The crystals given to us by the fae must have worked as they promised because we managed to reach the outskirts of Torver just less than a week after leaving Ravenglass. I had barely even noticed that we were travelling at a faster speed. It might have been more noticeable If I'd have been navigating, but I tried to avoid bumping into Cail as much as possible so as not to stir up the unwanted emotions inside of me. He has attempted to talk to me on more than a few occasions, but I had always managed to come up with some excuse to leave. If he has noticed the shift in my behaviour, he hasn’t said, but I don’t know how long I’ll be able to keep up the pretense.
I feel terrible for the way I have been avoiding him, especially after the way we bonded and opened ourselves up to each other the fae city. Still, I’m not ready to face the fact that I have developed feelings for him, and I’m even less ready for him to become aware of the fact.
I throw my uniform jacket on the floor in frustration as I undress. Why did that stupid siren have to open her dumb mouth and sing? Doesn’t she realise that she’s ruined the only good thing I’ve had since I lost my family and friends?
Bay lets out a wail as he runs around my feet. I know he’s just itching to go outside in the rain, but it’s almost as if he’s saying, what about me?
I pick him up and cradle him in my arms, tickling him under his chin, his favourite petting spot. He grizzles happily. He’s right; I have him and Dusty in my life. How I feel about them is slightly different than what I feel for Cail, but they are no less important.
Lightning casts a brief glow around my room, and the thunder that follows shakes the wooden boards. Bay leaps from my arms and runs around excitedly. Otters truly are strange creatures. He is far more eager to face the weather than I am.
It has been a while since I have worn my new regular clothes, and the trousers are stiff and tight as I pull them up my legs. Before I leave, my hand hovers over the cloak Cail gave me. On the one hand, I am weary about wearing something that might cause me to think of him and become distracted while on the mission. On the other hand, it’s cold. My basic need for warmth wins, and my muscles relax under the weight of the heavy fur draped over my shoulders. Another clap of thunder rattles the ship as I rush out into the torrential rain.
The captain stands upon the quarterdeck with a small waterfall pouring off his hat. Once everyone is in attendance, he begins talking.
“I will make this brief since the sooner we finish investigating, the better. Your mission is to scout the city as discretely as possible. Try to blend in with the crowd and make it look like you have a purpose. We know there are many Vardrans here, so be cautious. What we are looking for is anyone who matches the description of the desert shamans that Calarel gave us. Make a note of anything that you come across that you think might have a significance, and if you encounter any Vardran ships, make a note of their location so we can make preparations to investigate it further. Even more importantly, keep your ears open. Listen in on every conversation that comes into earshot; at least one might contain something of value. Now, make haste, crew, and return safely and swiftly.” The captain’s face looks apprehensive as he dismisses us.
I am waiting to exit the gangplank when long fingers hook around my elbow, pulling me back.
“What’s wrong?” I ask Cail, with a neutral expression painted on my face.
“I’m going to come with you.” His eyes are narrowed, scrutinising me.
I force out a small laugh. “You really don’t need to. I can make my way around the city without causing any trouble and getting lost,” I say as I try to leave once more.
Swiftly, he maneuvers around me, blocking my path. “I’m not worried about you getting lost, but we do need to talk?”
“About what?” I ask with feign ignorance.
“Don’t play dumb; I can tell that you’ve been avoiding me, and I know it’s because of what happened in Ravenglass.
My heart pounds in my chest. I don’t want to be getting into this right now or ever. “Cail, nothing happened in Ravenglass. I just want to focus on this mission,” I tell him.
“We can focus on the mission, but we also need to have this conversation whether you like it or not,” he argues stubbornly.
“Cail!” the captain barks from where he stands a few paces away.
Cail turns to address him.
“I need your assistance here on the ship. The crew will be able to investigate the city just fine without you,” he says sternly.
Cail scowls unhappily at the demand, and for a moment, I think he's going to refuse the orders, but eventually, he nods in defeat.
“We’ll talk later,” he promises me in a hushed voice before stalking off to follow the captain.
Relieved, I stumble down the slippy gangplank and make a start towards the city of Torver.
“Seffy, wait,” Dusty huffs as he chases after me. His head is bent with the deep hood hanging over his face, and he holds the flaps of his oilskin cloak tight around him as he runs.
“What are you doing?” I question as he stops doubled over.
“Graham … he said … I could come with … you,” he puffs breathlessly.
I am worried that the presence of a faun will attract too much attention, especially since his hooves aren’t exactly quiet, but I don’t have the heart to make him turn back after he chased me all this way.
“You can be my ears then,” I tell him, “your hearing is probably much keener than mine. Let me know if you hear anyone saying anything interesting.”
“Okey-doke, I can do that.” He begins skipping along the road, laughing as Bay dives in and out of the large puddles.
We docked the ship about a mile away from the city, and the roads that lead in and out are busy with both foot traffic and horse-pulled carriages, meaning that we crew members can slip into the crowd discretely.
As we pass the city gates, Dusty nudges me with his elbow to get my attention. I lean towards him so that he can whisper in my ear.
“The woman in front of us,” he says.
I glance subtly at the woman in question. Based on her dress and posture, I would estimate that she is from the upper class. She carries an elegant umbrella in one hand and a basket of flowers in the other while she converses with her equally well-dressed female companion.
“What about her?” I whisper back. “Are they gossiping about the Vardran activity?”
“No, she caught her husband having an affair with the milkmaid,” Dusty says under his breath.
I do my best to contain my laughter, but a splutter makes its way out of my mouth. The two women turn to glance back in disgust.
“When I said to tell me about an interesting thing you hear, I meant stuff relating to the mission,” I tell him.
“Fine, I’ll filter out all the actual interesting stuff then,” he says, rolling his eyes.
Navigating through Torver proves to be difficult. Its blackened square buildings are narrowly compact, and there seems to be a left and right turn everywhere. So far, we haven’t heard many conversations. The continuous downpour is making people hurry through the streets with their heads down, eager to get wherever they need to be.
I pull the cloak tight around me as it is battered by the rain, and the soft suede absorbs the droplets, weighing me down. As I try to squeeze the excess water out, I notice that black smudges are appearing on the dark green.
“What is that?” I ask Dusty, showing him my stained cloak.
He prods at it with a finger. “I think it’s soot,” he says.
“Soot? How did it get there? I haven’t even touched anything—look, it’s all over here too.” I point to my sleeve.
“You don’t need to have touched anything,” he explains, “it’s in the air all around us. The rain is bringing it down.”
“Where is it coming from?” And, more importantly, how am I going to get it off the cloak?
“The foundries, probably. Didn’t the captain say there were a lot of them in this area? If the Vardrans do have them making weapons, they’ll probably be working at full production. Look, see,” he points to a line of men pushing large, heavy carts filled to the brim with coal. They look so exhausted that I can’t help but feel sorry for them. “They’ll be taking all those to the foundries. They burn the coal in the furnaces, and it pollutes the air with that sooty deposit. You can tell by the buildings, they were once red, but now the brick is a yucky blackish grey.”
“You know a lot about this for someone who grew up in a forest,” I say.
“I used to read a lot of the newspapers that my old master would throw out; many of them were about the industry. I think this is a very industry-driven city. You can tell by the people.”
“What about them?” I try to look more closely as they rush around us.
“Look at the way they are moving,” Dusty says. “Most of them are harbouring some kind of ailment: limps, swollen fingers, a stiff back. And a lot of them are coughing too, probably because of the poor air quality from the factories.”
Now that he has pointed it out, I start to notice that he’s right. These people are far from healthy. Dusty is far more observant than I have been giving him credit for; he’s probably the best person for this mission after all.
I sigh and kick out a pebble. It bounces across the cobblestone, and Bay immediately chases after it. It’s been over three hours in the rain, and we still have nothing to show for it. None of the people in the street so far have looked similar to the ones that I fought on the ship. Although, according to Rat’s testimony, the ones we fought were mostly goblins. I have no clue what other Vardrans look like.
“This is hopeless,” I whine. I have been soaked through for so long that all my skin has started to shrivel up, and it’s making me increasingly cranky.
“Don’t give up yet. It’s still early,” Dusty says optimistically.
“How are your feet not hurting?” I question. Mine started killing me two hours ago.
“I don’t have feet. I have hooves,” he reminds me.
“Oh yeah,”
“My legs hurt, though. You have it easy because you’re so small; I have to carry around this belly.” He slaps his stomach.
“I like your belly,” I say.
“I like my belly too—well, I like the food that I put in it,” he laughs in a hearty way that immediately makes me join in.
Dusty has done it again; he’s cheered me up even in my most miserable moments.
“What do you think we should do?” I ask him, hoping that he’ll say to go back to the ship.
“I think we should go to the market,” he says.
“The market? I thought the Zarla was fully stocked up on food?”
“It is, but the Vardran ships might not be. It’s peak market hours. If there’s as many ships here as the fae say, they’re bound to turn up there at some point,” he says confidently.
“Dusty, you’re a genius,” I tell him.
“I have my moments,” he beams.
We finally locate the market and spend the best part of thirty minutes pretending to be interested in produce while never buying anything. We haven’t even heard anything other than the stallholders heckling to sell their produce.
“This isn’t working,” I say to Dusty. “There’s only so long we can hang around here before we start to look suspicious.
He ponders for a moment. “How about we buy some of that?” he asks, pointing to a stall some distance away.
I squint through the rain to read the sign, which says mulled mead.
“You think we should drink alcohol while on a covert mission?” I ask, bewildered.
He looks at me pointedly with his hands on his hips. “Oh, please, it’ll be so diluted that it’ll just be mead-flavoured hot water.”
I smile at his sass. I don’t know whether he’s right or not, but even the sound of hot water appeals to me right now.
“Okay, just one mug each,” I concede.
The stallholder has an awning overhanging his stall, so we huddle under it while we warm our hands on the mugs. I take a sip and close my eyes in bliss. It’s nothing compared to the food and drink in Ravenglass, and it has definitely been watered down, but the sweet honey drink soothes my throat and helps warm my body.
“You’d like the amber wine that we make back in the glen. It has a distinct woody taste that …” his voice trails off right before he kicks me in the shin with his hoof.
I manage to compose myself before I can react or cry out in pain. There’s a reason why Dusty kicked me, and I can’t draw any attention to us.
With my injured foot still raised off the ground, I quickly glance in the direction where Dusty is subtly flicking his eyes.
I fight back the urge to shake my head. This Vardran isn’t even attempting to hide his identity; his uniform is similar to those I had fought, and this one even has the Vardran insignia on the front. Since he wears no hood, it is easy to tell he is the same race of goblin as the ones we encountered before. He stops at a butcher’s stall and buys a large order of meat.
“Of course he doesn’t stop for vegetables,” Dusty complains. “What do we do now?” He hides his face with his almost-empty mug as he talks in a hushed whisper.
I follow his lead and raise my mug to my lips. “I think we should follow him.”
“Are you crazy? What if he sees us? Between my hooves and your menace pet, we’re not exactly conspicuous.”
He’s right, but what other choice do we have? It’s been half a day, and we don’t even know where the Vardran ships are being docked. The cradles at the shipyard were only filled with cargo vessels. This goblin will lead us right to them if we follow him.
“We can do this,” I say. “It might be the only chance we get. We’ll just make sure that we stay as far behind as possible and don’t lose him in the winding streets.”
“Okay, but hurry, he’s leaving.” Dusty urges.
Handing my empty mum back to the stallholder, I pick up Bay, who is lying lazily on his back juggling a pebble, and tuck him under my cloak. Since he has already burnt off his energy, he doesn’t protest and instead curls up to sleep.
We’re lucky that the Vardran chooses the busiest street to walk down, and we blend in easily with the crowd. It helps that he’s preoccupied carrying his large basket of meat.
The clouds above thicken even more, casting dark shadows in the narrow alleyways, and somewhere in the distance, the rumbling thunder returns.
Dusty tries to make his footsteps as quiet as possible, but it proves to be difficult when the goblin increases his pace to hurry out of the heavy rain. I wish I had some spare cloth or something he could wrap around the hooves to muffle their blow.
The goblin suddenly turns off down one of the side alleys, and I pull Dusty to a stop. We wait a few moments before following, making sure that we keep our footfall as light as possible. I manage to catch a glimpse of the uniform as the Vardran turns another corner.
We remain like this for a few minutes, sometimes with only the faint footsteps and huff of the goblin to direct us on which is the right turn to make. Close by, I can hear the cry of seagulls, and the smell of seaweed has become more overwhelming. We must be close to the harbour. Are the ships docked here after all? Perhaps they are protected by glamour magic like ours.
We round the next corner and pause; there’s no sign of the goblin. We hold our breath and listen—nothing. Hurrying to the end of the alley, we size up the three possible directions.
“I think he might have gone right, towards the harbour,” I whisper.
Dusty furrows his brow, “I reckon he went left. It’s just a gut feeling.”
I chew my lip. Dusty has got us this far. If I trust in anything, it’s his gut.
“Left it is,” I say.
After a handful more split decisions with no result, I decide to face the fact that we have lost the Vardran. I slump against the murky brick wall, depleted and frustrated. “We might as well go back to the Zarla so we can finally get dry,” I say.
“Seffy.” Dusty’s hand appears from around the corner of the wall and gestures in a come-hither motion.
I heave myself up and shuffle around to follow him. He holds a finger to his lips to shush me as I approach where he stands. In front of him is a tall wrought iron fence, and he points inside.
As my eyes follow where he’s pointing my mouth hangs open to form an O. It appears to be the large yard of a foundry, and it is filled with about six Vardran warships. Some of them have the glowing purple barrier, while others are just plain wood.
“We finally found them!” Dusty squeaks in excitement, and I hurriedly shush him.
I can’t see any Vardrans. Are they inside the ships or in the foundry? Based on the metallic wailing and smoke billowing from the towers, the facility looks to be in full production.
“Let’s go back to tell the captain,” Dusty says.
I hold him back as he starts to move off. “Wait, I think we should go in and take a quick look at the magic.”
His eyes widen. “The captain said that we should just find the location so they can send someone to investigate …”
“Yes, I know what the captain said, but why wait to send someone when we’re already here. There are no Vardrans around; we’ve been given the best-case scenario. If we wait just another hour, this place might be filled with soldiers and foundry workers,” I say impatiently.
Dusty shuffles nervously. “I don’t know, Seffy. I have a really bad feeling that this is all going to go wrong.”
“Nothing can go wrong, I promise. We’re just going to sneak in and take a quick look at the side of the ship and leave. You can just stay at the bottom and be my lookout.”
“How are we going to get in? There’s sharp spikes at the top of this fence.” Dusty points out.
I walk to the large double gate in the centre and lift the latch, managing to catch it before it swings open too loudly.
“The idiots don’t even lock the gate,” I quietly mock as I slip through, holding it open just enough for Dusty to follow.
Fortunately, the ship closest to the gate is one that has the purple magic. I find it odd that it should still be actively protecting the ship. If there was someone onboard wielding it, wouldn’t they lower the protection while the ship was safely docked? Perhaps they also use crystals as vessels for magic.
Keeping as close as I can to the shadow of the wall, I sneak around to the side of the ship. I pull Bay out from under my cloak and place him in Dusty’s arms before I start climbing up the docking stand. As the keel of the ship nears closer, I frown. There's no humming or vibrations, and the air feels no different. Nothing that Calarel had asked us about in the council meeting. What kind of magic is this?
My face is finally level with the swirling magic. The way the purple ripples and shifts into colours of dark teak and midnight blue is mesmerising. Tentatively, I reach out my hand, briefly wondering what is going to happen when my skin makes contact.
Nothing. Nothing happens. Confused, I place my whole against the side of the ship. There’s no magic barrier at all, but instead of rough wood, my fingers make contact with some kind of smooth glossy coating. I try to scratch at it with my fingernail; it’s harder than rocks. “What is this stuff?” I mutter to myself.
“What are you doing here?” I hear a gruff voice snarl, making me jump.
Down below, Dusty yelps, dropping Bay to the floor. The goblin that we had followed now has Dusty cornered against the ship but somehow hasn’t managed to see me yet.
“I just got lost and wondered if someone could give me directions,” the faun squeals.
“Lying scum! You think I’m too stupid to realise that I was being followed,” the goblin growls.
Dusty tries to dart past, but the goblin grabs his cloak and yanks him back, briefly exposing the Zarla uniform underneath. I curse inwardly. Dusty obviously hadn’t gotten the instructions about changing clothes.
“Linarians!” the goblin calls loud enough to alert every Vardran in the city.
I hear the thumping of footsteps coming from inside the ship. This isn’t good. I push myself off the docking stand and land on my feet between Dusty and the goblin. Since I don’t have a weapon, I punch him as hard as I can in the face, sending him sprawling backwards.
“Run,” I tell Dusty, dragging him towards the gate as a crowd of Vardrans dart from the ships and start chasing us. I pull the gate shut to try and delay them and sweep up Bay from the ground as we sprint back down the alleys. I have no idea which way we came or which direction we need to be running in, but my first priority is getting us out of here alive and uncaptured.
Dusty slips a few times on the cobblestones, and I have to use my strength to help him keep his balance. He is puffing loudly, and I don’t know how much longer he’s going to be able to keep on running.
Finally, we emerge out onto one of the main streets near the harbour. It’s much less busy now, but there are still a few people who look at us in surprise as we race past them with a band of shouting Vardrans on our tail.
Something sharp pierces through the tendon just behind my knee, making my leg buckle and sending me sprawling on my front. Bay manages to leap from my arms before he can make an impact with the hard stone. Dusty stops running and looks back at me worriedly.
“Go! Dusty, go!” I shout. He hesitates but finally continues running.
The Vardrans are gaining on me, and I need to keep moving. I try to stand, but white-hot pain burns through my calf. I quickly grip onto the object protruding from my leg and yank it out; it feels like a thin metal skewer. I toss it aside and manage to hobble away just before the nearest Vardran reaches out to grab my cloak.
I don’t have time to figure out which way Dusty went or where Bay is. I just have to concentrate on keeping my leg moving fast enough. A strange heat has started spreading up it, and the skin prickles as though it was being pricked with thousands of needles.
“Don’t bother trying to run, Linarian scum,” a Vardran soldier taunts from close behind.
I grit my teeth and push myself to move faster. The muscle in my injured leg is starting to cramp up and spasm; I can’t keep running. I’m nearing the waterfront of the harbour—just a little bit further.
I feel the fingertips of a Vardran brush against my shoulder, but before he can get a grip on it, I launch myself off the edge and into the freezing water below.
