots sumptin' ta say he does."

Elija said "Me an me mates we decides ta kill dem Ta'kun an' Dragons 'cause whats thays done ta 'r families an home, it ain't right what thays does. Proud we iz ta be whit' the Dragoons we iz."

THey then split up, Basha, Elija,



Sam



Cricket

,

Daisy



Shinner




and Mrs. Smith,

Sandy Graves - 23, Blonde, Blue eyed, 5'9", 150 lbs.
Carries two rifles and a bow. He is a dead eye with both weapons. Has exceptional vision and rarely misses a target. One of his rifle is more designed for sniping. SNIPER

'Clubber' Morris Triptin - 33, Brown, Grey eyes, 6'6", 250 lbs.
A brawler, tough as a coffin nail. Prefers melee, uses a halberd. Wears armour. Went south.

Sergeant Lasekura,

Frankie



Ferrett & Weasel

Jack Rabbit' Pyter Korilokov - 20, Blonde, blue eyed. 5'11", 185 lbs.
Very fit. He is a sprinter and very dexterous. Very good shot. SNIPER,

Michael Mason - 21, Brown eyes and hair. 5'10", 175lbs - SNIPER,

Chance Obormyer - 27, Brown, blue eyed. 6'0", 190lbs. Good swordsman, fights two handed. Well trained in fencing. Scott Anders - 21, Black hair, blue eyes. 6'2", 190 lbs. Swordsman and excellent horseman. Wears armour, went east.

Ram,

Galley

,

Jack


and Lil.

Randal Krinsk - 26, Brown hair and eyes. 5'8", 250 lbs
A very thick man, nearly impossible to knock out and incredibly strong. Wears Armour,

'Book' Shawn Richardson - 25, Black hair, Green eyes. 5'10", 170 lbs.
Solid soldier. Very intelligent, knows explosives very well. Always reading,

'Soup' Clarence Urquhart - 31, Auburn hair and brown eyes. 5'9", 160 lbs Loves Soup and always makes sure he has can on him for luck. Very superstitious.

He is the medic and is also a good shot with a long rifle. SNIPER,

'Brass' Neil Bryson - 25, Brown hair and eyes, 5'6", 145lbs. SNIPER. Good shot, tough, small man with a big fist, went west. Each of the three groups then journeyed on through the sewers.

“Guyer Faulks…” Frederic mumbled, somehow it sounded very familiar.
“Police department, you say?” McVogh asked out loud, throwing off Frederic’s train of thought. “Well, we’d take any help we can get, but a man of the law is more than we could have hoped for.”

The ice seemed to be broken between the men and as they continued through Fort Glory they all introduced themselves briefly to the inspector. It wasn’t long after they were good and done with the pleasantries when things began to go downhill for the five men.

“What was that!?” A rattled Frederic looks around after hearing a loud crash of some sort and froze into place.

“Better keep moving, Fred.” Eldorf said while continuing to wheeze but refusing to slow down.

Another crashing sound however brought the five of them to halt once more. “Up there!” Andreas pointed out a shadow along the roofs and another roof tile came crashing down as the shadow disappeared, Andreas’ shot coming too late to stop the creature.

“Did you see that?” He asked the others as he opened the chamber of the Shut-Eye and loaded a cartridge, slamming the chamber shut and raising his weapon back towards the roof.

“You can hear them… Up there…” Frederic almost whispered as his eyes scanned the edge of the roofs.

“We’d better not linger, my friends.” Eldorf said and picked up the pace considerably.

They could not have continued their journey soon enough for many a ta’kun stepped into sight with bow and arrow at the ready. A deadly rain came down on top of the five, of which many missed but still managed to come far too close for comfort. From that moment onwards they were running with all they had. Frederic tried to keep both Eldorf and Andy from lagging behind, eying Guyer just in case he too needed assistance, while Richard switched between throwing bolts of electricity and fire in an attempt to hold off the ta’kun following them from above.

The ta’kun on the rooftops were quickly joined by their counterparts on the ground, and even though the five men running for their lives could not have seen, the distinct form of a mermadon stuck out of the ta’kun that started their pursuit. Lord Yassun, however, could care less for the men and only allowed some of his ta’kun to pursue in case the five had gotten a proper look at the force he was bringing up towards the keep.

Even though it was a frantic few minutes the men reached the walls of the keep unscathed. As the men on the wall saw the five of them and their assailants they opened fire with their cannons and guns, suppressing those on top of the roofs as well as on the ground.

“Not a moment too soon.” Richard said, delighted to find himself amongst friendly forces. He threw a last batch of magical projectiles into the alley behind them before following the others along the walls towards the southern gate.

“Hey!” Sounded from above the five as they try to get out of the streets before the ta’kun got a chance to kill them after all. “What are you guys doing here!?”

The four of them quickly realized the familiar voice of Simon, leaving the inspector wondering who the man they were talking to was. Simon ran parallel to them as they made their way towards the gate from on top of the wall, shoving people out of his way as he went along.

“We thought you were dead!” Eldorf yelled.
“We thought you had escaped from the city!” Frederic quickly said, trying to correct McVogh.
“No, turns out I couldn’t just pick up and leave this old town after it came under attack. I did figure you four to be out of here and bringing back that princess on my behalf.” Simon yelled back.
“You could have just said; glad to see you guys are still alive!” Richard mocked.
“I never doubted it, well, except for you maybe.” Simon said, “Let me go make sure they open the gates for you guys!” Simon then disappeared from view.

“Did I just see that correctly?” Frederic wondered out loud.
“Was he wearing a uniform?” Richard added to that.
“Apparently so…” Andreas and Eldorf said simultaneously.
“How do you suppose that happened?” Frederic wondered some more.
“I’m not sure we want to know, but I’m sure he’ll tell us all about it once we’re inside….” McVogh remarked.

As the gates slowly opened before the five men, Andreas could not help but wonder how his sister was faring, would she be somewhere inside the keep, just like Simon? Was she safe and sound outside of the walls, or had he failed her? Had he failed Sophie… Beau and Emily? Were they alright? Andreas knew nothing anymore and the sheer uncertainty that swept over him made his head spin.

“Oh! Now I know, you’re the brilliant inspector they call in when there’s a crime none other can wrap their heads around, right?” Frederic had turned to Faulks with a sudden sense of recognition. Yes, this must be the man from the papers, a man who keeps the street clean of the dirtiest of scum. What a pleasure it was to have him in their midst.

--

“Lord!” Rashi approached her mermadon master, “My brothers and sisters are bleeding… Too much more and we will run out.”
“I figured the Red Fists to have greater resolve then this. Are you not capable of accepting the toll of war for the greater glory of your clan? Would you rather die out like a candle in the night, or be reborn from the ashes of those who died a glorious death?” The mermadon asked.
“We will do anything to restore out glory, but-.” Rashi still wanted to object to their current course of action and the additional losses that would be incurred.
“Then have faith, my tough-skinned sister. In fact we are doing much better than I would have anticipated. A little longer, and the glory will be all yours.”
“What must be done next, my lord?” Rashi was hesitant to ask.
“While the chaos of battle still fills the street and keeps the remnants of the human soldiers in disarray our brunt will assault their fortress and break their back, once and for all.”
“With our diminishing numbers we might not even breach the wall.” Rashi complained.
“Their numbers have been more severely depleted than your own, Rashi. But don’t worry, we still have the long spears, and it is about time they did their part…”
“Shall I signal them?” Rashi said with enthusiasm for the idea of making use of their hidden reserves. The mermadon merely nodded and left the Red Fists’ leader to her duty.

Little did they know the Longspears had all committed to the sewers after the explosion that had ripped one of the tunnels, as well as the street above, to pieces. The bright blue signal arrow, lighting the darkening sky would not be seen by any of the Longspears and Rashi would not get her reinforcements after all.

Something shook the building Kylea was in with the strange man. Her iridescent eyes snapped to the man thinking he was the one that had caused it to shake so. Another shaking followed soon after and she realized he was just as surprised as she was. Knowing then it wasn’t the man causing the shaking she quickly deducted something else was happening.

A noise from overhead drew the Mermadon’s attention then. Scuttering along the rooftops. What ever it was, it was nothing all that small and it made no secret of its movement overhead. The next thing Kylea heard was the distinct grunting, hissing and clicking she was all too familiar with.

“Ta’kun…”

The word slipped from her mouth just as the man tilted his head and looked at her strangely.

“Ta’kun? Attacking Fort Glory? Surely you’re imagining things?”

But Kylea wasn’t for just then, one of the long necked, scaly beasts crashed through the window sending shards of the glass flying on all directions. The beast stretched out it’s long neck and hissed at the man revealing its jagged teeth and forked tongue.

The man, knowing he was out numbered, even for his abilities, quickly opened up another portal into that dark dimension he had thrown Kylea into and disappeared just as the Ta’kun swung his heavy club, striking noting but air. Kylea jumped and squealed in fright, causing her hood to fall from her head. The Ta’kun raised its club once more to strike her down but it stopped and blinked at her with only one set of its eyelids.

Tilting his head first left then right, the Ta’kun seemed to be in a quandary of what to do now. He wasn’t expecting to find another Mermadon in with the humans. Even as Kylea gulped and stared at the thing. The longer they stood there, staring at each other, Kylea knew she HAD to do something. Mustering as much bravado as she could, she squared her shoulders and let her gaze settle on the Takun’s.

“You will take me to the one in charge. Now. It’s important you do this thing. Your well being depends on it.”

The large lizard blinked its inner eyelid once more before slowly turning and leading her from the building. As they moved away from the house, Kylea pulled the hood of her cloak back up over her head and followed along behind the hulking figure, letting him clear a path for her. Not that there was much of a path to be cleared, mind you. Still, she didn’t want to get hurt so she would let him take the brunt of what ever was going to happen.

As they emerged onto the streets, Kylea was beginning to get a better picture of what was really happening. It seemed as though the Ta’kun were in a full out assault on the humans. But…why? Needless to say, she was thoroughly confused. While the Ta’kun had attacked small bands of humans from time to time and made the humans lives miserable, she’d never known them to attack like this. Not without some form of motivation.

Finally, when the Ta’kun had led her through to where the wall had been breeched, she suddenly found herself staring into the face of Yassun. And the look on his face was just as shocked as the one on her own face. In unison, they both asked each other the same question.

“What are you doing here?”

As Payden turned his attention back to eating, Gertrude relaxed, no longer overflowing with the awakened electrical energy. She sipped her wine, a preoccupied look coming over her face like curtains falling closed in a window as she considered the difference between how Payden described his magic and how she experienced her own. Magic as a whole, it seemed, was even more complicated than she’d supposed.

In response to Payden’s comment about the dark presence he wished to avoid in himself, Curt said blithely, “Well, all the more reason you must learn as much as you can—both of you—with whatever opportunities we find awaiting us.” The count appeared inordinately pleased, though very little had actually transpired over dinner.

A second day of travel left Gertrude exhausted and even though her entire cabin was rocking, rising and falling in a way that made sleep elusive, she eventually slipped into a fitful dream where she ran through the rain, no longer caring if her dress remained dry because something was following her, and when it caught her, that would be the end of her, the final curtain, and no one would even remember her anymore. She had to find Andy before the thing caught her and snuffed her out of existence.

At some point in the night she was awakened by a noise. She was thankful to escape from the nightmare—she rarely had nightmares—but she wasn’t entirely comfortable. She was afraid of becoming afraid in the small dark room, because she knew that if she let her fears arouse, she would never get back to sleep. What noise had disturbed her? A queer splash outside the thin wall of her cabin, like a hungry shark leaping in the night? She resisted the urge to light her lantern, telling herself she was being foolish.

She lay awake for many long minutes, staring at the shadows on the ceiling, which in her imagination took the shapes of ghosts and demons at the edge of human consciousness. Whatever the noise had been, she didn’t hear it again, and that might have relieved her, except that she had the curious sense that she was completely alone and at the mercy of the sea. Curt is up deck keeping an eye on things, she reminded herself. But she didn’t believe it, even though she knew it was true. She pulled the covers up to her nose and eventually, sleep came over her with its obliterating mercy.

When morning came, it was lightly overcast, as if sunshine poured down on the world through a dirty glass, but in this frank light, everything was very ordinary again. The eerie spell of the night had faded, and Gertrude felt the adventurous winds and waves fill her spirit once more. It was colder too, however, and she didn’t spend as much time on deck as she had the previous day. She was, moreover, alarmed to see in her hand mirror that the sun had done its work on her yesterday, despite the best efforts of her bonnet, and the freckles across the bridge of her nose were beginning to assert themselves. She powdered them over and hoped Curt of Ursha wouldn’t notice.

While it didn’t rain on them all day, the winds shifted more than they had the previous day, but it was nothing Curt expressed any concern over. He allowed Payden to adjust the sails as he saw fit, apparently having no need to intervene with what the count referred to as the, “sea in my blood.” In fact, no doubt tired from his night’s vigil, the count kept himself withdrawn to the cabin for most of the day—a little to Gertrude’s self-conscious disappointment.

Just as Curt of Ursha had promised, the current carried the Sylph swift and true over the waters, even when the winds weren’t being cooperative. Sometimes it seemed like the current alone was strong enough to bear the ship even if the sail was set wrong. In any case, on the following morning, they came in sight of land, just as Curt had said they would.

After a rain-spattered night, a fog rolled in, making the morning gray and formless. The silhouette of cliff floated through the low clouds, fading in and out of being as if the mists had dreamed it forth and might as easily absorb it again. Curt’s formal announcement of, “Land ho!” summoned Gertrude from her cabin where she had only just dressed, now wrapping in her cloak against the chill breath of the sea. Payden was on deck already.

“Is that Ursha?” she breathed.

As they drew nearer, the stately straight lines of a castle manifested atop the cliff, looking ruffled yet noble, as an old hawk hunched gripping the tallest branch. Though little could be seen about the distant structure, the toothy hint of crenulated towers suggested the architecture was very old. No pennants or other flashes of color could be spotted, making the ancient castle lonely indeed.



“Yes,” Curt said with cheerfulness that seemed to contrast with the gothic vista, “welcome to my humble chapeau—or is that chateau?—in any case, welcome!”

“Is that your castle, Curt?” Gertrude could hardly believe her eyes. Every detail, from the fog to the gloomy castle could have been drawn from the pages of a novel.

“It is nobody’s castle,” Curt replied. “But yes, it is mine.”

“How wonderful!”

Though the wind had fallen mostly still and could do little to disperse the lurking banks of gloom, as the sun edged deeper into morning, the force of its springtime rays began to dissolve the worst of the fog. As the hanging shrouds of vapor parted before the Sylph, it became clear that they were sailing sedately towards the black yawn of a sea cave.

Curt turned towards Gertrude with a smile, perhaps about to say something more to her, but his gaze was caught be something behind her and his expression turned from pleasure to shock. He gripped the spar, as if to brace himself against the force of his own dismay. “What!?” he gasped. “How dare they come here!”

When Payden and Gertrude whirled to see what he was talking about, their questing stares were met by a pair of long boats gliding like eels in their wake. They were still many yards off, but it became clear as their shadows emerged from the mist, that the boats were filled with unsavory looking men, bearded and armed to the teeth with cutlass and pistol.

A greater shadow appeared above the longboats, hulking and dimly creaking like a mansion in a gale. Several masts gave out several full-bellied sails, and above them snapped the emerging red flag of a skull pierced laterally by a sword.

“Pirates!” Gertrude exclaimed and looked to Curt and Payden. Surely they would know what to do.

It became apparent that the two long boats nearest to them were only the vanguard of a small fleet that lay between the Sylph and the open sea. They were in a deep cove headed towards the sea cave that presumably granted access to land. Though the buccaneers were still a ways off, it was plain they were too close for comfort when a voice reached them just audibly, “Looks like we gots a minnow tresspassin’ in our pond, boys!”

Curt pounded his fist against the spar, mouth twisted with anger. “This isn’t what I had in mind at all!”

The situation seemed dire, Payden could see that the boat to the port held six unsavory corsairs and the other that approached much quicker held eight. Were it a contest of the sword, then perhaps he and Curt may have been able to hold off the first few, but their irons would make short work of them. They had to outrun them!

They were at full sail and the long ships were gaining a length with every stroke, they would surely overtake them before they made land. But even if they were to beat them to the sea cave, then what? Would they be able to vacate the boat quick enough? Payden thought not.

Payden buckled up his belt and fixed his blades. He donned his trademark, black long coat and checked the hidden pistol he kept within a holster strung across a shoulder, a weapon he rarely used except when left with no other choice. Still, the one shot would hardly make a difference in this situation, and if it came down to fight he would trust sword over fire.

Then it dawned on him. "Fire." He said aloud, distracting Curt.

"Gertrude." Payden called, forgoing formalities. "Can you conjure fire?", then looking to the sail he changed his mind, "How about wind? Have you ever tried to call it?"

Payden judged the distance to the cave, then compared it to the length between them and the large tri-masted ship, and figured that even if they benefited from a gust of wind, they would not close the distance in time. With a certainty that he could not explain, he knew she was capable, but were she able to now, when it was most needed was the question. He could, however, not wait to learn whether she could answer and quickly ran down into the hold and gathered a sheet, some lantern fuel and pack of matches. Then back on deck, Payden untied the two harpoons he had purchased in Mierathal and began to tear the sheet into strips. He tightly bound them as fast as possible around the ends of the long spears and dowsed them fuel until they were sopping with it.

Praying these scavengers were poor shots, Payden stood at the stern, the dripping spear tips hanging over the water, and awaited the boats to come within range of his throw. The harpoons were well balanced and the rogue knew that he could hurl one accurately, but calculating the distance of that accuracy was another matter; he would have to wait until they were well within the range of their pistols.

Payden reached into his coat and drew his own pistol and offered it to Curt. "Can you fire one of these?"

Kylea narrowed her gaze at her fellow mermadon. The last thing she expected to find in this filthy pt hole of existence was….Yassun. Her hateful glare moved around the chaos happening around her and she turned her iridescent eyes back to the one she detested most.

“I see you put yourself in a position where you could bully others. Just as you always do. Heed my warning, Yassun, one day you’ll find yourself on the opposite end of that stick. And when that happens, I hope you get poked with it. Hard.”

Once more her eyes scanned the area and she realized he had somehow orchestrated an attack on the human fortress. He couldn’t have done it all alone. He HAD to have help. But who was he working with? Or for? He may have been crafty, but he wasn’t THAT smart. Her gaze narrowed once more.

“The Ta’kun will not like losing so many of their numbers for your own personal gain, Yassun. They’ll see through your pathetic ruse sooner or later and when they do, I think that stick you shall be poked hard with will have quite the pointy end to it. I can only hope I will be here to see that. And trust me, I will take great pleasure in seeing that happen to you. You ungrateful eel.”

Faulks’s survey of the inner fort and battlements ended as Frederic turned to him and remarked, “Oh! Now I know; you’re the brilliant inspector they call in when there’s a crime none other can wrap their heads around, right?”

Faulks paused before he replied, “Something like that.” He glanced around again at the refugees who’d taken to the central courtyard, a permanent path or two roped off through their huddled midst to allow soldiers and supplies to traffic through the inner bailey, many dusty, some bloody, soldiers calling to one another from above like crows on a wire. Then he said to Frederic, “I don’t think there’s much in that line of work for the time being, though.”

The fort gates were closed again and, by the looks of the soldiers’ positions, unlikely to open again. Whoever was still trapped outside would have to fend for themselves—those who were still alive. So much had happened in a single day. What would the night bring?

Not far away, a huddle of miserable women gossiped:

“I heard someone say it was Mrs. Bradley herself. And let me tell you, she was every bit the Great Beauty that everyone says.”

“Must be grand to be a Beauty, an’ married to a wealthy man, an’ have carriages arranged ta take you out of town after the last train has left.”

“Aye.”

“Where did she go, then?”

“How should I know? The carriage went by the west gate, so probably south to Mierethal, or maybe further. Anywhere that’s far from this Godforsaken tomb, you can bet.”

“Now, now. We have to keep our spirits up, or we’re already lost.”

* * *


Though Payden had already dashed into the cabin, Gertrude answered his question, “I’ve never called wind before. But I have made things catch fire. Only things I was touching at the time, though...”

Curt turned to her urgently and said, “Well that’s something, isn’t it? I bet you could make the sails on that great ship catch fire if you only concentrate hard enough!”

Gertrude pursed her lips together and stared at the ship; its mountainous hull looked capable of grinding their tiny vessel to dust. “I could try…” she said.

“Do try!” Curt said. “There’s no time to fuss!”

Gertrude was a little surprised by how flummoxed the count seemed—not that she wasn’t herself—but she’d expected him to have a better solution to their corsair problem than hazarding their fate on her less-than-tamed magic. Dismissing the distracting thought, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “Guardians of the watchtower of the South, attend us now!”

Payden resurfaced at that moment, though Gertrude was now wrapped in concentration. Curt was torn between keeping his attention on her and on Payden. When the young rogue offered his pistol, Curt plucked it up by the handle twixt thumb and index finger as if it was a dead fish.



“I believe the concept is to point and pull the trigger?” Curt said.

“And then you have to reload it,” Payden answered.

Curt grimaced, but there was no time for further comment, for the first longboat came close enough to loose a haphazard volley of shot at the Sylph’s defenders, most of which fell out of range. Though a hole appeared in the sail, splinters leapt from the portside rail, and Gertrude’s bonnet went askew.

“Oh!” She cried, losing concentration entirely. She had never been shot at in her life. Even Curt did a dance of dismay, throwing himself down next to the flattened Payden in hopes of avoiding a deadly wound. Gertrude likewise cast herself against the cabin entry, which was sunken, and snatched off her bonnet, felt her scalp, certain her fingers would encounter a gory spill of blood. She was uninjured however, but there was a hole that ran straight through the brim of her bonnet.

“Wait! Hold yer fire, lads!” A growling voice called from the nearest longboat. “There be a lady on that ship. We’ll have her fer tea, so hold yer fire, lads.” The command drew raucous laughter as well as several hoots and jeers from the boats’ occupants, who slipped nearer and nearer to the Sylph, surrounding her to both sides. “Surrender now ta Cappin’ Johnny Red Cullain of the pirate's ship, Queen Lucia's Revenge, or suffer the unpleasant consequences!”

“You can tell your Captain Cullain that he’s crossed the wrong customer!” Curt declared. “Cast your magic forth, Gertrude!” The count, who had scrambled over beside Gertrude, shook her arm. “Hurry!” At the same time, Payden readied his flaming harpoon, for the scurvy buccaneers were now within range.

Gertrude peered around the cabin door in order to keep the mother vessel with its snapping red flag in view. She stared hard at the sweeping sails, but at last the effort caused her to close her eyes, brows knit. Warmth radiated from her skin.

Curt frowned and torqued his free hand—his left being occupied with Payden’s pistol—and a sparkling, rosy red ball of flame blossomed in his hand. He stepped past Gertrude, out of line of their sail, and hurled the unfurling fire ball at the sails of the Queen Lucia's Revenge. It was a long shot, though, and the fireball not a terribly impressive one, and as it flew, it diminished into a small, flickering trail that lapped into the base of the jib, emitting only the smallest tongue of smoke. Still, it was enough to cause small flames to begin eating along the great ship’s headsails.

Sensing a surge in magical energy, Gertude opened her eyes. “It worked!” she exclaimed.

“Well done,” Curt applauded, and darted a glance at Payden to see if the young man had noticed his stunt. Despite having been preoccupied with firing the flaming harpoon into the nearest boat of attackers, Curt thought Payden might indeed have been giving him a strange look.

As for the boat full of corsairs, Payden hit it square on, causing not only structural damage to the longboat, but pinning one unfortunate scoundrel who caught on fire. Above his shrieks of agony, and the spreading flames, a great bearded fellow shouted, “You’ll pay for this! We’ll have your entrails strung up for garlands! No mercy, boys! Give no quarter!”

While several men abandoned the first longboat, and others shouted about witchcraft, the occupants of the second longboat fired their weapons through the chaos, smoke puffing above their outraged faces in dismal haloes. Cutlasses and teeth gnashed, eager to spill blood.

Lying sprawled on the deck from his successful avoidance of the first volley of deadly shot, Payden was quite curious of the Count's display of magic. For some reason it reminded him of the birds that followed in the wake of the train, using it's strength to pull them along, but he had little time to contemplate sorcery and ignited his harpoon.

He threw straight and hard, and a surge of strength ran threw his body as he not only hit his mark but skewered a pirate to boot but in his moment of triumph a grappling hook struck the port side of the sylph, tethering it to the other long boat. Quickly then he lit the other spear and took aim at the port side ship which was fast approaching, but as he drew back he found himself staring down the barrels of four pistols.

It was a moment when all slowed, and one thinks about the choices in their life because for some reason it becomes important to know just which one ended it. Would he have the time to avoid the piercing hot shot, he thought not and so he hurled the flaming harpoon with all his strength toward the smallest target he could find. The harpoon flowed through the air straight and true, flying toward a portly seaman's thigh rather than the belt buckle that had been targeted. A trail of fiery fuel trailed behind the spear, that penetrated the man's leg and covered him with burning oil.

Four shots rang out, even the impaled man managed to squeeze his trigger before being engulfed in flames. The first, rushed past Payden's ear and the sound was accompanied by a burning sensation in his neck and he could feel the sensation of quick cooling blood on his face. More pain burst from his side, causing him to fall backwards and fall atop the roof of the cabin, but despite the pain he could still move.

With a pain stricken roar he forced himself to his feet, drew cutlass and knife and in a pure display of animalistic rage leapt from the Sylph and into the burning long ship. The pirates did not expect such a suicidal maneuver and while the one at the bow took time to reload his weapon the others tossed their burning ship mate over the side and tried to smother the fire. Payden slashed the throat of the first man and kicked him over the side as he landed, catching the remaining four off guard.

Payden's side screamed with pain and his neck felt as if it were on fire. He could feel the warm sticky sensation of blood oozing from both areas, and it turned him into a cornered wolf, where retreat was not an option. The next two men whirled around with swords drawn, brandishing their blades in an unpracticed fashion, and Payden kept his line, focusing on his balance. Without thought he easily parried their hacking attacks and with an unorthodox riposte in the form of a swift and high kick his boot heel smashed one in the teeth sending him over the side. The other lunged, but the black clad rogue was quicker with a stop-cut maneuver, their swords clashed, only the pirates was deflected to the side while Payden's drove on straight and true through the man's throat. The pirate slumped to deck, the death throws of his convulsing body pulling itself free of his killers blade, leaving in bright red.

With all his will, Payden forced himself to suppress his pain and appear as menacing as possible. The two men, stood before him weapons drawn but neither was brave enough to match blades with the bloodied swordsman after witnessing him dispatch of their three mates in a matter of six moves. Little did they know that their opponent's vision was already beginning to blur and a cold numbness was befalling his limbs, else they would have ceased the opportunity to gut him. Instead they looked to one another and both decided they would rather not die that day and each leapt over their respective sides and into the sea.

The long boat, still secured to the Sylph, trailed behind it as Payden struggled to maintain consciousness. His neck had been grazed and a steady stream of blood poured from the small wound, but it was the apparent shot he took to his right side that threatened his life. The right leg of his pants was soaked with blood, and his face was pale and sallow.

There were yet three pirates that clung to the stern that had managed to pull themselves from the other long boat by using the rope of another grappling hook that clung to the rope-rail that ran along the edge of the ship. One was close to pulling himself onto the ship but Payden had not strength to act. He waved to Curt and Miss de Pontu and weakly pointed to the stern before he collapsed.

As they made their way south, Basha could help but notice the droning sound of white water that was seemed to emanating from the west. At one point it became so loud that it is difficult to hear anything else and that's when he asked Elija about the noise of the rushing water.

Both Elija and Sam, were so used to traveling the sewers that they had plum forgot to mention the main drainage line of the system. "Oh, we's calls that the under-river, all the storm drains and sewers runs into it." Elija told him, then Sam piped up, "An carries everythin' out ta sea." The boys then hastened their pace, against Basha's better judgement to show him the 'drops-off', as they explained it, which lied at the center of the town.

The ingenuity of man, never ceased to amaze Basha. They stood a huge junction where many sewer lines met and at the center the boys stood at the edge of precipice, a massive hole which required him to turn up his lantern to see across. He could tell that it was a natural formation, but had been reinforced with brick and mortar to prevent collapse. Nearly all the sewer lines were angled to flow into the great well, and spill into what appeared to be a buried river that ran under Fort Glory and into the sea north of the town. The river was at least a ten meter drop, perhaps much more, he really couldn't tell in the darkness, but it was apparent that it ran under all the existing sewers, and those lines that were directly to the north and south, drained into it though storm drains or simple run-offs.

Sandy came up beside Elija and peered over the edge with a flabbergasted whistle, "Ain't never seen a well this big before!", he exclaimed.

Basha smiled at their innocence and observed how the two boys could pass for brothers and he imagined that in some other time, maybe they might even be his sons. Perhaps if he had never left his home land, they would be overlooking the turquoise ocean waters from lush green cliffs instead of staring into a black abyss of deluge beneath a town overrun with stinking Ta'kun.

The Captain then reluctantly urged everyone onward, down the south tunnel, but with every step he took, Basha could not suppress the despair he had so long repressed. He turned to Elija's mother, and the first time in while allowed himself to feel the anguish of his son's death. Knowing that ones son could die at any moment would tear the heart out of any parent's chest, and though she put on a brave face he could see the fear in her eyes, the fear for her son. 'This was not the way' he told himself and in that moment he swore he could hear his wife calling to him and he answered her, "He's not going to die."

Everyone looked to the Captain as his deep voice echoed through the chamber, then kneeling down beside Elija he placed his hands on his small shoulders and gently turned the boy toward him.

"Elija," He said, "I was wrong, this is not your fight. You have to get away from this place and live. Some say that to die a hero is more meaningful that a long, simple life, but you know what? That's a load of shit. If you have the choice between dying for a cause or tuck-tailing and living in peace, you choose the latter, and leave the dying for the old men.

"Now, I want you, Sam, Daisy and your Mum, to get the hell out of these sewers and head up the coast, and I don't want to hear any back talk. That's an order! You understand me!"

Basha then stood and pushed Elija toward Colleen and it was then that all them became aware of the familiar clicking sounds that reverberated throughout the small junction in which they had paused. Everyone, looked around them for the source of the sounds, their eyes wide with fear and anticipation of a Ta'kun attack, but not Basha. Somehow he knew they were coming and was trying to ensure that Mrs. Smith and the children were able to escape before the inevitable.

The Captain gestured to an eastward passage. "Go!" He commanded, as he drew his short swords, one of them the craftsmanship of the woman smith.

The 'Long Spears' swept into the chamber from the north and these were far more formidable in appearance than the average Lesser Ta'kun. Basha had seen 'Scavs' like them before and knew that the odds were not in their favour. They all wore fine black armour, along their elongated torsos that would repel all but the most lethal of strikes and they each held the same stance, which was a trademark of their fighting style.

Basha turned one last time to Colleen to discourage any change of mind. "If you believe you have fought these creatures before, think again. These Ta'kun are well trained warriors and no amount of luck will save you from the end of their spears." Then he attacked the leader of the Long Spears wounding her in order to draw their fury upon them. Then he and his men ran back the way they had come, back to the large chamber with the drainage well in an attempt to draw them away from Mrs. Smith and the children. Unfortunately a few remained behind to finish off the little ones and their female protector.

In the large chamber where the many tunnels converged round the great well, the faster Ta'kun over took the soldiers and surrounded them. The men stood their ground and knew this was where they make their stand. They out numbered ten to one, and none of them had any illusions about surviving this battle, they only hoped the others would be luckier than them.

A Ta'kun hissed and motioned it's spear as if to throw it, only to be struck in the throat by one of Sandy Graves' arrows, then smoothly he notched another and struck another in vulnerable area as it began it's charge. Clubber readied his halberd and met the attack of two others, one leaping high and the other approaching low. The big man chose to parry high leaving his belly exposed to the other, but Basha stepped into the attack and severed the spear head from the shaft as it neared it's mark, then followed through and drove Colleen's blade through the black armour, into an area where it's heart must have been since the creature died almost instantaneously.

More Ta'kun descended upon them and Sandy was forced to withdraw down the tunnel in order to maintain the range for his bow, but more arrows were ricocheting off of the black armour than sticking into the bastards. Clubber swung his halberd like a great axe, severing limbs and crushing their small frames, but he was quickly overrun by the Ta'kun that expertly dodged his barbaric attacks. They leapt high, driving their spears into the large soldier but with surprising speed he rolled under them and away, directly into a hurled spear that struck him square in the chest, piercing his breast plate.

Clubber screamed in pain, then enraged tore the spear from his chest with one hand, and charged into awaiting Long Spears, who thrust their shields forward, forming a wall that drove back the berserker, knocking him to the ground. Basha, who was fending off several of the snake-like fiends could only watch as the Ta'kun pounced on Clubber and drove their spears into him over and over again.

The Long Spears then set their sights on Sandy and charged the bowman. One of the soldier's arrows ripped into a Ta'kun's thigh, causing it to topple to the ground, and another arrow pierced the arm of a Scav, but didn't stop it's relentless charge. Sandy then had a choice to loose one last arrow then be mauled by the Ta'kun or flee. He could see his Captain, fighting for his life against insurmountable odds to make it to the tunnel and so Sandy aimed his last arrow and placed the arrow into they eye of a Ta'kun in close pursuit of Basha, allowing him to reach the sewer and sever the chain that released the iron sieve. The heavy iron grate slammed shut, crushing one of the Ta'kun as it attempted to beat the falling gate, nearly cutting the creature in half.

"Finish the mission!" Basha screamed as he turned once more into the fray.

Sandy ran back to the gate and readied his rifle in the hopes that he would be able to take out enough Ta'kun that his Captain could escape, but it was too late. Basha desperately parried the stabbing attacks, in an amazing display of coordination and skill, but even he could not fight against so many well trained fighters. A black spear head whistled threw the air, just missing Basha's head as he twisted to avoid the death blow, but he could not avoid the powerful kick that caught him in the chest hurling him into the air. He landed on his back and expertly rolled to his feet with his heels teetering at the edge of the well.

Prone to attack as Basha, fought to regain his balance, he readied himself for the thrusting spear about to strike his abdomen, but a shot rang out through the chamber and the Ta'kun's head blew apart, but not before the spear glanced of the Captain's hip, spinning him like a top. The sharp blade in his right hand came around and sunk deep into another Ta'kun and Basha held fast to prevent himself from tumbling into the abyss, but as the Scav slumped forward into him, a sharp stabbing pain radiated from his thigh.

Sandy reloaded his rifle as fast as he could, but there was not enough time to save his Captain. He could only watch as the monsters blotted out the crimson jacket from sight as they mercilessly drove their spears toward him, fighting over who would deliver the killing blow.

Basha could feel the grips on his swords weakening as the pain and blood loss from the many glancing blows that sliced through his flesh drained his strength away. His fight was all but spent and now all that he awaited was the final killing blow so that he might finally rest. The wind rushed through his hair and darkness enshrouded him; Basha was at peace. He longed to see his son and beautiful wife once again and walk the fields of his homeland with them, hand in hand.

"No!" Roared Sandy as his Captain was thrown into the dark well. The splash of his body hitting the water below, resonated through the chamber, followed by the triumphant screams of Long Spears, who then set their cold eyes upon the young soldier.

Tears in his eyes and rage in his heart, Sandy tore himself from the gate and ran down the sewer, swearing vengeance for the fall of Captain Basha Mandek.

"NO!!!" screamed Elija as he started to run forward towards Basha. Horror, anguish and tears etched on his face. He took three strides before he felt the strong grip of Colleens arms around his shoulder.

Colleen didn’t realize there was such an elaborate tunneling system that did nothing more but dump it’s contents, good and bad alike, into the waiting sea. Where she thought it went, she wasn’t sure, but for some reason, when she discovered it went into the sea, she felt very guilty. That guilt was short lived when she saw Basha take Elija by the shoulders and tell him to run. Wait. What? Why the sudden change in the Captain? What the hell was going on here?

Colleen stepped up to say something, but the look she got from Basha told her any words she would say to the contrary weren’t going to make a difference. Instead, she felt a cold grip of fear wrap around her heart and for a moment, she couldn’t even breathe. There was something about the way he looked at her and the way he spoke those words to Colleen that made her realize there was some sort of finality in them.

What ever words she or anyone else was about to say died in their throats when they heard the clicking, hissing and grunting sounds of the Ta’kun that were in the tunnels with them. Colleen let out a small yip of surprise when she saw the ominous forms of the black armored Ta’kun quickly fill up the area. That cold grip of fear ripped her heart out and she stood there, fear rooting her to the spot where she stood.

“Limey….”

The small voice that spoke that word drew her from her fear and she quickly heeded Basha’s warning to get away from this place as fast as they could. They were out numbered and there was no way these street wise children could hold their own against these larger lizard warriors. It was impossible. These larger, armored lizards would slaughter them in no time.

As Basha and his men engaged the Ta’kun and ran back in the direction they had all just ventured from, Colleen knew she had precious little time to get the children out of this place and to some sort of safer ground. As Elija yelled and tried to follow The Captain and his men, she quickly reached out and grabbed him in a death like grip.

The Ta’kun were smart creatures and as the mass followed Basha and the soldiers, a few stayed behind where Colleen and the children remained. Her eyes darted from one of the larger Takun to the next. Their spears looking as ominous as the rest of them. She quickly shoved Elija behind her and took a small step back herself. In her mind, all she could hear was Basha’s voice telling her to get the hell out of the sewers and head up the coast. In a breathless voice, she told the children what they should do.

“R-run……run fast….now….our fight is done here today. Run and live to fight another day. H-head for that under river…it’s the only hope we have of making it out of here.”

The Ta’kun tilted their heads that rested on their elongated necks trying to figure out what the human female was saying. It didn’t take them long to figure it out when one of the smaller kids turned and bolted down the tunnel, away from the intimidating lizards.

As the Ta’kun hissed loudly and raised its spear to throw at the woman and children, Colleen screamed at the top of her lungs and raised her sword in a berserk like attack. She had no intentions of attacking the creatures; she only hoped to disorient them.

“MUM! NO!”

Colleen barely heard Elija’s voice when she took a few steps towards the Ta’kun. All she heard was the blood rushing through her veins and causing a loud roar in her ears.

“OY! L…Let’s go…now! We gots no chance right now!”

Sam was tugging hard on Elija’s shirt and Daisey was trying her best no t to cry as she tugged at Sam’s coat. The other children were realizing the odds were stacked way against them and they all decided to take off running as well.

Colleen’s scream and sudden attack did work, for a short time. The Ta’kun didn’t know what to make of her, but when they saw the children running away behind her, they didn’t care. All they knew was that these humans were getting away and they weren’t about to let them.

Colleen, suddenly seeing the change in the Ta’kun, knew she had no choice left but to run as fast as she could and hope they could outrun the Ta’kun and better yet, outrun the spears. Of course the ladder wasn’t possible. As she took off running, two spears came whizzing past her head. She let out a cry of alarm and fear as she ducked her head to one side or the other. To her horror, though, one spear headed right for Cricket and the other one ricocheted off the tunnel wall and landed at Frankie’s feet.

Behind her Colleen could hear the hissing and clicking sounds of the Ta’Kun growing louder. She knew it was just a matter of minutes before they were upon her and killing her. If only they had one of those sticks of dynamite. They could detonate one of them. It would be dangerous, yes, but it would give them a chance of escape.

Even as she heard the roar of the water coming up fast, she could hear the Ta’kun even more. As the kids reached the under river and the water came rushing past, Colleen screamed at them, just as the sound of a shot rang out behind her.

“JUMP! JUMP!”

Just as Colleen reached the place she could jump into the swiftly moving water, she felt a painful tug on her hair. Screaming in pain, she was suddenly pulled backwards, lifting her off her feet and bringing stars to her vision. Instinct caused her to drop the sword she’d held onto all this time and the tunnel was suddenly filled with the clang of the dropped metal as she reached back with both hands to try and stop what ever was pulling her hair. To her horror she felt the smooth but scaly hide of a Ta’kun arm. Her eyes widened with fear and she began to kick and fight as best as she could to free herself from the hold the Ta’kun had on her.

As the Ta’kun painfully turned Colleen around to look at her, a cry from the others behind them rose up and in response, the Ta’kun that were trying to kill her and the children raised their voices to join their fellow warriors. The blood rushed from Colleen’s face as she realized what that cry must have meant for them. As the Ta’kun that had a hold on her hair, keeping her suspended off the ground by it, turned his attention to her once more, he suddenly let out a painful wail and dropped her like a lead balloon.

When Colleen hit the tunnel floor, she rolled as quickly as she could away from the Ta’kun. A glimmer of something caught her attention and she saw the sword she had dropped protruding from the Ta’kun’s foot, the tip of the blade holding the creature secure to the spot. Blinking, Colleen saw Elija giving the Ta’kun a hateful glare and shouting something at it, but she couldn’t hear what it was. As the stars cleared from her eyes and the roar faded in her ears, she scrambled to her feet as quickly as she could and yelled at Elija as she reached for him.

“JUMP ELIJA! JUMP!!!”

Sam knelt down and pulled the spear from Cricket's shoulder, tossing it aside.



He and Shinner,



then helped Cricket to his feet and shoved him towards the well. A Ta'kun snapped at Sam's butt, taking a chunk from his already tattered coat tail and trousers. It then snapped at Cricktes hat, Cricket swatted the Ta'kun on the snout with the fist of his good arm and screamed "Ya leaves me 'at be, ya overgrown cameleon!"

Frankie



grabbed Daisey



and with Colleen clutching Elija's arm, they all seven jumped into the well. "Ya bloody bastards!" Elija yelled and Daisey screamed as they fell. Frankie yelled "Bloody 'elllllll!"




When they hit the water below, like so many stones thrown in a lake. They came up sputtering and failing, Sam clutching Cricket's collar, Cricket holding the brim of his top hat and Daisy hung tightly to Frankie's neck, as the curent swept them along, bobbing up and down like so many corks amongst various pieces of debris. The river carried the seven suviors thru the underground cavern towards a dimm light.

There was no time to do anything for the collapsed Payden, who had taken the brunt of the corsairs’ fire, for his gesture towards the stern brought Gertrude and Curt’s attention to their would-be boarders: three vengeful buccaneers with jagged daggers clutched in their teeth.

Gertrude crouched in the recess before the cabin door, and though she thought she was probably terrified on some level, everything was moving slowly, like she was watching events unfold through the hazy windowpane of a dream. The hot energy of her magic still pulsed inside her, waiting for release, as if she hadn’t used it at all—she wasn’t entirely sure she had, but what else could explain the delicate tongues of flame lapping at the headsails of the Queen Lucia’s Revenge? And so she braced herself, back to the door, waiting for the first pirate to come near and take the brunt of the burning energy from her.

But there was no need for Gertrude to defend herself, for Curt immediately took the situation into hand. With an angry cry, he drew the sturdy rapier from his side, and the arc of the flickering blade caused the ropes binding the boom to snap. The wooden rod, sail gripped in the wind, swooped towards the stern and clobbered the head of the foremost pirate just as he hopped over the rail. His body went overboard like a sack of wet laundry. The whole event had the look of an accident, but Gertrude thought Curt had that kind of flair.



The other two pirates still clinging to the stern rail hesitated and Curt lurched towards them, brandishing his cold bright blade. “A pox on you, you worthless swine!”

The men pulled the knives from their teeth to defend themselves, but Curt did not attack them. Instead, the count’s face became possessed by a terrifying glare, the white showing around his eyes, his mouth contorted in a mirthless grin. “I curse you here and henceforth!” When he pronounced these words in low and deliberate tones, some chill and ominous power congealed in the air. The remnants of the mist lingering in the morning darkened like shreds of smoke, floating with the swirling images of doomsday skulls and resentful spirits with tattered mouths gaping in silent cries.

Curt pivoted with his sword at arm’s length, taking in not only the two paralyzed pirates on the stern rail, but those treading the waters, splashing towards the ropes and longboats. “You are all cursed—every man who trespasses here! Go now and never return, if you value your mortal soul!”

The magic that brushed against Gertrude’s heightened senses was familiar somehow, but different from anything she herself commanded. Her own power bucked and heaved inside her and her heart rabbited in terror of the unseen force, pounding against her ears. She clenched her eyes shut and clasped her hands as if in prayer, though her mind was a stunned blank without words to pray. What was happening?

The crew of the Queen Lucia’s Revenge caved away from the Sylph, faces gone white as bone. Their screams were spumes of madness and it seemed to Gertrude she had pressed her ear against the doorway to Hell. What torment they witnessed, she thanked God she was spared.

With all their breath and might, the corsairs swam and struggled towards their mother ship. Three of them cramped up during the long swim through the tomb-cold waters and drowned even as their fellows gasped and kicked past them, fleeing the terrible witchcraft, and the cursed castle on the cliffs.

When the sounds of their ragged flight began to diminish, Gertrude opened her eyes and saw Curt laughing at them, perched triumphant at the foot of the mast to avoid the wagging boom. “Curt!” she gasped. “What terrible power did you conjure?”

Curt’s amusement dissipated, and he cast a slow and sidelong look at her.

Her heart quailed. “Y-you’re a sorcerer?”

“If I have deceived you, I assure you, I have my reasons.” He gave a sly smile.

If her surprise wasn’t enough, with a stab of anxiety, she remembered Payden, who may well have been dead. “M-Mr. Raynsford,” she said in taught voice, picking up her skirts and teetering to the edge of the sloop where the longboat trailed beside them like a floating funeral pyre that had snuffed out, baring Payden’s bloodied form. “H-he…” She feared the worst.

“He’d better not be dead!” Curt said, in a tone that suggested, Or I’m going to be very put out!

As a half-stricken Gertrude looked on, Curt awkwardly hurled himself from the sloop into the slightly charred longboat. She kneaded her hands as she watched the count bend over Payden’s lifeless body, examining the wounds that still wept red. Something in the count’s posture reminded her of a vampire biding over his victim. “What can I do?” she implored.

“Stay there,” Curt commanded without looking up.

“Is he…?”

“He’s lost a lot of blood, but he’ll be fine,” Curt replied. He placed a hand over the worst of the two wounds, the one in Payden’s side, and narrowed his eyes. Under his focus, a black bead of shot bubbled out of the hole, and Payden fidgeted beneath the heavy blanket of his unconsciousness, as if in pain. With a grimace of distaste, Curt tossed the bloody ball of shot into the bay. He then pressed his hand against the seeping hole, brow bent in concentration, and when he lifted it away again, the wound had closed and there remained only an angry pink blotch, as if a large scab had just fallen away from new skin.

To deal with the shallower wound on Payden’s neck, the count cut and tore off the front of Payden’s ruined shirt and wrapped it around his neck.

Gertrude stood on the narrow deck of the Sylph alone, her body stiff with tension. She watched Curt tend Payden, watched the Queen Lucia’s Revenge fade back into the mist behind them, wondered if she had to do anything to direct the course of the sloop, though she knew barely the first thing about it—only what Payden had mentioned in passing during his days of manning the sails. It wasn’t only the rocking of the small ship beneath her feet, the fog or the looming cliffs: this suddenly new situation left Gertrude feeling like she was tottering at the brink of disaster even though—surely—the worst of their danger had just left with the corsairs. Her breath trembled and though she had hardly moved, it was as if she couldn’t catch it.

“I don’t know how to sail, you know,” she spoke up when she dared.

Curt reached into the waters, perhaps to dredge Payden’s blood from his hands. “Don’t fret; the ship knows the way,” he said.

Indeed, Gertrude realized, the current still carried the Sylph, drawing it ever closer to the yawning black chasm of the sea cave. “This current that’s been guiding us,” she gulped, “you conjured it, didn’t you?”

His hazel eyes flicked at her but he quickly looked away again. He brought a water-slicked hand to his brow like one troubled by burdensome thoughts. “This isn’t how I imagined it,” he lamented. “This isn’t how I imagined it happening at all.” When she didn’t reply, he went on in the stagy manner he often adopted. “But now I suppose the cat is out of his proverbial bag, and I must bare my secrets to you!” He pivoted to face her with an ominous expression. “Let us go ashore and I shall reveal all.”

Gertrude returned his stare, unable to think of anything to say to that, and at last seated herself in tacit agreement to his proposal. The cliffs reared above like the steeples of ancient cathedrals and the lightless crevice of the sea cave drew ever nearer until it peaked above the Sylph and swallowed the ship and its parasitic longboat into shadow. Gertrude shuddered and gooseflesh stood out on the back of her neck.

There was more to see in the twilight of the cave than she expected, however. A watery pool of light spilled down a crude path that clearly lead to the surface, sketching into dim relief a swath of level stone and soil pegged with rotten wooden posts, clearly designed to serve as a port. On the gray- and peach-streaked walls of the cave, a few crumbled sconces were affixed, still filled with the stubby remains of long-ago torches. The whole place smelled of abandonment and forgotten stories. Gertrude might have been very taken with it, if not for the questions about her mysterious host now churning in her mind. On top of that, she wasn’t the least bit certain how to halt the ship and make land.

As it turned out, she needn’t have worried, for when the ship drew alongside the dock, the current ceased and a boil of water held it bobbing in place. “Drop that anchor thingy, will you?” Curt called—a bit distractedly, and Gertrude knew his magic was again at work in the waters.

Without a word, she dumped the anchor overboard and let it unravel into the depths. Even though she knew he had promised to explain, she couldn’t help wondering why Curt had lied about his magic, thought up several possible explanations for him: He feared prosecution; he had deceived her and Payden as a test of some kind; he was sworn by an ancient order of magicians to secrecy… And she told herself not to be hurt by his deceit, for surely his explanation would be a good one.

But she had a sinking feeling that his powers weren’t the only thing he had deceived her about.

By the time she’d fetched her carpet bag from her cabin and extended the gangplank to the dock (with some effort), Curt was waiting for her, Payden’s body draped in his arms like a fallen comrade.

“Is he really going to be alright?” Gertrude asked timidly.

“Yes. And he ought to wake up soon,” Curt replied. He laid Payden out on the cold ground and turned to face the blue and light-traced mouth of the cave where it opened to sea. “Now,” he said with decisive gusto, “we don’t want anyone else coming in, or running off in this ship, do we?” He knelt and flattened his palm against the earth. Again magic surged—so compliantly, Gertrude thought with awe, as if it had been bent many, many times before—and with a grumble and a groan, boulders bubbled up from the cave floor and rolled in from the cave walls, creating a toothy barricade at the mouth of the cave. Curt righted himself and dusted his hands in satisfaction.

Gertrude had the eerie sensation of being trapped. But she said nothing and followed Curt’s flowing cape as he carried Payden up and out of the subterranean port.

The country they surfaced in could have been considered beautiful in the way that highlands or deserted ruins are considered beautiful: rugged and lonely, peopled only by rain-weathered rocks and dwarfish shrubs. There were large swaths of rolling green, wild with clover and columbine that did much to soften the severity of the landscape, but even the grass was lonely, with no sheep or goats to crop it.

The castle was the loneliest of all, and as they climbed nearer to its windswept towers, Gertrude could see that it was collapsing in many places, grown through with weeds, derelict and uninhabited for many years. Thought there were a few signs of recent activity: a broken rum pot, an old boot. Gertrude felt her heart sink like a stone in the sea.

“Are you really a count?” she asked Curt in a sad voice.

“A count?” He gave a derisive laugh. “I am much more than a count.”

The strange mix of fascination and fear that Curt sometimes inspired in her crystallized in that moment so that she knew these feelings were real, founded on some dark truth about to be revealed, that she had not been merely imagining. The realization was a silken snare, a velvet net: She was trapped but she did not know that she wanted to escape, even if she could. She wanted to know the truth.

“Does that frighten you, Miss de Pontu?” He glanced over his shoulder to give her a measuring look.

She watched his eyes that she had felt she’d come to know well over the past few days, and watched his back after he’d turned away again, thinking of the trust she’d promised to him, and of her faith in the ultimate benevolence of the world’s guiding forces. “No,” she answered, mostly truthfully.

Curt swept into the arched entrance of the castle courtyard and laid Payden’s inert form on a raised stone block that had been warmed by the sun. When Gertrude ventured near, she saw the ex-rail warden was pale and murmured and twitched fitfully, as one who is awakening. A touch to his forehead showed that his core temperature was low. Gertrude put her shawl over his torso and looked at Curt.

Curt smiled pleasantly.

“Who are you, really?” she asked him searchingly. Was this the man she fancied herself in love with?

“I am your best friend, Miss de Pontu,” he replied, smile looming over her, “and your benefactor.” Then he showed her his back and walked several paces towards the inner chambers of the castle. “But let us wait ‘til Payden returns to the world of the waking before I say more.”