“A guilty conscience will seek such succor as it can find.”

-Unknown.

 

“Pick something today, or you’d better start paying me to gawk,” grumbled the surly Ashlandic merchant.

“Yeah, yeah, one minute,” Stephan said as he scanned over the tatty jewelry on display. He had already looked over four other stalls without finding what he was looking for.

One necklace stood out. A flat metal disk, stamped like a coin, threaded on a fine chain.

“Real silver,” the merchant said with the smile of a fox.

“Steel,” Stephan said. He tapped the disk with a fingernail.

The merchant’s face flushed with color. “Are you calling my honorable wife a liar?”

Stephan shrugged. “Just stating facts.”

The merchant had a hired thug leaned against a wall behind the stall, but Stephan found it difficult to feel intimidated, having survived a kidnapping, a shark attack, and an actual firefight in a short span of days.

The man scoffed and crossed his arms. “It’s a hundred standards.”

“Thirty,” Stephan said.

The merchant laughed in his face. “Ha! You’re a funny one. Eighty, and that’s generous.”

“Fifty, or I’ll give one of the other stalls my patronage.”

The merchant was quiet for several moments. Finally, he sighed and shook Stephan’s hand. Stephan counted out the money and walked away with the necklace.

He had received his share for the warship job, twenty thousand standards, most of which he kept back on the ship for safekeeping. As such, he did not lack for money.

Heading back towards the docks, he picked up some fresh baking ingredients along the way. He also bought a bright red potted flower for Yin in addition to the necklace, as well as some nice, colorful paper to wrap the gifts in.

When he got back to the Tits Up, he stowed Yin’s gifts so she wouldn’t find them while snooping, then set about making her a batch of homemade chocolate.

The simple task helped soothe his troubled mind, but it was still difficult for him to remain focused.

Intrusive, unbidden thoughts hounded him. They called him a traitor, a killer, a coward. The more he tried to ignore them, the deeper that dark voice seemed to root itself in him.

What haunted him the most, he realized, wasn’t the fact that he had killed a man. It was that it had been easy. Far easier than he had expected. It had even felt good. He could see himself killing again, and that frightened him.

Once he had mixed all the ingredients for the chocolate together and placed it in a mold in the freeze box to cool, he went into his cabin to wrap up Yin’s gifts.

He had barely gotten started when the door burst open and someone walked in without knocking.

It was Kazzul. He leaned against the doorframe, his lithe body swathed in barely enough sheer fabric that he wouldn’t be considered naked.

“If it isn’t our newest killer,” he said. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Don’t call me that,” Stephan said firmly.

“You want to know what I have to tell you or not?”

Stephan shrugged. “If you can’t be persuaded to keep your mouth closed, I suppose I must listen.” He sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry. You’ve caught me in a foul mood.”

Kazzul grinned, displaying sharp, white teeth. “I’ve got just the cure for that. Torch and I are going for a drink at Sweet Devil. We wanted to know if you’d come.”

That actually didn’t sound like a bad idea. Stephan could use something to forget about his existence for a couple of hours. He’d be back in time to finish Yin’s gifts and prepare for the following day.

“Okay,” he said reluctantly. “A couple drinks can’t hurt.”

*****

Sweet Devil—the Wenezian Crew’s bar of choice—was loud, busy, and smoky. Patrons laughed, drank, and played cards. Every few minutes, harsh words were thrown around as someone said something uncouth or cheated at cards.

Stephan sat in front of the bar, nursing a beer which tasted like liquid death. He had already racked up a number of empty pints. His brain was full of cotton, thoughts vague and faraway.

Torch came over with three shots of some deep orange liquor. Stephan downed his as soon as it was put in front of him. It burned like fire on the way down. He gritted his teeth and smacked his palm on the bartop.

“You’re an eager one,” Kazzul said.

Stephan didn’t answer. He washed down the aftertaste of the shot with a gulp of beer.

“You’re rawer than you like to let on, aren’t you?” Torch said as he sat down next to Stephan.

“Deadliest pirate on the Shipbreaker Sea,” Stephan slurred.

“We might be able to make something proper out of you just yet,” Kazzul assented.

“The way you killed that captain, mm-mm. Music for my soul, brother,” Torch said. He tapped a metal finger on the rim of his shot glass with a dark, pensive look in his eyes, as if he were revisiting every cruelty he would like to inflict upon the world. “Could hardly have made a better show of it myself. Well, I could, of course, but you know what I mean. Trying to be nice.”

“Don’t seem to have much love for Concordians,” Stephan said. He wobbled on his chair, almost tipped over, and barely managed to straighten himself.

“Not an ounce of patriotism in him,” Kazzul said.

“Patriotism?”

“Yeah. Didn’t you know? He’s a Concordian, too.”

Torch threw a dirty look Kazzul’s way. It quickly melted into an amiable smile, scarred lip quivering.

“He’s right,” Torch said, words slow and measured. “Born and raised in Spitforge.”

“Reeeally now?” Stephan said. He turned to face the pyromaniac and nearly knocked over his empty glasses in the process. “Two west coast boys, huh? I’m from Northmark, myself.”

Torch grunted in response.

“How come you ended up in Tumba, then? Did the old motherland treat you the same as it did me?”

“Something like that,” Torch forced out from between gritted teeth. All his usual good humor was gone, and his scarred face was fixed in a tight, cold mask.

“Hmm, let’s think of something more fun to talk about, shall we?” Kazzul said. “You’re making a poor lubbard feel left out.” He leaned towards Stephan and added in a hushed voice: “Drop it. Torch gets touchy about his… roots.”

Even in this state, Stephan realized that the topic was best left alone, and let the pilot steer the conversation in another direction.

He clutched his stomach as a sudden rush of hot, watery vomit came up his throat. He leaned over and spewed onto the floor, nearly falling in it himself. It left a foul taste in his mouth, and he smacked his lips maladroitly as he stared down at the yellowy puddle.

“Fellas, your friend here’s clearly had one too many,” said the reedling bartender. He walked over on top of the bar, all of about a meter tall.

He had light brown skin and wore a pristine, white button-up under a black waistcoat. His straw-like hair was slicked back, but still poked out here and there, the bristly mane too unruly to be tamed. The little reedling chewed on a toothpick, cleaning a glass which looked far too large for him with a rag.

“Oh, come on, Willby,” Kazzul said. “He didn’t mean anything by it. He’ll be nice, see?” He motioned to Stephan, who was trying his best to fight through another wave of nausea.

“Sorry, fellas,” he said, voice surprisingly deep for such a tiny thing. “You know the rules.” He pointed to a sign nailed above the bar which read: ‘NO LIGHTWEIGHTS’.

Torch gave Willby’s dapper bowtie a flick and stood up off his chair. “Pff. Killjoy. See you later, then, kiddo.”

“I am forty-five,” the reedling said with a deadpan expression, rubbing his rag on the glass a little faster.

“Whatever you say, kid,” Torch said with a giggle.

Stephan tried to stand, but his legs were like boiled pasta, and he fell on his face as soon as he shifted his weight off the barstool. Torch and Kazzul helped him up and dragged him from the bar.

Stephan was surprised to see that it was already getting dark when they got outside. A warm breeze licked his skin, and insects chirped in the early evening air.

Just how long was I in there? Ugh. Have to get back. Have to finish the preparations for tomorrow.

“Suppose the fun’s at an end,” Stephan said. He was able to stand unassisted as long as he had a wall to lean against. “Figure we should…” He swallowed a mouthful of vomit. “Head back to the ship.”

“The night’s only started, my friend,” Kazzul said with a sly grin. “I know a place with some very nice and eager girls. I know all the best places. Won’t you come with?”

“No, no, no. I can’t do that. I’m married, I…” He frowned. “Wait. Not married anymore. Well, it’s not my kind of thing. I don’t do… that.”

Kazzul’s hairless brows shot up. “Trust me, my friend. Come with me and you’ll forget you were ever married.”

*****

Taira was on her fourth cup of coffee. Her eyes stung from the bright magelights as she waited in the rec room.

She hadn’t yet thanked Stephan for his assistance. If not for him, she doubted she would have been able to improve her teleportation in time. He had been out all day, however.

Could something bad have happened to him?

There was an open book in her lap, but she could hardly focus on it while such concerns floated around in her head.

Torch tumbled into the rec room, bleary-eyed and uncoordinated. She didn’t have time to question him on where Stephan was before he exclaimed that he had ‘forgotten his arm’ and hurried back out. He returned a few minutes later, screwing his biomech prosthetic back on.

“Have you seen Stephan?” Taira asked.

Torch worked the metal hand. A few of his fingers jerked spastically, so he gave the prosthetic a hard tap. With one final spasm, his hand settled back into regular function.

“He’ll be along shortly,” he said with a burp. “He just, uh… got stuck admiring the scenery.”

“Oh. Okay.”

She let Torch go through to his cabin and kept on waiting.

What felt like hours passed. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she found herself drifting closer and closer to the tabletop.

A violent clamoring caused her to jerk upright.

Stephan leaned against the doorframe, his hair a mess, button-up half undone. He reeked of sour alcohol, and he had pink kiss marks all the way up his neck and face.

Taira blinked in confusion at seeing him in such a state. He started to teeter, and she rushed out of her seat to catch him. He dropped onto her like a bag of bricks, and her knees nearly buckled under the weight.

“Oops,” Stephan slurred, then chuckled to himself.

She managed to work him back up into a standing position. Her nose wrinkled at the mix of liquor and perfume that wafted off of him.

Kazzul’s wicked influence, no doubt, she thought bitterly.

Supporting his weight, she managed to get him into his cabin, where he rolled onto the bed and unceremoniously passed out asleep.

Taira stood back and watched him, hands on her hips.

“Well…” she said, though she knew he couldn’t hear him. “Thank you.” In a way, it was easier to express her gratitude this way, when she didn’t have to face any embarrassment.

She was about to leave the room when she noticed a boxed-up piece of jewelry and a potted plant sitting on Stephan’s improvised desk, wrapping paper surrounding them.

This must be for Yin.

Looking back at Stephan, she concluded that he would be in no state to finish the gifts in the morning.

She sat down at the desk and got to work.