Three years later...

"Come, my trusty steed!" Vic shouted, raising his sword to the heavens. "We are off to save the beautiful damsel in distress." He kicked the side of his mount and leaned forward to embrace the sudden rush of wind against his face as he bounced in the saddle of his ride.

From out of nowhere, a figure plump and hairy dragged his feet out of the shadows, stared up at Vic, and groaned.

"Halt..." the strange one mumbled. "I'm afraid I cannot let you pass."

Vic reared back. "Yow! My arch nemesis—Stubby the Crazed Dwarf!"

"Yes, 'tis I...Stubby the Crazed Dwarf...and I have come to kill you, Vic."

"Sir Vicaroth the Valiant," the hero whispered.

"Whatever."

Vic put the back of his hand to his forehead. "Oh, villainous dwarf! Will your evil plots never cease?"

"Apparently not, seeing as I have no say in—"

"It is against my moral code to fight, but against you I shall draw my blade. The safety of the princess depends on it!"

The dwarf raised his axe to waist-level and yawned. "Then I shall fight you to the death."

"So be it," Vic said. Summoning his blade, he stood on his mount and took a heroic battle stance. "But I warn you, I shall not hold back just because you are a wee midget."

"...What did you say?" The dwarf tightened his grip on the axe. "Damn you, Vic—I'll cut your tongue out!"

"Let this be our final battle!"

Their weapons clashed in midair, but the dwarf's rage was too much for the young knight. After only a few blows, Vic stumbled back, severely injured from the wounds he had sustained.

"It's no good," he coughed. Blood too thick to be his own trickled out of a packet up his sleeve. "The stubby one is too strong."

"Stop calling me that!"

"I will surely be killed if I stay here, but I cannot leave the princess to her fate."

"Perhaps you won't need to!" came a gallant call from above.

That voice! He had heard it before.

"Hail, Elven Ranger Eric!" Vic cried out. His heart gave a mighty push and carried him to his feet. "I see you have escaped from the Amazons."

"Escaped?" The blond figure who was standing on a nearby hillside laughed. "I had those busty savages running from me! Why, I must've sent arrows into the eyes of a dozen of them before they fled into the jungle."

The dwarf grunted. "Oh, brother..."

"I don't know how you always get captured by the pretty ones," Vic said.

"It's a gift and a curse, friend," the ranger said, before pointing his narrow chin at the dwarf. "But surely if I can take on an entire tribe of large, cannibalistic Women, you can take on a single Man who could barely wrestle a fire beetle at his size!"

"What?" the dwarf growled. "Come down here and say that, blondie."

The ranger slid down the hillside on the back of his bow and stopped a few inches short of the dwarf.

"How's this?" he asked.

The dwarf only came up to his waist.

"...I hate you guys," he muttered.

Beautiful but short-lived laughter filled the air.

"Hark!" Eric called out. He held up his hand as the noise began to disperse and listened closely. "I hear something. Are you...by chance...looking for a princess?"

"Yes!" Vic ran towards him. "Do you know where she is?"

"Aye. My keen Elven senses have caught wind of her serenading voice over yonder."

"Where!?"

Eric pointed, making a dramatic gesture out of a movement so simple. "Up there—in that tower!"

"Um...hello?" The dwarf waved his arms. "Evil villain down here. We have to do battle. I'm not just going to let you walk through me."

Vic bopped him over the head with the blunt of his sword.

"The terrible beast has been slain," he said quickly. "Now come, Elven Ranger Eric, so that we may rescue the princess before nightfall. That is when the much more fearsome foes come out from the forest."

They climbed aboard Vic's mount and waited for a large, delicately manicured hand to descend from the heavens and propel their ride forward. Cheering, they flew past the rounded orange hills and citrus-colored earth, coming at last to a large gap that stood between them and the base of an ivory tower.

"We'll have to cross this chasm on foot if we hope to save the princess," Vic said.

Eric carefully peered over the edge. "This is a rather deep hole, my friend. If we fall, we'll surely be killed."

"If we don't find a way across, the princess will surely be killed and our quest will be in vain."

"Then let us be smart about this and call out to the princess. Perchance she knows something that can help us."

"A splendid idea. Let us cry out in unison."

Putting their heads together, they yelled the princess' name over the chasm. Their not-so-angelic voices echoed off the canyon walls and eventually reached the ears of the royal princess.

"Vic! Eric!" she cried from the window at the top of the tower. "Is that you? Have you come to rescue me?"

"We have, princess," Vic said. "But this great divide stands between us. Do you know of a way across?"

The princess thought for a moment.

"You might be able to climb my hair," she said. "If it holds, you could ride it over the chasm and scale the side of the tower using my tresses as a rope." She leaned forward and let down her hair. "But do be careful! I just had my hair done before I got kidnapped."

Vic and Eric stared at the wondrous, chestnut-colored locks that dangled over the chasm in front of them.

"This is risky," Eric said.

Vic readied himself. "This is for the princess."

They each grabbed a handful of hair and jumped into the chasm. As gravity pulled them down, they held tight and aimed for the ivory tower. But it was too much. They overshot it, causing the thick strands to swing back like a pendulum and their bodies to be twisted wildly through the air. They were barely able to keep from falling. The princess closed her eyes, unable to watch.

As our heroes came back a second time, they were finally able gain a handhold on the tower. Its walls were silky and slippery, however, and they slid down almost to the base before they were able to begin their ascent.

"We're almost there," Vic cried out. "All we have to do now is—"

He was cut short by something hard that smacked him from behind. It was Stubby the Crazed Dwarf—swinging from the princess' hair!

"What are you doing?" Vic yelled. "I already killed you."

"Hey—if you get to climb around in her hair, so do I."

On the return swing, the dwarf tried to kick Vic off the tower, but the knight allowed himself to slide down just far enough to be out of the dwarf's reach.

"You're dead!" Vic said. "You can't just come back to life."

"Maybe I'm a zombie dwarf. Ever think about that?"

"You can't keep changing the rules!"

"I can do whatever I want. I'm evil—muahaha!"

"I'm telling on you. Princess!"

Hearing her name, she opened her eyes and looked down from the tower. "Is Stubby being a sore loser again?"

"He's always sore," Eric said. "He's just being a loser this time."

The princess sighed. "Stubby... If you're dead, you can't be moving."

"Well, I'm moving, so I must be alive," the dwarf answered. He tried to knock Vic from the tower again, but before he could, two fingers came down, pinched his head like a grape, and plucked him from the curtain of hair.

"Do I have to remind you about the rules again, Cain?" she asked.

Eric laughed. "Ha, ha! She called you by your real name."

"That's what I want to be called, numbskull!" the dwarf hollered.

"That's another thing," the princess continued. "You're too loud. Especially for somebody who is supposed to be dead."

The hand set him down on the other side of the great divide and then placed a banana on top of him.

"Hey, that was my horse," Vic said.

The hand carefully peeled the banana, tore off a small chunk, and popped it into the mouth of the princess, who only shrugged innocently. But her shrug was enough to shake Vic from the tower.

With the reflexes of an elf, Eric grabbed the knight's hand in midair and pulled him back. Together, they scaled the rest of the tower without difficulty and found themselves atop the princess' shoulder.

"We did it!" Vic said. "We saved the princess."

Eric panted as he pulled himself onto the mound of flesh. "Whew... I'm just glad the princess isn't in another tower this time. That would be really annoying."

The princess giggled, but she was careful to keep her arm very still. She was, after all, reclining back on her pillow and didn't want the Men to wind up on the floor, where they could be stepped on or killed.

"I love these crazy adventures of yours," she said, clapping her hands. "Stories about brave Men saving princesses... What did you call them again?"

"Fairy tales," Vic said.

"Well, they're amazing. You two come off so heroic and daring."

"You know it's not all acting, doll."

She giggled again.

The great chamber door on the other side of the room opened with a slow creak. An armored sentry entered, wearing a blue-and-gold plated helmet and carrying a poleax that was strapped to her back. She seemed a bit taken back at first and then bowed her head out of respect before advancing towards the princess.

"Good evening, Erika," the soldier said. "I didn't expect to find you awake."

Erika quickly put a hand on her cheek and leaned back, trying to conceal the Men on her shoulder. "You caught me just as I was about to close my eyes."

"Then you will have to excuse my intrusion, but there is an emissary of Ellewyn here to see you."

"What? At this hour?"

"It's Fallon. I thought you would desire to speak with her, but I can request she return at a more appropriate time if—"

"Fallon is here?" Erika swung her legs over the bed and sat upright, forgetting all about the two Men who were flung back into her web of hair. They clung desperately for their lives. "You will do no such thing, Odessa! I will gladly see her."

The sentry nodded, although she seemed distracted by Erika's strange behavior. "Of course. I will have her wait in the atrium until you are properly dressed and...um, ready to receive guests."

"No, you've kept her waiting long enough. Tell her she is free to come in now."

Odessa didn't move.

"Well?"

"It's just...these are troubled times," she explained. "You may have friends in the royal court of Ellewyn, but it's important that we still keep up our appearances. They are, after all, very good to us."

"Are you saying I am not dressed well enough for a social affair with Fallon?"

"It's not you, princess. It's..."

"What?"

"...I think you know what I mean."

"I most certainly do not."

"Erika..."

"Well, you can't possibly mean the little ones," the princess said hastily, pushing the banana off Cain. She put him and the rest of the banana in the fruit bowl on the table. "They've never hurt anybody."

Odessa sighed. "Do you know any other princesses who keep Men as pets?"

"I'm afraid I don't know enough princesses to answer that." Erika walked over to the long-sided mirror in the corner of the room and began adjusting her white gown. She still didn't notice the squirming figures banging into the back of her neck. "But if you are trying to liken me to Isabella, need I remind you that I am nothing like her?"

"I believe I speak for all of Kaligar when I say we are all grateful for that."

"But yet you believe that by showing a teensy bit of compassion towards Men, we will be damaging our relations with Ellewyn. Have you forgotten Men are an integral part of Kaligar's history?"

"I don't doubt the benefit their race has been to our kingdom. In fact, I find it hard to imagine a world without them... I simply don't think it wise to show an ambassador of Ellewyn that you openly welcome their kind into our palace walls. You must understand that in other parts of the world—Ellewyn, especially—that kind of behavior is unheard of."

"Your concerns have been noted, Odessa. Now see Fallon in."

After realizing she wasn't getting through to the princess with common sense, Odessa gave up. "...I will do as you ask, Erika, for I do not wish to make enemies with you. In the future, however, I would beseech you to heed my advice and consider the consequences of winding up on Ellewyn's bad side. This is hardly the time to be testing the bond of our relationship with our protector."

Erika gave an arrogant smirk and a quiet nod of her head. "I will see you when you return with Fallon."

-------------------------

When Odessa appeared in the doorway again, she was accompanied by a cheery-faced courier wearing a white lace tunic, long dark pantaloons, and colorful red ribbons in an otherwise plain head of hair.

"Lady Fallon to see you," Odessa said. She held open the door with one hand and extended the other to allow the messenger of Ellewyn through.

"Thank you for seeing me in at this late hour, Odessa," the courier said. "I understand the dangers of opening your gates at night."

"It's always a pleasure to receive emissaries from Ellewyn. We don't get the chance to commune with our sister kingdom nearly enough."

"An unfortunate consequence of our fair cities being so far apart and having the roads between us fraught with bandits and killers, I'm afraid."

Odessa frowned. "I do hope none of them gave you trouble. Our watch has a difficult time in governing the lands outside of Masiela."

"Oh, no. I've found that thieves tend to leave people of my profession alone, knowing the only things we carry in our possession are letters and poems."

"I suppose your rapier helps to keep them away as well."

Blushing, Fallon let a hand grace her hip. "Yes... Although I only fence for sport."

"We know that, but they don't."

They both laughed. By now, Erika had made her way to the door.

"Fallon," she spoke in a stern voice. "Surely you didn't come all the way from Felwinter to stand in my doorway and make small talk with everybody but me."

Fallon closed her mouth, smiled, and clasped her hands together at her waist. "Hello, Erika."

Erika's glower quickly faded into a childish grin and she threw her arms around Fallon with no consideration of what would pass for proper royal conduct.

"Fallon, I missed you!" she said. "How does it feel to be back in Masiela? Did you miss this place?"

The courier returned her embrace, but there was a certain rigidness in her arms that made her seem uncomfortable and out of place. Perhaps it was the Men who were nearly crushed between her and Erika. Fallon gave them an awkward smile and tried not to notice them wriggling around in Erika's tresses, but it was something like trying to ignore a stain on a white shirt.

Which, ironically, they almost were.

"It's always nice to come back here," Fallon answered. "I forget sometimes how warm it is in your part of the world."

"It's always like this!"

"Yes, I know."

"You would like it even more if you stayed here. Perhaps for a vacation?"

Fallon just smiled sadly.

Feeling that was her cue to leave, Odessa moved towards the door. "Excuse me, but I am needed back at my post. Bandits don't sleep at night, so neither can I!"

"Of course," Erika said. "I am sorry for removing you from duty."

Fallon shook the guard's hand. "It's always good seeing you, Odessa."

"The feeling is mutual, my friend." The sentry stopped for a moment to deliberate over a thought that had just occurred to her. "Say, when is your next tournament?"

"A fortnight from tomorrow. Are you thinking of entering?"

"And let you humiliate me in front of all of Ellewyn? You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"A lot of people would pay to see you in a duel again."

"A-ha! So the truth comes out." Odessa gestured towards Erika. "Do you see what she does to me? She does this all the time. She tries to use money to lure me into her circus show. Well, Fallon, it's going to take a lot more than—"

"It's for charity."

Odessa bit down on her tongue. "...Oh, you're good."

Fallon smiled.

"How much?"

"Five thousand gold pieces."

Odessa whistled. "That'll put clothes on a lot of children's backs."

"Yes, it will."

"Is Ellewyn suffering that much?" Erika asked.

Fallon made no attempts to dodge the question. "There are people who could use the money."

"But this sword-fighting charade should help them," Odessa said.

"As long as we can find a few participants who are willing to donate their winnings towards charity."

"Well, you'll win, Fallon. I've seen what you can do with a sword and somebody to point it at. What do you need me and my old bones for?"

"I need you to show my girls what a three-time former world champion can do at fifty-two years of age."

"Oh, so you want to dress me up and make me the ringmaster of your circus."

"I just want you to think about it. I don't need an answer today."

"Yeah, but you'll hound me until you get one. I've seen you do it before. I'm going to get out of here while I still have my dignity to spare." With a grin, she tipped her helmet and shut the door quietly behind her.

Now that they were alone, Erika turned to Fallon and began to study her closely. "...I should've known. You got that look."

"Hm?"

"I hate that look."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Ugh! Fallon, you're a terrible liar—you know that? That's the all-work-and-no-play look. You're not here on vacation at all, are you?"

"...Not exactly," she admitted. "It's—"

"Business as usual. I know, Fallon. I know." Erika sighed, heaving her bare shoulders in a circular motion, and turned away in mild but restrained frustration. Her eyes looked for a distraction and finally landed on the table next to the divan. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"Yes, that would be lovely."

Erika walked over to the table and picked up a handful of strawberries. She threw the Cain-shaped one back in the bowl. "I know this palace must seem like a hovel compared to that big castle in the mountains you live in, but I can at least make you comfortable during your stay."

Once her hands were full, she turned around.

"You are staying, I presume?" she prodded.

"Well... Isabella did give me two weeks leave of absence. If it would suit you, I could use that time and your facilities to train before the tournament."

"If it would suit me... Look at you, talking like we're two strangers passing each other on the street!" Erika grabbed a strange cylindrical device off the wall and began plopping strawberries into it one at a time. "You don't have to be so professional with me, Fallon. We used to wear each other's undergarments, you know. On our heads."

"I will never be ashamed of showing respect to people who truly deserve it."

Erika shook her head as she wiped her hands on a nearby towel and then carried the device over to Fallon. "Have you ever seen one of these before?"

"I cannot say I have. What is it?"

"It's a new invention that was given to me by Men. It chops up fruits and mixes them together into a creamy juice." She set it down on the table. "They call it a blender."

Fallon looked through the clear-sided tube. "Really? And you can put anything you want in it?"

"Pretty much."

"Do you intend to put them in it?"

"Huh?" Erika looked to where Fallon was pointing and realized Vic and Eric were still trapped in her hair. She turned as red as the strawberries in the blender.

"Oh, my—I'm so sorry," she said, quickly unknotting them from her hair. "You two could've fallen in that machine and been chopped into pieces." Then she remembered Fallon, who was staring at her, and quickly corrected herself. "I mean... Stupid Men! I was going to make strawmenberry juice out of you, but I'll have to come up with a worse fate for you in the morning as punishment for crawling around in my hair."

Vic and Eric gawked at her, wide-mouthed.

"Erika..." Fallon said.

"Yeah...?" Erika answered meekly.

But the courier only smiled. "You don't have to keep secrets from me. My opinion of you was formed long ago and it won't change because of how you treat Men."

That was a weight off Erika's chest.

"I'm glad to hear it," she said. "There are others who wouldn't speak to me if they knew I allowed Men into my bedchamber." She set the Vic and Eric down on the table and gave them a slight flick with her pinky finger.

"Watch this," she said. She put the top on the blender, held it down with one hand, and used the other to press the red button on the front of the device. Almost immediately, the blades inside began to whirl, causing Vic and Eric to fall to their knees and cover their ears. The strawberries inside the blender were sent spiraling and exploded like hearts against the raging blades. Within seconds, there was a pool of red liquid and juice dripping down the sides of the tube.

Fallon was still staring at the machine in bewilderment when the last drop of juice trickled into the pool.

"That's amazing," she finally breathed.

Erika set a glass underneath a spout that extended from the machine and pressed another button. Fresh strawberry juice poured out, stopping automatically when the glass was filled to the rim.

"You see, there are some perks to having Men work for you," Erika said, handing Fallon the glass, and then reaching for another one.

Fallon watched the juice swash around in her glass before she took a sip.

"This act that you do..." Erika said, her eyes on the glass. "It doesn't fool me."

"What act?" Fallon laughed.

"This...polite, well-mannered act. It suits you, but I still see the little girl with those same ribbons in her hair who could belch so loud that it would wake everybody in the servant's quarters."

"That was a long time ago," Fallon said.

"Same ribbons."

"Different girl."

Erika grinned. "I believe something about certain opinions being formed long ago would also apply here."

Fallon's reaction was hidden behind her next sip of juice.

Erika didn't press the issue. Instead, she set her glass on the table and gestured towards the curtained doorway that led outside.

"Come," she said. "We can talk in the courtyard where we'll have more privacy."

Fallon looked down at the two Men on the table who were watching her. With a frown, she set her glass in front of them and followed Erika outside.

Inside the palace, you never felt alone. Even if you were by yourself, the ceilings in every room were so high up that you could hear the echoes of your own movements as you passed through. Fallon noticed the same effect at the castle back in Felwinter. No matter which room you were in, you felt like somebody was watching you. But it was a good feeling. You knew you were home, in a place you were welcome... But it wasn't like that outside.

Outside, all noises of the night seem hushed. You feel like you are trespassing on sacred ground. There might have been four or five guards patrolling the area, but they moved slowly and were hard to distinguish from the humanoid statues in the garden. Erika and Fallon walked in silence down a long stone walkway that was lined with torches. The flames burned over their heads and they looked up, when at last they came to the end of the walkway, to see so many stars in the sky that they seemed to overlap one another. In this land, there was a certain stillness that would almost be inviting if not for the black sheets of canvas that blanketed the horizon.

"...I will admit," Fallon said. "My reasons for making this journey extend beyond your gracious hospitality."

Erika led the way over to a balcony that overlooked the rest of the courtyard. "When I heard you mention the financial difficulty Ellewyn is having, I knew you didn't come here to talk about you or me... This is about Isabella, isn't it?"

"I suppose that's as good of a place as any to start... Let's be honest with each other. She came into power much sooner than you or I had wished."

"Indeed. It was a dark day when I was told of the death of the Royal Queen."

"You were close, I know. It must pain you, as it does me, to not have been there in her time of need."

"She fell ill so suddenly. I don't think anybody could've known." Erika laid a hand on Fallon's fingers. "But when I cried, I cried for your people. To fall under the rule of a vile and oppressive monster like Isabella is a fate I wouldn't wish on anybody. Please understand that."

"Isabella will be fine," Fallon assured her. "She is young and she will make a great ruler in time."

"...Are you sure we're talking about the same Isabella?"

Fallon laughed, but it was a joke Erika didn't share in.

The amusement in her voice didn't last long enough for the moment to be awkward, but the silence that followed was more than discomforting for the both of them.

"Actually..." Fallon said, leaning against the rails of the balcony. "I came here to warn you."

"Warn me? About what?"

"Our scouts recently returned from the deserts in the east and they told us Sorena's power is growing much faster than their former estimates had suggested. At this rate, they say, she will be capable of crossing the Tethys Sea by the next full moon. That's all the time we have to prepare."

"I see... And you are worried for my people?"

"I suppose that depends on who you consider your people."

Erika chuckled and looked away, silent for a moment. "...They've already gotten to you, haven't they, Fallon?"

"What do you mean?"

"You would have me turn my back on Penee to save the people of Kaligar."

"No, that's not what I—"

The princess raised her hand. "It's okay, Fallon. You would find a way to make it sound more appealing, but I'm young and stubborn and it's still genocide to my ears. You have to understand that it's in my nature as a human being not to step away so that an entire race can be annihilated underneath my feet. Well, Sorena's feet... But you know what I mean..."

"I do, Erika." Fallon gripped the railing tight and closed her eyes. "Your intentions are pure. I just don't want to see this come to war."

"There hasn't been a war on Adelais in 500 years. If Sorena thinks she can come back to life, shoot a couple bolts of lightning from her fingertips, and turn this world upside-down again, she's gravely mistaken. Kaligar will not welcome her home. We're going to show her what these past 500 years have done for humanity, and we'll throw her back to the Dark Ages and lock the door. That is what she has coming if she sets one foot in my kingdom."

Her remarks were met with a faded smile.

"I know you will never give into Sorena's demands," Fallon whispered. "But the war I speak of, should it come to light, will not be her doing."

Erika looked at her inquisitively, but the courier had nothing more to say.

An excerpt from 'On the Legends and Lore of Adelais':

Atlantis and the City of Mermaids

...Although the supreme Goddess of Light, Dai Celesta, is most often credited for the creation of the mermaids—and, indeed, this is what the mermaids themselves have been led to believe—the truth is that these elegant and dangerous women of the deep were evolved from the hands of a mortal. This fallacy is not, as might be supposed, a gratuitous attempt on the part of the Apostles to preserve the command of their Goddess' name over that of lesser creatures; rather, five hundred years have led to a scattering of facts, misinterpreted scrolls of old tongue, and a sea of confusion. The sands of time shift quickly in the wake of a dead language.

Let it be known, without any cause for misinterpretation on the part of you or me, that the mermaids were the conscious and evolutionary tangent of the Dark Lady Sorena—though the mermaids, ignorant by their own creed, would claim a much more divine origin by the Goddess whose name is not slandered with images of blackened death. The mortal enemy of the mermaids—their sister race in the clouds, the bird-like sirens—are considered to be denizens of Sorena, by all races but the sirens. This telling of history, however, is also riddled with inaccuracies and the cause of a needless war that has persisted since the days of the Last King...

-------------------------

"Are you sure you got that one?"

"I'm sure."

"Those stress lines in your face are telling a different story."

"Would you shut up and take this thing already?" Fayrelin grunted, slowly buckling under the weight of the massive crate on her shoulders.

Finished with the knot he was tying, Malkav reached over and grabbed the crate by its handles. "You know, we don't expect you to carry everything."

"Just the heavy stuff, huh?"

"Hey, it was your decision to be so wonderful."

Tossing the crate on the back of the boat with the rest of the cargo, he dusted his palms, knelt down, and extended an arm towards the long-haired pygmy. She graciously took his hand.

"Have you seen Blackthorn?" he asked, once his companion was safely on the ship.

Fayrelin jerked a thumb towards the end of the docks, where a pirate with the face of a bulldog was nestled between his greasy beard and a few stacked barrels of shrimp, fast asleep. An empty bottle of hooch was in his hand. He belched once upon hearing his name, scratched his lower back with the rusty hook he had for a second hand, and rolled over, revealing a well-tattooed behind to the world.

"Well, there's a sight I wish I hadn't seen," Malkav said.

"Yeah."

A moment later, a chubby monk in a brown robe appeared at the starboard side of the boat. His face was partly hidden behind the bag of bread and cheeses he was bear-hugging in an attempt to lift it over the boat's railing.

"A little help, guys," he squeaked.

"Oh, look..." Malkav said, swiping a loaf of bread. "Food." He broke off a small piece and handed it to Fayrelin.

"And a talking bag," she said, receiving his offer.

"I guess this is the day for surprises."

The robed man pulled the bag away. "You guys really aren't that funny. And I wish you wouldn't touch. It's my lunch.."

"Oh, calm down, Adam. I don't want your food." Fayrelin patted him on the head and stuck the chunk of bread in his mouth when he started to object. Then she relieved him of the bag and stored it with the rest of the supplies while Malkav helped the monk on board.

"Good morning, pal," Malkav said.

"Good mornings don't start at six o'clock," Adam said, removing the bread out of his mouth.

"Do I have to remind you of the bird and the worm?"

"Not if you want me to keep down my food."

Fayrelin stretched out on the crates, put one leg over the other, and let her silky auburn hair flow out behind her. "You can't keep it down anyway. Three years in these waters and you still don't have your sea legs."

"Well, I guess some of us are just born with better legs than others."

She ignored his comment until she noticed both Adam and Malkav staring at her lower parts. Then she rolled her skirt down.

"Yeah," she said, looking away.

They grinned and the conversation died for a while, but not for too long. There were at least twenty other ships loading at the docks and some of them were already getting ready to set sail. They would have to make haste if they wanted to be on time.

Malkav knew that and sighed. "Somebody's going to have to wake up Blackthorn."

"I did it last time," Adam said.

"Yeah, with your snoring."

"Hey!" Adam went to push him, but he was too slow. Malkav easily sidestepped the attack and drew a loaf of bread from the bag next to Fayrelin.

"Engarde," he said.

Adam lowered his arms. "Oh, come on, Mal. That's for my lunch."

"Then why do I have it?"

Adam sighed and made a weak attempt to grab it, but Malkav outmaneuvered him again.

"You're going to have to learn to get aggressive one of these days," he said, bonking the monk on the back of the head.

"Just give me my food so I can eat in peace."

"Here," Fayrelin said, joining in the festivities by tossing Adam a stick of bread.

Adam fumbled with it for a moment. "Why, thank you, Fayrelin. At least some of us understand food was not meant to be played with... I mean, we're not Women."

She rolled her eyes. "Hello, and what do you think I am?"

"Um...I was under the impression that you were a pygmy."

She looked at him, a little irritated. "...Adam."

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

"Sorry."

"Bah..." Malkav dropped his makeshift weapon. "You guys do what you want. I....ahh!" He had started to walk away, but immediately collided into something behind him and jumped back. "Exthame!" He caught his breath. "Geez, man. When did you get here?"

The man smiled. He was an enigmatic figure with silver hair and that smile was unique because his lips were the only part of his face that his companions could ever read. To mask the rest of his features, which were indescribable at best, he wore a long and buttoned-up trench coat, his collar popped and tightly wrapped around his neck, and small black spectacles that covered the whole of his eyes. It was no secret that he was blind, but what lied behind those shades was a mystery because he had never taken them off. He once said that his glasses were actually a part of his face, as attached as an eye or ear would be, and staring into them was like looking into the wrong side of a one-way mirror, at night, while being cloaked in an invisibility spell. You would have a better chance of looking through a wall of steel and stone.

"Tell me about the weather," the mystery man said, giving a twitch of his chin, followed by an ever-so-slight arc in his left eyebrow. That was his trademark nod.

Fayrelin tilted her head all the way back. "Gray skies as usual."

"Ah, well... At least it never rains here, eh?"

They were all silent for a moment. That much was true.

"My friends—you act solemn, but I meant that as a good thing," he said, walking past the crew and over to the railing. He carefully wrapped his fingers around the wooden beam, one at a time, and took a moment to feel the heartbeat of the ocean that had replaced the solid earth underneath his feet.

"You put yourself at the mercy of the waves every time you step onto waters like these," he said. "From the very first time, you learn that you must trust your other senses and pray them to guide your way. But rain, for all the good it brings to this world, is most notorious for leading sailors into a dark fog... I thank the Priestess that we don't have to worry about this. We are indeed Fortune's children."

"I'm glad he thinks so," Adam whispered. "I'm going to go eat my breakfast now."

Malkav nodded, but that was the last thing any of them said for a while. Exthame stood like a statue on the side of the boat, staring off into the hazy, white horizon that peeled out across the sea like a giant dome. A cool breeze whistled through his hair like a dove dipping through a silver meadow.

"...Okay, I'm going to wake up Blackthorn," Malkav said.

Fayrelin looked up at him from the bed she had made for herself on the crates. "Nobody's stopping you."

"I wish someone would."

His wish was soon answered.

"HEY, LUBBERLIPS!" a tipsy voice bellowed from the pier they were docked at. "SEAMAN MALKAV WANTS YE ON THE SHIP! *hic* GET YER LAZY BONES ON BOARD BEFORE WE USE YER GOOD HAND FOR FISH BAIT!" Then, after stumbling around like an old fool, a man in an open doublet with no undershirt, velvet breeches the color of rotten breath, and an oversized captain's hat started climbing aboard the ship.

"I wish you would stop calling me that,'" Malkav said.

"What?"

"'Seaman Malkav.' I don't like that name."

"I have no idea why that bothers you,*hic*, but that's why I shall keep on doing it—har har har!" The drunk laughed so hard that he tumbled off the ship.

It took both Malkav and Fayrelin to pull him up. Even then, the captain was hardly able to walk without grabbing at Fayrelin the whole time for support.

"Help an old seadog to the helm, lassie," he said, a thick slur in his words, as he seized a handful of the dame's cloak in his mouth.

Fayrelin resisted the urge to walk him off the ship. "You really do need to stop this."

"Again, I have no idea what you're talking about," he mumbled.

"Do you even know where you at?"

"The city of angels!" he cackled. Then he twirled around, slapped his palms against Fayrelin's cheeks, and pressed his nose against hers "Am I close, doll?"

"Too close," she said, shoving him against the wheel. "Just...get ready to cast off."

"Aye-aye, captain!" the drunk hiccuped. "Ah, right. I'm the captain of this ship. Captain... Jargon..." He whistled and hummed a pirate melody to himself as he rocked the wheel.

Blackthorn was the last to board the ship, but he did so without fuss or remark, and took his seat at the oars. Adam soon joined him at the other end, with his bread and cheese in a bucket next to him, and they were ready to set sail.

-------------------------

After about twenty minutes on the open waters, Blackthorn's grogginess began to wear off and he started telling tales about his younger days as a pirate. Nobody but Jargon could vouch for him, for the others were too young to have been part of his crew at the time, but they were both so stupid and drunk that it was impossible to believe them anyway.

Blackthorn finished his latest tale with, "...And that's the captain and I pillaged the village to its very last coin, rescued the nymph, and saw the mating of an owl and a bear!"

"I'm pretty sure that's not possible," Adam said.

"What are you talkin' about, boy?"

"There are no such things as owlbears."

"I saw it with me own two eyes, I did!" He scratched his armpit. "Terrible creatures, believe me. I don't know what could be worse."

Suddenly, they heard cries coming from their left. They stopped rowing and looked over just in time to see a fin shoot out of the water and slap against the side of another ship the way a tidal wave might slap against the side of an unsuspecting cliff. The sailors on board yelled commands to each other. But just as their vessel began to tip, another fin appeared out of the water—this time from the other side—and slammed into the ship's lower deck. The crew was sent flying in one direction and then the other. Then, with a force just as strong as before, the first fin struck the ship's hull once again. Back and forth, the ship rocked, never quite reaching the threshold of being completely overturned, but always leaning far enough to one side that the flailing sailors had to grab hold of the ship's mast or brace themselves for a cold entry into the sea.

Within seconds, at least a dozen sailors were treading water. They stared up into the dim sunlight, trying desperately to keep their heads above the swirling waves, and saw the horrible fins towering over them and arched back, like two sea serpents about to devour their prey. The Men held their breaths, despite how much it ached their chests to do so, and swam nearer each other. The water pounded against their faces As frightened as they were, their senses were enhanced and they could make out every colorful crack and groove in those fins as they drew closer. Then, without warning, the fins became erect and slipped beneath the waves in a flicker of blue, green, and gold.

Silence followed. The sailors stopped thrashing. As the ripples that were left behind in the wake of the attack began to scatter, they turned to each other, their eyes widening as their fears slowly began to shrink.

"...We're still alive," one of them whispered.

His voice had startled them all, but he spoke too soon, for he was the first to vanish beneath the hungry waters. A great shadow of something resembling a fish appeared beneath the Men's kicking feet and replaced the missing sailor's body with a giggling stream of bubbles.

It wasn't long before another of them was taken under. He barely had time to curse the gods.

"No—Captain Ludwig!" one of the remaining Men shouted. He and another sailor lunged forward and swam to the spot where their captain had been swallowed by the sea.

They were almost there when a beautiful golden mat began to rise to the surface. A few strands snagged their legs. Before long, it was everywhere. The brave sailors split apart and tried to swim out of it, but the mat was rising too quickly and they found themselves caught in the yellow brambles that had formed a net around them. Soon after, a brow of flesh appeared out of the water, followed by two blue eyes that matched the sea.

The sailors tried to wriggle free of their prison, but to no avail. The wet knots constricted their every movement so much that their limbs were basically pinned down as the mat closed into an amber cascade of vines. They were swept up and out of the water. As they contemplated chewing their way free, two pillar-like fingers plucked them from the tangled mass and sent them bouncing back to the other drowning sailors like a couple of skipping stones.

"Hey, Nerin," the golden-haired mermaid said. "What do you call a Man in the ocean who doesn't have legs?"

The other mermaid had already surfaced and was grinning at the bodies of Men that were floating between her and her friend. "I don't know, Selena! What do you call a Man in the ocean who doesn't have legs?"

Selena opened her mouth to reveal the still-living body of Captain Ludwig She gently pinched his head between her fingers, started to pull him out of her mouth, and then bit down on his waist at the last second. With a small twist of her wrist, she ripped off his legs and dropped him in the water.

"Bob!" she proclaimed.

Nerin burst out laughing. Neither of them seemed too concerned about the grizzly old sea captain who wasn't able to stay afloat because his lower limbs had just been painfully extracted from his body. He began to sink, cursing at the young women, until his lungs filled with water and his eyes turned black.

His two friends quickly dove under, locked their arms with the limp arms of the captain, and pulled the old man to the surface. Together, the three of them drifted in the water between the bodies of the mermaids, gasping for air.

"A hex upon you and your entire race!" Ludwig shouted up to the mermaids, when the last of the water had left his lungs.

"Legs are overrated anyway," Selena said. "You Men are born with two of them and they can't even do the job of one fin. Imagine that." She wiggled her tail at them.

"I don't know," Nerin said. "I think the legs give them flavor."

Selena continued to chew the meal that was in her open mouth. "Hm... Well, they're certainly the meatiest part."

"Hey, Selena."

"What?"

"Think fast!"

Nerin lifted her dazzling green tail out of the water and slammed it down next to the sailors. Many of them, including the captain and his close mates, were swept under, but four of the sailors were jettisoned into the air and headed straight for Selena. She didn't have time to react as three of them smacked against her face and another flew straight into her gullet. She laughed and choked a little.

He tasted much better than the first one.

"Okay, my turn," she said. She brought her tail forward and out of the water. In doing so, she was able to scoop up a handful of the Men that were still underwater, and hurled them into the air. Then she dove under, swung her tail across the air, and batted two sailors towards Nerin.

Nerin snatched one easily between her lips, but the other had flown too high over her head to catch. She did a quick back-flip into the water.

As the sailor somersaulted through the air, he was able to look down and follow the mermaid's shadow as it glided through the water. Just as he was making his descent, he saw the color return to the shadow as the mermaid began to surface. She threw back her head and he said his final prayers. Nerin's lips parted, her body shot out of the water like that of a dolphin, and the sailor and his shipmate, who was still being held captive in the mermaid's mouth, were washed down her throat before she even touched the waves again.

Selena clapped and batted two more sailors at Nerin. The green-tailed mermaid didn't miss either of them this time, jumping first to one side and then to the other to catch their flying bodies.

Two of the three Men who had made contact with Selena's face had managed to find something to hang onto. One of them was clinging to one of her golden bangs, just over the bridge of her nose, and the other had found a useful handhold on the side of her head, dangling from the thin flap of skin on the bottom of her left ear.

The third Men hadn't been so lucky. He found himself in the water at the mermaid's waist, where her smooth skin turned into the scales of a fish. Having been spotted by Selena, it wasn't long before he was eye-level with her naval, then her seashell-covered breasts, then her neckline, and finally her chin.

"Bottoms up," she whispered when her lips were just above his body. She continued to sink a little further, until her lower lip was just under the water, and then she opened her mouth. A current that was impossible to fight carried the unlucky sailor into the pink cavern she had opened for him. He was soon engulfed.

Once inside, a stream of warm air blasted his body and the sailor found himself gagging and white-faced at the mixed smell of fish, clams, lobster, and his fellow Men that filled the depths of these cavern walls. But the mermaid's tongue was squishy and provided a soft platform that he could stand upon. He did so, pushing his palms against the ceiling of the cavern to keep it from shutting, and began working his way towards the exit. On the other side, through that narrow slit of light before him, he could see the vast blue ocean and Nerin waving to him with her tail fin.

Then the ocean and Nerin disappeared and all he could see was gray sky. The slope of the tongue became too steep to climb and he started to fall, a victim of gravity. But he held on, buckling his knees into his chest, and dug his hands into the pink meat that was the mermaid's tongue. He threw his spine hard against the cavern ceiling and, using the walls for support, began scaling his way to the top. With every push of his legs, the light drew closer. He could almost touch it now. He grunted, but his arms ached. Treading water for so long had left him in a weakened state.

Suddenly, a whiff of the toxic air around him clogged his senses, and, in a sudden dizzy stupor, he nearly slipped. But he refused to go down. Not that way. No way.

Breathing through his mouth, he pressed on. He reached the tip of the tongue just as his limbs were about to fail him. Knowing he was still far away from a victory, he grabbed onto the mermaid's teeth and used his free hand to pry the mermaid's lips apart. His crew would be waiting for him on the other side. If he could just...

Selena swallowed. Twice. There was something fighting back, but she banged the object against the roof of her mouth with her tongue until it was too dazed to resist. Then it slid down her throat easily.

"Mmm, tastes like fish," she joked.

"You got some on your face," Nerin said. She pointed to her forehead so her friend would know where to look.

Selena turned her gaze upward and glared at the sailor dangling above her nose. He cowered and buried his face in her skin, as if it would make him invisible.

"Get...off..." she said.

When he only responded with a series of muffled sobs, she spoke a little louder.

"Now, you little shrimp scampi!"

"Please..." he cried, tightening his grip. "Please, beautiful lady... I've never wished anything bad upon you. I love your people. I don't want to die."

"And I don't want you on my hair," she said. "You're getting it wet."

"Um, wasn't it already wet?" Nerin asked.

The sailor cried even harder. "Please, just have mercy. Take anyone else. Just let me live. Please. I'll do anything."

"Ugh..." Selena said. "I hate it when they do this."

Nerin lifted her tail out of the water. "I can swat him, if you want."

"Ha, nice try! I'm not falling for that again."

Her friend giggled.

The sailor continued to cry until Selena couldn't take it anymore.

"Okay, fine," she said to the parasite on her forehead. "If you get back in the water, I'll let you live and kill the rest of your friends in your place."

He stopped whimpering. "Are...are you serious?"

"Uh, sure," she said. "I mean, I let one of you go and get to eat all the rest. That sounds fair."

The sailor tried to smile, somewhat ashamedly for the deal he had just made, and wiped his eyes clean. "Thank you. Thank you so much..."

"Just get off me, you pesky urchin."

The man did as he was commanded and let go of her hair. He slid down her nose and braced himself for the long fall into the sea, but that fall never came. Instead, he dropped down maybe three or four feet, and then landed on something wet and plushy—but it wasn't water. He put his hands on it and started to look down, but he didn't realize it was the mermaid's tongue until it was too late. By then, he had already been inserted back into her mouth and swallowed alive.

"You failed to get back in the water," Selena announced to the sailor working his way into her stomach. "You didn't live up to your end of the bargain...but don't worry. I'll still kill all your friends."

"And I'll help!" Nerin said.

Selena looked down. The other sailors left in the water were legless Ludwig and the two sailors trying to keep him afloat. She watched them with a growing smirk on her face. "What's wrong, guys? Never learned how to swim?" She leveled her body with the water and swam in circles around them. "How long before you all drown?"

"About as long as it takes you to grow some stones, sea cretin!" Ludwig barked.

"I know you didn't just say to me." Selena looked up at Nerin. "Did he really just say that to me?"

Nerin shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't even know these things could talk." Then she spotted something moving on her friend's ear, reached over, and grabbed the squirming sailor between her fingertips. After rolling him into a ball, she popped him into her mouth and chewed on him while Selena continued to stare down the audacious old captain.

"Well, I think he did," Selena said. "And for that, I want to eat him."

"You always want to eat them," Nerin said.

"That's not true! I don't want to eat his friends."

The eyes of all three Men stared at her. Only the eyes of the one in the middle were scowling.

"You're lying," Ludwig said.

"Nope, it's true," Selena said. "I was simply touched by the way your friends saved your life. If I was them, I would've let you drown."

"Maybe we're not like you," one of the sailors said.

His friend backed him up. "Yeah, maybe we have a heart!"

"Fair enough... Let's see if you have a brain, too." Selena waved her hand. "Let him go."

"No."

"Let him go and I'll spare your lives."

"That's what you promised the last guy."

"He didn't do anything heroic. He would rather have had me kill off every single one of you than to lose his own life! You should be glad I finished him off."

"So...basically, you want us to do the same thing."

Selena frowned. "Look. Your loud-mouthed friend is going to get eaten. If you're still attached to him at the time, then all I can say is that I hope you love the smell of fish."

"I sure do," Nerin joked.

Ludwig shook his arms. "Let me go, boys."

"We can't do that, captain," one of them said.

"Dammit, I command you to release me! We don't all have to die to these ill-bred wenches."

"I'm sorry, captain, but we're not letting you go," the other said. "We've been with you through more dangerous situations than this."

"Eh, you boys must have inherited your craziness from me."

Selena was less than amused. "...Nerin."

Nerin raised her fin and slapped it down on top of the Men, pushing them deep into the ocean. She held them there for nearly a minute, giggling at their struggles to break free, and then moved her tail out of the way. Almost immediately, one sailor surfaced, and then another, not soon after. Ludwig was the last to poke his head out of the water, having only his arms to swim, and his face was as white as the shells shielding the mermaids' breasts by the time he was breathing air again. He gasped and went under a second time.

Before he could black out, though, his wrists were caught by the weary sailors and they pulled him to the surface one more time.

The captain cursed and screamed at the pain that plagued him.

"No more, boys!" he cried. "Leave an old man to his fate."

But the sailors held tight. They weren't about to lose their captain to this sea or its inhabitants.

Selena's face was cold now. "...Do it again."

With her tongue prodding the side of her lips in meticulous concentration, Nerin raised her tail, steadied it above the heads of the bobbing Men, and then slammed it down as hard as she could. A jet of bubbles squirted up after them.

She held them under even longer this time, feeling their frantic scraps against her tail. She counted the seconds aloud.

"Ninety-eight, ninety-nine..."

When she at last let go, only one of them surfaced. It was one of the sailors and his face had been cut up by the the mermaid's scales. But after he gasped a few times, inhaling in short, quick breaths, he dove under and came back up with the captain in tow.

Nerin checked the bottom of her tail and found the other sailor's body snagged in the sharp grooves in her scales. His head surfaced not soon after.

"One down," she laughed.

Selena didn't share in her amusement. Her eyes were locked on the sailor and the captain, thrashing about in the water like a fish on land.

"It's over!" the captain howled. "Let me go. Let me go—dammit! Let me die with some dignity."

The sailor grabbed him from behind and began frantically paddling towards the nearest ship. Two, three, four times they went under—but every time, the sailor would stare up at the glittering white light overhead and summon enough strength to break through that surface again. His heart raced against what he knew were impossible odds. He never looked back, never cared to see if the mermaids were chasing him or not.

"Throw down a rope!" the sailor cried to the ship before him. He swam closer, dragging the captain behind him, and began coughing more than he was breathing.

The sailors on board didn't move. They didn't even acknowledge the man who was pounding against the hull of their ship.

"What's wrong with you!?" he shouted. "Give us a rope!"

Suddenly, the ship was blasted about thirty yards away and nearly tipped over.

The breathless sailor looked at it and then turned his head in the other direction, where Selena was rearing back her tail for the second time. He didn't have time to dive under. The tail snapped too quickly, sliced across his face, and sent him flying. In the midst of it all, he lost his grip on the captain.

"Captain Ludwig!" he screamed.

The old man's body was thrown away from him. He tried to grab for it one more time, but was met with a sharp pain to the side that sent him spiraling back towards the ship.

"Catch him!" Nerin yelled, lowering her tail.

The sailor tried to wipe the blood from his eyes. Fortunately for him, he was never able to, and never had to see what was coming for him. Selena caught him between her teeth and bit down on his neck, swallowing his head like a tiny fish egg, and then flung his lifeless body across the sea. It skipped at least ten times before coming to rest.

She grinned and felt a burp coming on.

"Do you want the old one?" Nerin asked. She was staring down at the grizzly captain, who was sputtering out obscenities at them as his arms began to weaken in the rocking waves. "He's already been in your mouth."

Selena swam back over and was about to say something when they heard shouting coming from behind.

Nerin looked over her shoulder. "Uh, oh. It's the patrol."

"Figures..." Selena's tail sank. "So much for skipping class today."

"We better get going. I don't want to get in trouble again."

Nerin disappeared under the water.

With a frown that didn't hide her disappointment, Selena looked at the mermaid patrol that was swimming towards her and then glanced down at the sinking captain. Her frown turned into a nasty little grin.

"Come on" she said. "I'll teach you how to swim." Cupping her hands together, she jumped into the crest of an oncoming wave, wriggled her body, and smacked the captain with her tail as she dove under. Bubbles marked her laughter as she carried him down with her.

But the motion of her tail, as she coiled her body in the direction of mermaid school, freed Ludwig. He floated lifelessly for a moment, as if he was a rock in space, and watched Selena swim towards a great white-walled castle in the distance. A hundred other mermaids just like her were playing in the water. They didn't pay any mind to the captain drowning in the depths of their home. Why would they? The sandy bottom was littered with the remains of his kind.

The captain closed his eyes. Then he opened them, stared up at the water's glassy surface, and gritted his teeth. He surfaced once more, coughing and bleeding from the stumps that used to be his legs, and swore revenge against them all.

The mermaid patrol swam over stopped only a few feet away from him and lowered the conch-shaped whistle that she had tied around her neck. She was an older mermaid, with hair the color of raisins but none of the wrinkles associated with such things, and she shook her head in the direction of the mermaids, but she didn't give chase. After all, she had been their age once. She knew what it was like, and she smiled fondly upon such memories.

She hadn't seen Ludwig yet. In fact, it wasn't until she turned around that she even noticed the fleet of Men who had stopped rowing to witness the horrible scene that had just taken place. None of those Men, however, appeared to be petrified or nervous or even startled by what they had seen. They just stared blankly at the mermaid law enforcer, as if they were chickens in a slaughterhouse and were waiting their turn in line.

"Whatever happened here is over now," she said. "Get moving or I'll see to it that every last one of you becomes an appetizer at the Queen's next banquet. Is that understood?"

When nobody moved, she looked down and saw the captain floating in the water.

"Look what your people did to my men," he sputtered. Blood trickled out his mouth. "They killed my men—a dozen of my best men. A dozen of your best workers! I will see to it that the Queen hears about this." He paddled towards the mermaid and tried to climb onto the fleshy mound of her shoulder that was floating just above the water's surface, but it was too slippery to get a decent grip. He tried again and failed, feeling a new dizziness overtake him. The loss of blood was too much.

He exhaled and felt the life inside of him begin to wither and slip away.

"You're holding up your crew, captain," she said indifferently.

"I can't swim, you blasted cretin of the sea," he breathed. "They...killed my men. Don't you see? And they took my legs." Once more, he tried to climb onto her arm. But this time, he was met with a pair of teeth around his chest. They snapped shut, pulled his flailing body out of the water, and then opened just wide enough and just long enough for him to drop into the cavern of the mermaid's mouth. There, he was torn apart.

"You're useless to us then," she said, spitting his mangled body onto the deck of his own ship. "Elect a new captain for your vessel, or a new one will be appointed at the end of the day. The rest of you—move along! Now."

She slapped the flat end of her fin against the water, creating a wave that helped to propel the ships forward, and swam off in the opposite direction. A tiny trail of blood followed.

Nobody said a word for a moment. Then, with a shrug, Blackthorn dipped the oars back into the water.

"Lucky bastards," he said. "They never have to deal with these monsters again."

"You could've joined them, you know," Malkav said.

"Mind your tongue, boy. If I wanted to go the way of the mermaids, I wouldn't do it like that. I'd take out as many of them as I could."

Captain Jargon, still standing at the helm of the ship, leaned his head over the railing and spit. "Blast it all. I need a drink."

"You always need a drink. Filthy drunk."

"Captain Ludwig was a good man!" Jargon snapped.

"Aye. I know he was, you crusty old barnacle. That doesn't change the fact that he just went belly-up like a damn fish."

"No..." Jargon returned to the wheel. "No, it doesn't."

Fayrelin soon appeared with a case of rum and handed a bottle to Jargon. "Cheers. Let's hope our captain doesn't share a similar fate."

Jargon bit off the cap with his teeth and began chugging.

"I think we can all drink to that, little lady," Blackthorn said, grabbing two more bottles. He tossed one to Malkav, who opened it, took a long swig, and stared off at the gray sky that was getting bigger and bigger. Before long, they had reached that dull-colored horizon, at the place where it touched the water's edge, and passed through the stone walls. A glass tunnel allowed them to see the whole city of Atlantis above, below, and all around them. Its dazzling, artificial lights twinkled like a million bright stars and would have blinded them if they weren't so used to it and one of them wasn't already blind.

Malkav looked away. This was always the worst part of the trip—having to look at this horribly wondrous place through walls that could never be breached. He tightened his grip on the bottle's neck and wanted to vomit.

Fayrelin watched him from behind. Then she offered a bottle to Adam, who refused and retired to the ship's lower deck in silence. Sighing, she stepped over to Exthame, put her elbows on the railing next to him, and cracked open the bottle.

"...I'd offer you a sip," she said, "but, after sailing the seas with you for so long, I can safely say I know what your answer will be."

He smiled, but told her anyway. "It dulls the senses."

She nodded, put a hand under her chin, and handed over the bottle.

He took it and drank more than a little.

-------------------------

When they at last arrived at their destination, about an hour later, they disembarked from the ship and began stacking a rail cart with their supplies. They did so in silence because they were under the constant watch of mermaids who were perched on the large boulders surrounding the cave. At the hips of those mermaids were the decaying bones of sailors who had decided to talk when they should have been unloading their boats.

When they finished, Blackthorn seized the handle of the rail cart and began pulling it along the track. Jargon pushed the cart from behind while Malkav, Adam, and Fayrelin followed alongside him. Exthame trailed the pack, guided through an ancient cavern by the footsteps of his companions, making muddy splashes against the earth, and the squeaking wheels of the rail cart as it wobbled down the rickety trackway.

They waited until they could hear the rushing of water and the scent of salt trickled into their noses before they spoke again.

"It's imperative that we keep a low profile for now on," Malkav said, keeping his voice hushed in case there were any mermaids patrolling the underwater tunnels of the cavern. "We don't want to draw any more attention to ourselves than is necessary."

Fayrelin gave him a harsh glare. Even though the cavern was dark, there were occasional lanterns hanging from the ceiling like glowing bats, allowing just enough light to make out the faintest details on each other's faces. And she had seen that grimace on his face.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked. "I've been a rogue for a lot longer than you, Malkav. I'm practically a shadow around this place."

"You are not. Your popularity is becoming a threat to everybody here, and, more importantly, to the mission."

"Well, excuse me for being a girl."

"It's not that."

"Then what is it?"

He grunted something inaudible.

"Hey." Fayrelin seized his arm. "Don't forget. I'm taking all the risks here. If something goes wrong, you can always pull out—no questions asked. But I'm as good as dead if that happens."

"Then it's a good thing I'm not going to let anything happen to you, isn't it?"

"...Yeah, it is." She released him.

He rubbed his arm. Her fingernails were a lot sharper than she let on.

"I'd feel better if you said we have a mutual arrangement," he said.

"We do," she said, a bit too quickly.

"Glad to hear it, Fay..." He eyed her in the dark before they continued through the tunnel.

"The seaman has a point," Jargon said. "You're getting a little too friendly with those pygmy friends of yours."

Fayrelin rolled her eyes. "Oh, so now I'm not allowed to hang out with my own kind? You guys are really something."

"Nobody said that," Adam said, in a weak attempt to comfort her.

"I did," Jargon said. He and Blackthorn snickered.

Fayrelin's face turned so red that it was radiating more than the lanterns overhead.

"And you guys wonder why I don't want to be seen with you," she hissed.

"They don't mean it," Adam said. "They just think that you should...you know...spend more time with us, so that you don't...um...like..."

"Adam, shut up."

"Right."

"...Look, you need to make a decision," Malkav said. "You were fine before, but I need to know if you're in or out. I can't wait until the last minute for you to decide whose side you're on.."

"You don't need to," she said. "You know my decision."

"I want to hear it from you."

"Words are cheap, Malkav. I'm a woman of action."

"I thought you were a pygmy," Adam said.

"You better decide what you are, Miss Fayrelin," Malkav said as they came to the final bend in the cavern. "I don't care what side you pick, honestly, but you're going to wind up dead if you get caught in the crossfire. I hope you understand that."

"Look," she whispered. "I have been many things in my life, but I have always known what I want. Jargon owes me money and a ship, so I traveled with him to collect. And you, Malkav—you are carrying something on your person that will allow us to find the greatest treasure this ocean floor has to offer." She shook her head, partly out of disgust and partly out of disbelief in the lack of trust around her. "I think of all of us here, I have the most reason to see your little plan come to fruition. Don't kid yourself; I want that treasure. And once I have my share—and Jargon's share, because he owes me that much—I am done. No more ridiculous high-sea adventures or underwater capers for Fayrelin. I'm packing my things and going back home to live happily ever after with my new-found fortune, so don't you screw it up for me."

All Jargon heard was that he wasn't getting part of the treasure and he threw down his hat.

"Now, hang on, you little filcher," he said. "If it wasn't for your grand idea to go after Gravy Bone's treasure in the first place, I'd still have my ship and we wouldn't be trapped here!"

"It was my ship," Fayrelin corrected him. "And it's not my fault that you sank it. Now you owe me another one."

"Why, I oughta slap you silly, you ungrateful pyg—"

"Do it." She pushed him, or at least tried to. "You want to pick a fight with me? When the mermaids catch us, I'll be picking up trash for a week—and your bones will be picking the teeth of the mermaid that just gobbled you up. That's your future here, captain. That's the future of you all if you don't start trusting me."

He huffed and nearly exploded. "If I still had my ship, you'd be walking the plank right now, lassie!"

"If you still had your ship, then you wouldn't have to pretend to be captain of that stupid ferry you shuttle us in every morning."

"Shut up—both of you," Malkav said, stopping the cart with his foot. "...Captain, Fayrelin is right. She's the only one of us with any sort of protection in this place and we need her if we want the plan to work. If she decides we aren't worth helping, or if she decides to bail on us, then we might as well start covering ourselves in tartar sauce and do the tango right onto a mermaid's plate."

Fayrelin grinned at Jargon. "That's right. Little Jar-Jar would make some mermaid's belly very happy, mesa thinks."

"And Fay..." Malkav seized her arm and dragged her into a dark corner of the cave, where they would be out of hearing range of the others. "What the hell has gotten into you?"

"I don't like it here," she said.

"Well, neither do I. That's no reason to make jokes about us getting eaten. You know how...sensitive those guys can be."

"Jargon knows I'm only kidding," she said, and then she raised her voice so he could hear her. "He's too disgusting to make a decent meal anyway!"

Malkav squeezed her arm harder until she began to wince.

"I know you don't care about anybody but yourself," he whispered into her ear. "I know you're selfish and want all that treasure for yourself. I also know that if wasn't for this, you wouldn't have had any reason to bring me along this crazy expedition of yours." He unbuttoned the top of his shirt and revealed one of the four pieces of the legendary Scarab of the Elements, glowing a bright shade of green, that was dangling from a chain around his neck. "But unfortunately for you, the Scarab of Earth only responds to me. That's why you need me."

"You're hurting me," she said.

He didn't loosen his grip. "You know... We've been in this underwater hell for three years now. I honestly can't remember what my life was like before I met you...but I do know that, ever since that day, my life has turned to shit... And I've done a lot of thinking."

"Yeah?" Fayrelin flinched. "About what?"

"About you. I've done a lot of thinking about you."

"Ha, I should be flattered... Anything good?"

He laughed a little and looked up, as if he was trying to recall some faint memory. "You know, I remember when you first told us about the treasure of Gravy Bones. You said it was buried somewhere in Atlantis and we were just supposed to...walk into their city under the ocean and take it. Just like that."

She smiled, though the pain was making her arm numb. "Maybe I omitted a detail or two."

"A detail or two? Oh, that's funny." He twisted her arm around and pinned the side of her face against the cavern wall. His forearm was being used as a brace against the back of her neck. "See, I realize now that it really wasn't too hard to reach Atlantis. I mean, all you needed was a ship and a crew—Jargon provided you with both of those, because he's a bloody alcoholic and easy to trick into anything—and this." He held the scarab near her face so she could watch the glittering amulet swing back and forth. "Now, somewhere in Gravy Bones' treasure trove, amongst the piles of gold and jewelry and priceless gemstones that lesser Men and pygmies have killed for, there's a tiny piece of a beetle that looks something like this. Only it's blue. And it's the Scarab of Water."

"Everybody knows that piece was buried with Gravy Bones," Fayrelin said. "We just don't know where to go."

"Ah, that's right. But then...if you carry one of the other pieces of the scarab with you, finding another piece isn't so hard. The pieces speak to each other. And do you know how many nights I've had to lie awake in this prison, listening to the Scarab of Water call out to me? It's damn close, Fay. The scarab wants to be put back together."

"That's not my problem," she said. "I already said you could have the scarab. I just want the shiny stuff and I'm through."

"How did you expect to get it, Fay?"

"What?"

"How did you expect to get the treasure of Gravy Bones?"

"With your help, dummy!" she laughed. "I saved your life for one reason, and that was helping me to locate that treasure. You were my answer to an early retirement." When he didn't respond, she studied his face and tried not to make her oncoming smile too noticeable. "Come on. You can't be surprised that I've been using you."

"No," he said. "I've known that since the beginning. What I can't understand is how you expected to get out of Atlantis once you got here. Even if we found the treasure of Gravy Bones and all your dreams of gold and diamonds came true, the mermaids aren't going to let five Men and a pygmy walk out of here." He paused. "But then...they might let the pygmy go, if she had something to offer. Because, after all, pygmies and mermaids have a lot in common, don't they?"

Fayrelin's face got very serious.

"I am not a Woman," she said, "and I most certainly not a mermaid. I would prefer you not to associate me with such things, Malkav. I take a lot of pride in my pygmy heritage."

"I just wonder, Fay, if you had any intention of leaving this place with the same people you came here with."

Her eyes narrowed.

"It's a good thing our plans have changed, isn't it?" he asked smugly.

"That's enough. Let my arm go, Malkav. The mermaids are coming."

He released her without verifying her claim and buttoned up his shirt. "...Like I said, I've done a lot of thinking about you, Fay. And no, most of it is not good."

She glared at him and brushed off the dust that had accumulated on her shirt. "Then what part of it is good, Malkav? Huh? That you haven't been dinner for the mermaids yet? That I haven't stabbed you in the back like the liar and thief and horrible person that I am?"

"No," he said. "It's that, despite all you've done to ruin our lives, I've somehow fallen in love with you."

A letter from Kaligar:

Isabella,

It has been ages since you last replied to one of my letters, but your lady Fallon assures me that you will answer this one. With that said, new Queen of Ellewyn, I am requesting the aid of your country, in its strongest and most sincere form, should this incident with the Dark Lady Sorena be brought to our mutual shores.

As you are aware—and have made an incessant habit of reminding us—Kaligar is a poor country and we are a simple people. Much of our land is untouched by human hands, and our people are too far removed, both geographically and socially, to be governed properly. We do not have the resources, nor the funds, nor the luxury of an organized militia to fight off an invasion. I have been promised protection in our city of Masiela, but I fear for the many tribal groups living outside these stone walls who would be defenseless against such an attack.

Our past, like the past that exists between our two great kingdoms, has been troubled—of this, I am sure you know. But now is the time to release those sour grievances. When Ellewyn has called for support, has Kaligar not always been the first to extend her hand? Now is the day for the hand of Ellewyn to come to our aid. Unite our kingdoms in this battle, and together we will show Sorena that we are sisters of blood and will never succumb to her barbaric ways. We will not see Adelais fall a second time.

If you cannot do this for me, Isabella, then do this for the people of your land. We both know you could use the public approval.

With deep concern,
Princess Erika

-------------------------

"Your Highness," a middle-aged woman said as she pushed through the oak doors of the throne room. "We have received another message from Kaligar."

The young girl on the throne looked up, her face brightened from what it must have looked like before. "Is it from Fallon? Oh, Rebecca—tell me she wrote back and has decided to forgo her stay in that dreadful place!"

"I'm sorry, Isabella. This message comes from Princess Erika."

Isabella sank back into her seat and began to pout. "Oh... Do with it what you want. Burn it, crumple it up, eat it with some crumpets and your afternoon tea—I don't care. Just don't read it to me."

"My dear," the older woman said, while maintaining a graceful composure. "On any other day, with any other letter, I would be all too happy to do as you request. But you appointed me to the position of a countess again for a reason—a good reason, mind you—because you know I am perfect for the job. We should all know our place. Such as you! You are a bright young lady and you simply have too much on your mind to handle the annoying squabbles that plague the common people."

"Ugh, I know. People can be simply irritating, the way they want me to solve their every problem, like I'm some kind of miracle-worker."

"Yes, it is disgraceful. However, this is where I come in! I listen to these peasants and I decide which ones are whining like simple children and which ones are truly worthy of your ear. I do this so you do not have to, and it allows you to tend to far more important matters here in the castle." She smiled up at the queen, who was barely half her age, and waited for permission to proceed.

Isabella pondered her words for a moment. "Well, that does save me a lot of time for myself... Does Erika want something from me?"

"She does, but—"

"Throw it away!"

"But this is something you may want to hear. The princess of Kaligar, Miss High Horse herself, is on her hands and knees and begging for your help."

"Oooh, I like begging when it comes from people-who-have-power-like-me-but-aren't-as-powerful-as-me-even-though-they-think-they-are form," Isabella said, clapping her hands. She was a queen of only twenty-three and had a face that revealed no signs of stress or discomfort from all the duties that one would expect to fall upon her shoulders. In fact, she looked rather carefree as she shifted about in her giant cushioned seat and leaned back into a wall of pillows.

Like the portrait behind her showed, she had thick brown hair that rained down from her crown in long, twisted curls, and she was wearing a bluish-green gown that flowed just as smoothly and flawlessly down her legs. Around her neck, she wore three or four pearl necklaces, and she would occasionally play with them as she talked.

"Okay," she said, wrapping her pinky finger around one of the strings of pearls. "Read it to me."

"Of course," Rebecca said. She held up a parchment that she had been carrying and put on her reading glasses.

Not two sentences into the letter, she was interrupted.

"No, no, no," Isabella said. The pearls rattled along with the shaking of her hand. "It's all wrong."

Rebecca looked up. "I'm sorry?"

"Your presentation—it's awful. Simply awful, Rebecca."

"I...was merely reading what she wrote."

"Yeah, but Erika is dull," the queen said. "She could put ghosts to sleep with the way she writes."

"Well, what would you have me do?"

"When Fallon reads me a letter, she acts it out."

Rebecca lowered the parchment. "You...wish me to play the part of Erika?"

"Yes, yes! That would be wonderful."

"Shall I stuff my breasts with watermelons then?"

"Um, no... It's a bit much to look the part. But you need to put some feeling into what you're reading. Make me care." She put her hands behind her head. "Fortunately for you, that shouldn't be too hard. I'm a very caring person."

"I will try," Rebecca said, "although I find it hard to believe that your courier can play the role of every person who writes a letter to you. I've seen how many you get in a day. That would take a tremendous amount of talent."

"Well, Fallon is a terrific actor. I would be impressed if you could even come close to her performance."

"I could not hope to do her justice," Rebecca said, but she read the letter out loud, in her best weeping voice, anyway. She even made sure to get on her knees at one point and grovel at the feet of the queen.

Isabella's grin grew and remained steady until she got to the end of the letter.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked. "'You could use the public approval'? Is she insinuating that my ratings are somehow low?"

"I'm sure she is only looking out for your best interest," Rebecca said, tucking the scroll into the pocket of her black mink robe.

"I'm sure..."

"Isabella. Do you not agree that this matter warrants your attention?"

"I don't see what the big deal is. For three years, I've heard all about how 'evil' Sorena is, but all she really wants to do is rid our world of Men. What's so bad about that?" She put her feet, quite visible through the glass slippers she was wearing, on the arm of the chair and leaned back. "I could be quite content in a world without Men, Rebecca."

"Believe me, Your Highness—a lot of Women, me included, share in your ideals. If that was the only problem we face, I wouldn't trouble you with this."

"Then why are you?"

"Because Erika has already requested a council meeting to discuss the situation with the deserts to the east. I imagine she's hoping for a response from you before then, but I feel we should know where we stand now."

"Well, talk to the council then! I'm not the only member, you know."

"No, but you're the only one with the power to make sure the right decision gets made."

The queen rolled her eyes.

"Isabella... Let me tell you a story about the council."

"No! Ugh. Your stories are a bore, Rebecca."

"This is a good one! It's a story about a beautiful princess who one day became a queen."

"B-o-r-i-n-g!"

"Before she became queen, though, this princess used to sing all the time. Why, she could sing like you wouldn't believe! She learned how from a very young age, and it wasn't long after that bards from all over the world would travel to the castle to be inspired by her. They would hear her voice and they would wonder, 'Who is this girl who calls herself a princess? She sings so wonderfully that she should be nothing less than an angel!' And they were right. This girl could be anything she wanted to be—anything in the world! ...But there was a problem, you see, for the princess had an evil mother. Her mother, the wicked queen of the land, refused to entertain her daughter's ideals. She hated music and laughter. She called her daughter foolish and childish and said that she would never make a proper queen. And so, her mother kept her locked in the castle day and night, bade the bards to never return, and hid the princess' talent from the world..."

Isabella sat up quietly.

"Fortunately, the princess had a wonderful—and almost as beautiful—aunt who recognized her gift. The aunt knew that the princess would someday became queen and inherit all the land from her wicked mother. Then she could do with the kingdom what she saw fit! But these were dark times in the kingdom and the land was filled with vermin that the evil queen allowed to run free. These despicable creatures would creep around in the shadows at night and make the streets unsafe for Women. It got so bad that the aunt had to take action, to see that the princess would still have a kingdom worth reigning over! For, if not, then the evil queen would have won, and the land would forever be filled with vermin..."

"You mean Men?"

"Yes, Men!" Rebecca exclaimed. "You should know by now that you are this princess, and that this story is true."

"Yes, but I don't see how that relates to the present situation."

"Do you know how I lost my position as countess?"

"Um, you told boring stories?"

"It was by the will of the council, my dear! The very people I trusted turned their backs on me when I decided to take a strong and necessary stand against the race of Men." Rebecca stepped forward. "I wanted you to inherit a great kingdom, Isabella—and they cast me aside like a sack of old grain."

"Uh-huh..."

"But more importantly, I fear they may do the same to you."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, if you should choose to aid Erika—"

"I never said I was going to help her."

"That may be. But there are members on the council who will see this as the opportune time to seize the throne right out from under you."

"They can't do that! I'm the queen."

"And I was a countess," Rebecca said. "Now I am again, thanks to you, but I was stripped of that title by a room full of buffoons who thought they could do a better job than me."

"Whatever... That can't happen to me."

"They're jealous of you, Isabella—as they rightfully should be! But you must understand... If they are led to believe you made the wrong decision in this matter, they could vote against you and take over the throne. Not even your famous Black Knight could protect you from that."

"Ugh..." Isabella scowled. "This is all Erika's fault."

"I agree. Why should you come to her kingdom's aid when she is setting you up for such an obvious downfall?"

"That was probably her plan."

"It's likely," Rebecca mused. "Erika is a lot like your mother. She pretends to care about her people, but, at the end of the day, all she really wants is her seat of power."

"Well, she's not having mine. Nobody is. I waited a long time for this."

"I know. Unfortunately, Erika isn't the wise, peace-loving ruler you are. She was raised on an archaic belief that Men are necessary for a people to prosper, and her kingdom relies much too heavily on Penee for their technology and slave labor. If Penee falls to Sorena, Kaligar would crumble not soon after... I fear Erika realizes this, and—in her greed to retain power—she is willing to send Kaligar to war. And for what? A kingdom of Men!"

"It is a silly notion when you put it that way."

"It is—and she wishes us to join her, Your Highness. Us! She would see Ellewyn fall if she doesn't get her way."

"Well, I would never agree to helping Men." Isabella put a finger through one of her pearl necklaces. "Now, if Erika came to me and wanted to stomp Penee to the ground, I'd gladly put on my best boots and join her, but... Well, Erika never was that much fun anyway."

"Then you have decided to decline Erika's request?" Rebecca asked.

"Yes, yes... Declined."

"Very good," Rebecca said. "Shall I write the response letter for you?"

"I wasn't going to do it myself."

"Of course..."

"Are we done now?"

"Well, there's still one issue remaining."

Isabella sighed—longer and louder than what was necessary for this situation, or any other.

"Even if you decide not to send Ellewyn to war, the council will try to make attacks against you. This is a common technique of those who seek power. You see, many years ago..."

"Not another story!" Isabella plugged her ears.

"Many years ago, when your mother wore the crown, a truce was formed between Ellewyn and Kaligar. In the agreements of this doctrine, Kaligar promised loyalty to Ellewyn, if allowed to remain autonomous, and Ellewyn promised to aid Kaligar during a time of war. Now, this conflict between Sorena and Penee—"

"—is hardly what I would call a war," Isabella interrupted. "For it to be a war, there would have to be hope for the other side, and we all know that isn't the case."

Rebecca's mouth froze in mid-sentence. She was stunned.

"...That..." she said. Her hand even began to tremble. "...Isabella, that is brilliant!"

"What?"

"When the council meets to discuss your decision—and criticize every minute detail of it, as they are prone to do—they will almost certainly bring up the terms of the agreement we have with Kaligar as an opposition. But if we can prove this affair with Sorena and Penee is a one-sided battle at best, they won't have a defense to use against us. Nothing in the truce says we are permitted to send Ellewyn to her doom." The older woman bowed her head out of respect. "I am at a loss for words, Isabella. I now know why your mother was so intimidated by you... She knew that you would someday surpass her. Three years on the throne and you're already a greater ruler than she ever was."

Isabella rolled her eyes again.

"We will crush the other council members like Men when they try to argue against you!"

Isabella grinned at the thought of being to squeeze Master Luna between her fingertips, or pop off the head of Nikkilet or one of the druids... That would teach them for making her sit at the kid's table at every one of those council meeting before she took the crown.

"If that is all, Your Highness..." Rebecca said.

"Oh!" Isabella said, snapping out of her wonderful daydream. "Before you go do whatever it is you do around here, there is something I need you to do for me."

"Your wish is my command."

"I know. Now, seek out one of my maids...and have her bring up a new court jester."

"Another one? What happened to the one you were just given?"

"You're standing on him."

Rebecca lifted her shoe. Underneath, the flattened remains of a Man in a red and yellow—but mostly red now—costume looked up at her from the plush carpet of the same color. The jester's hands and feet were bound together and a juggling ball was stuffed in his mouth and held in place by a tiny handkerchief that was likely his own.

"I...take it you weren't too fond of his jokes," Rebecca said.

"His jokes were okay," the queen said. "It was his stories that I didn't appreciate."

Rebecca smiled sheepishly. "Of course... Pardon me, Your Highness. I'll have a maid sent up right away."

-------------------------

About ten minutes later, a well-dressed maid appeared at the entrance to the throne room. She had her hands cupped, one over the other, and she stood like a statue in the doorway with her legs pressed tightly together, as if she were waiting to be summoned forward.

"Did you bring me another fool?" Isabella eventually asked, after making her stand there awkwardly for long enough.

"I did," the maid said.

"Then why don't you give him to me and be on your way?"

"With all due respect, Your Highness, I think it may be best to wait until we receive the next shipment of fools." She lowered her hands and then her voice to a whisper. "He's not like the others, you see."

"Why? Does he have a brain?"

"No. I mean, yes, b-but..."

"B-b-but what?" Isabella mocked her. "Does the cat have your tongue?"

The maid opened her mouth to speak, but, instead of words, her tongue came rolling out. There was a Man on top of it, dressed in fools' clothes, and he wrestled with the slimy pink monster for a good ten seconds before finally pinning it down and raising his arms in triumph.

"No, but I do!" he exclaimed.

The maid was so shocked that she couldn't shut her mouth if she tried. She uncurled her fingers and stared down at her empty hands.

"How did you do that?" she tried to say, but the fool had seated himself comfortably on her tongue, so her words were garbled and slurred.

Isabella looked at her like she would look at a cockroach right before she splatted it against the wall. "Ugh, didn't your mother teach you any manners? You're not supposed to talk with your mouth full of food. Stupid."

"What about a mouth full of fool?" the Man asked, stepping out of the open mouth. He fell, arms folded casually across his chest, and landed in the maid's open palms.

"That's even worse."

"I'm sorry, Your Highness!" the maid stammered. "I don't know how he got there. But now you see what I mean! I knew right away that we should leave this one alone. He's bad to the bone."

"If you can't handle a little Man, maybe you should rethink your position, Maid with No Name."

"Aw, don't be so hard on that poor thing," the fool said. "She can't help that I pulled the wool over her eyes."

"You did no such thing," the maid said, coming to her own defense. Then she squealed as the wool cap on her head suddenly dropped over her eyes. She grabbed for it, stumbled back, and banged her head against the door.

"Am I really that baaah-d to the bone?" the fool asked. "Or am I a wolf in sheep's clothing? You decide."

The maid threw down her cap. "That's it, you little imp! I've had it with you."

But even in her rage, she knew to ask permission before killing a member the court. She looked up, hoping to get the okay from the queen, but all she got was a finger in her general direction and a barreling series of laughs from Isabella.

"You idiot," Isabella said. "You have to be the worst maid I've ever owned. You just let a Man get the best of you!"

The maid's face burned with embarrassment. She didn't know what to say.

"Bring that fool over here. That is, if you know how to walk!" Then Isabella laughed even harder and had to push her fingers into her eye sockets to keep the tears from flooding her face.

Putting a hand over the fool, the maid walked forward slowly, with her head held down, and waited for Isabella to quiet down before placing the fool in her lap.

"I'm sorry—" the maid started to say, but Isabella began flailing her hand in the air like she was shooing away an invisible fly.

"Yes, you are," the queen said. "Now, get out of here. You disgust me."

The maid walked away, clenching her fists and gritting her teeth and muttering obscenities about the race of Men under her breath. If the oak doors hadn't been so much taller and heavier than her, she probably would have slammed them shut, but she just left them open because it was easier to do, and stormed out of the room.

When they were alone, the fool wiped his brow.

"Finally," he said. "I thought she would never leave."

Isabella stared down at the small creature in her lap.

"She got off easy," she said. "She doesn't have to entertain me. That's your job."

"I don't think so."

Isabella raised an eyebrow. "No?"

The fool took off his cap and bowed. "No. Entertaining you would be my pleasure." Then he put the cap back on. "My job is nothing of the such, I am afraid."

"Your job is precisely what I tell you it is," the queen answered. "You would be wise to remember that."

"But if I were wise, I could not be a fool, for a fool is not wise by any definition of the word. And, because you requested entertainment and not philosophy, you must agree that I would do well to remain unwise and do as I do as a fool so that I may entertain you, even if my pleasure becomes of it, so that it may lead to the outcome most desirable to us both."

Isabella pretended to understand him.

"Like I said," she said, "you will entertain me."

"My pleasure."

"No! My pleasure."

"I know it is."

Isabella scrunched her nose into a ball. "Ugh. What do you do anyway, you useless thing?"

"I tell stories."

"That gets you killed around here."

"In that case, I do magic tricks."

"Oooh..." Isabella said, fluffing one of the pillows behind her back. "Well, let's see one of them! Maybe I'll get to show you my magic trick where I make a fool disappear underneath my foot."

"You must show me that one some day," the fool said.

"I'd love to." She looked back down at her lap, but the fool had somehow climbed up her arm and was now standing on her shoulder.

"For my first trick," he said, "I will...say, what's this?"

Without warning, he stuck his arms and head entirely into Isabella's ear. She nearly swatted him then and there, but just when she had her hand raised and was ready to swing, he came out with a gold coin that was bigger than him, and dropped back onto her shoulder.

"I've heard of putting money where your mouth is, but I guess you royal types would rather go with a body part less used," he said.

Instead of bringing her hand down on top of him, Isabella grabbed the coin and turned it over between her thumb and forefinger, searching for a false catch or trick of some sort. When she didn't find one, she scratched it with her fingernail, and when the coating didn't peel away, she put the coin in her mouth and bit down on it.

Unfortunately, it wasn't edible either.

When she at last determined the coin was solid gold, she folded her arms across her chest and did her best to look unimpressed.

"...I know you pulled it out of your sleeve," she said.

The fool snapped his fingers. "So you've seen that one before."

"I may be young, but I wasn't born yesterday."

"My mistake then."

"Quite." She stifled a yawn. "I do hope you have more, fool."

"Of course I do!" he said, reaching into the queen's ear and pulling out another coin.

She glared at him and then snatched the coin away, flicking it across the room. But when she turned back, the fool was standing on a whole stack of gold coins.

"I meant more ways to entertain me, you blasted fool," she said, knocking over the tower with a brush of her hand.

The fool jumped just in time. The coins went scattering across the floor and he landed, after a short tumble and a somersault or two, back in the relative safety of her lap.

"...I can see you are one who isn't satisfied by simple parlor tricks," he said, standing up on the folds of her teal-colored gown. "But I have for you a surprise that I think we will both enjoy."

Isabella drummed her fingers across the arm of her throne. "I feel we differ greatly in our opinions of what is enjoyable."

Suddenly, the maid ran back into the room. She was screaming and wheeling about in circles and clawing at her hair and slapping her uniform all over, like she had some kind of disease.

"Get them off me!" she cried, rubbing her back against the wall. When that didn't work, she dropped to the floor and started rolling around like a person on fire.

Isabella watched her, annoyed, amused, and curious.

"What's your problem?" she asked when the curious side finally took over.

"I think she's just a little antsy," the fool said. "Could be stress from work, something she ate..." He watched the maid strip out of her clothes. "Or maybe the swarm of fire ants that found a way into her undergarments."

When Isabella saw the tiny specks of red that were crawling over the maid's uniform and face, she started laughing so hard that she almost fell out of her throne. Her actions knocked the fool over, but he didn't seem to mind bouncing around in the queen's lap too much, because they were both having a good laugh at the maid's expense.

"I know you had something to do with this!" the maid screamed at the fool. She threw her clothes to the floor and began stomping on them. She pretended every one of those insects was that cursed fool.

But to Isabella, a half-naked servant covered in ants and bite marks was a truly hilarious sight to behold, so she just kept laughing, even after all the ants were dead and the maid had put back on her clothes and stormed out of the room again after swearing revenge on the fool.

Isabella stopped laughing just long enough to yell at her. "That's right—and don't bug us again!" Then she started up again because of her awful pun.

But when she at last realized she had been enjoying the antics of a Man, she quickly and entirely recomposed herself. A long brush of her hair and a deliberate straightening of the crown on her head was enough to hide that smile that she didn't want him to see.

"So, do you have a name, you horrible fool?" she asked.

He sat on her thigh. "If I did have a name, would you call me by such a thing?"

"I guess not. I'd make up something more suiting...like 'Squish,' for the sound you'll inevitably make."

"Then I will extend to you the same courtesy," he proclaimed, "by not calling you by your name."

She scowled. "You will do not such thing!"

"I think I will."

"Fine. Then I think you're going to live up to your name very soon, Squish."

"Well, if you would prefer," he said, "I will call you by your true name then, regardless of what you may call me."

"I think that would be a wise choice, even for a fool."

"Then it is settled! From this day forth, you may call me Squish. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Isabella."

Isabella!? Nobody was allowed to call her that but Fallon and a few select Women of the court. For a Man to speak that name in her presence was unspeakable.

For this joker to do it was beyond words.

But just when she was about to tell him this by belting him across the face with the heel of her slipper, she realized that, by protesting, she would be admitting to having been tricked by a fool. So, angrily, she bit down her tongue, a little harder than she needed to, and pretended everything was fine. Hopefully the fool would be none the wiser.

But the twinkle in his eye told otherwise.

"...Let's have a story, Squish," she soon said.

"I thought you didn't want one of those."

"I changed my mind."

"Oh."

"I'm allowed to do that. I'm the queen."

"I believe you."

Her eyebrows narrowed.

"Should I make one up, or are you fine with the real thing?"

"I don't care," she said. "But it better hold my interest more than the last guy's story. If not, you'll come to the same end as him—squish!"

"What?"

"What?"

"Nevermind."

Isabella blinked.

With a sly and clever grin, the fool got comfortable in her lap, because he knew this would be a long tale. A long tale, indeed.

"I do have one story," he said, removing his cap and setting it on his knees. "Tell me, Isabella... Have you ever heard of the Circus?"

-------------------------

Far away, in the lush green fields of southern Ellewyn, after night had cloaked all the land and each blade of grass bowed to the wind and reigning moonlight, a loud and colorful commotion drew nearby villagers away from their homes. Captivated by the sounds of something unfamiliar, they left quickly, quietly, with candles still burning in the windows. They went out to see the wonder.

Atop a great hill, just off a weather-beaten path, and surrounded on three sides by trees and forested woodland, two large horse-drawn trailers had been pulled alongside each other. Their inner walls were dropped, now parallel to the ground, and latched together to create a stage. The inside of one trailer was hidden behind a curtain that acted as a fourth wall. In the other, there were rows of benches set up, where an audience of about twenty Women were seated. Every now and then, another curious villager would climb into the trailer, look around, and find a seat in the back. Once it was an older woman, a scarf wrapped around her face and her hands still wet with soap suds, and another time it was a mother with her two eager-eyed daughters, who had, on this occasion, been allowed to stay up past their bedtime.

The stage in front of them had three poles—one on either side of the stage and the largest in the middle—and there was a colorful canvas that was draped over the poles and the sides of the trailer, creating something like a tent all around. Strings of lights dangled from the ceiling and blinked in uneven rhythm, twinkling like rainbow-colored stars in the twilight.

Then, rising through a trapdoor in the stage, a bearded Man appeared with a microphone in his hand and a black top hat on his head. He smiled at the audience and then spoke in a voice that thundered through the trailers.

"Ladies and gentlewomen," he said. "Now presenting Hopalong Roy Froggers and his amphibious steed!"

The curtain behind him parted slightly and momentarily, allowing a Man and the frog he was mounted on to jump through it. The frog's rider was dressed from head to toe in leather threads, like a cowboy. He tipped his hat to the audience, but he was abruptly jostled in his seat when firecrackers began to shoot across the stage. Sparks soon turned into flames, following a winding maze of cannon fuses that wound around the stage, and a series of metal hoops that had been set up were suddenly set afire.

"Whoa, girl!" Roy hollered. The flames made his skin glow, but he held tight to the reins in front of him. After adjusting the brim of the hat, he snapped the reins—once, twice, then once more while shouting—and steered his frog to the left.

The slippery-skinned steed bounded forward. The first jump was easy and they cleared the blazing hoop without trouble, but the landing put them in a rough spot for the next.

Roy leaned back in his seat and the frog, acting to his change in position, dipped back onto her hind legs. By doing this, the cowboy was able to direct her towards the next hoop.

After a few small hops, the frog crouched on all four and then sprung forward. Roy had to duck because the fire was so high and it burned his face like the tongue of a hellhound, but he held his body close to the frog's back and they made it through. Upon landing, the hairs on his brow began to sizzle.

"Through the tunnel, girl!" he commanded.

The frog somehow managed to squeeze through a narrow, blazing tube, and then made three more successful hoop-jumps through rising red flames. During the final jump, though, which was a spectacular two feet in the air, the fire nearly swallowed them alive.

But they made it through unscathed and Roy pinched out the tiny ember that was wriggling around the brim of his hat like a worm on a hook.

Then he took off his hat and waved to the appreciate audience, who were clapping for him.

"Thank you, ladies," he said, patting the frog's head. "But I couldn't have done it without my friend here."

The bearded Man ran back onto the stage. "Well, I don't know about you, folks, but I'm a little disappointed. I was hoping for some fried frog legs."

His comment was met with laughter.

"Hey, we heard that!" Roy said. He leaned over to cover the ears of his mount and then stopped. "Hey... Do frogs have ears?"

The audience laughed harder.

"No... Hey, I'm serious. Come on."

"That was great, Hopalong Roy," the bearded Man said. "Now, hop along." He escorted the cowboy and frog off the stage before turning back to the crowd . "Ladies, we have an amazing show for you tonight. For those of you who don't already know me, I am the Ringmaster, your host for tonight's festivities. But that's not nearly as important as who I'd like you to meet next. Introducing... The Clown Who Does Stupid Things Because We Ask Him To!" Then he winked. "But here at the Circus, we usually just call him Jeff."

A few cheers came from the audience.

Very few.

"...Ah, so you've heard of him," the Ringmaster said. "Well, don't worry, folks. We always save our best acts until the end."

That got them laughing again.

"For your entertainment tonight..." the Ringmaster continued. "The amazing Jeff will dive from the top of this fifteen foot high ladder into a pool of green jello that we will then auction off at the end of this show!"

He directed the audience to the pole in the middle of the stage. Up, near the top of the pole, and almost touching the ceiling of tent, was a rectangular platform where a clown in bad make-up and equally bad clothes was waving to the Women in the crowd.

"Hi, guys!" he said. "Ha, ha—you all look like ants from up here!"

That wasn't true at all, considering he was only about fourteen feet in the air, and he was the one that was the size of an ant. But it was Jeff, so nobody tried to insert logic into his statement.

Suddenly, Roy poked his head through the curtain. The frog did too, but it was the cowboy who motioned for the Ringmaster.

The Ringmaster brought the microphone over to Roy.

"Sorry, boss," the cowboy said. "We're fresh out of pools of green jello."

The Ringmaster sighed. "Dang. How many times do I have to tell you not to let your frog near the food, Roy."

"I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again."

The frog belched an apology and the audience laughed. They knew by the horrible acting that this was all part of the show.

"Well, we still need something for Jeff to jump into," the Ringmaster continued. "What else do we have back there?"

The cowboy pushed the curtain apart. "All we have is this glass of freezing cold ice water."

"That will work. Set 'er up!"

"Yes, sir!"

Roy summoned his frog and began to tie the reins around the glass. While they towed the heavy glass across the stage, the audience put down their snacks and leaned forward in their seats in awe. They had never seen a Man jump into a glass of water before.

At least, not by his own will.

When the glass was finally under the diving platform, Roy cut the reins and hopped off stage.

Jeff, the stupid clown, looked down and frowned.

"Um, guys..." he said. "I don't remember doing this in rehearsal..."

"Well, it's a good thing we're not in rehearsal then, isn't it?" the Ringmaster said.

"Oh, yeah... Good point!"

The Ringmaster turned to the audience. "Would any of you lovely ladies like the honors of doing the countdown? I'm pretty sure Jeff can't count backwards from ten."

"That's not true!" Jeff yelled. "Sophia taught me how yesterday."

"I want to do it!" one of the girls in the crowd shouted. She stood up. "Ten! Nine..."

Some of the others chimed in with her. "Eight... Seven..."

Jeff bent his legs.

"Six..."

Jeff closed his eyes.

"Five..."

Jeff opened his eyes. Jumping without his eyes open would be very stupid.

"Four..."

Jeff closed his eyes. His short term memory never was good.

"Three..."

Jeff jumped.

He wasn't very good at math either.

"Uh..." the audience said as the clown plummeted through the air.

"Did I land yet?" Jeff asked. He opened his eyes just in time to see the tidal wave that erupted from the glass when he landed. He was swept under, into a cold sea of blue, and watched the ice cubes above him crash together like mammoth-sized glaciers and then rush to fill in the void left by his body.

To the audience, it was just a small plop—like adding another ice cube to the glass—but they cheered for the clown anyway.

Jeff saw their faces through the transparent glass and waved at them until he remembered that he needed air to breathe and was forced to surface. He grabbed onto an ice cube and continued his mindless celebration inside the glass.

He was just as surprised as the audience that he wasn't killed.

"Tell the cleric she can go home," the Ringmaster whispered to Roy, who nodded and shooed away a holy Woman who was standing just offstage.

While that was going on, Jeff tried to climb out of the glass, but he had spilled so much during his entry that the water level was too low for him to pull himself up.

Fortunately, he was saved from any further embarrassment because the audience's attention was now directed towards a new figure who had come through the curtain. It was a Woman, like them, but she was obviously part of the show because she was dressed in a silk robe and a veil that covered the lower portion of her face.

"I hope I'm not late," she said, taking off her robe and setting it on a convenient table that had been set up on the stage. Underneath, she was wearing a red and blue sleeveless bodice and a matching gypsy skirt that fluttered when she walked. "I just flew in from a party in Haledon and my arms are killing me."

The audience laughed. They all knew people couldn't fly.

"You have no idea how exhausted I am," she said, taking out a small plume of colorful feathers and fanning herself. "I could really go for a drink."

Then she spotted the glass of water on the stage, picked it up, and put it to her lips.

"No!" the audience screamed.

She finished most of it in one swig and sighed happily.

"Ahh, that's better," she said.

The audience continued to shout, but she kept drinking, and only when the glass was empty did she seem to take notice of them.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

"You drank him!" they cried out in unison.

She stared at them, confused, and the Ringmaster came over and leaned against her slipper.

"It appears, my dear," he explained, "that you have swallowed our beloved clown in the quest of quenching your thirst."

"Oh..." The gypsy put a hand to her lips. "A clown? So that's why it tasted...funny."

"What are we going to do?"

"Well, this is a problem," she said. "I'm terribly sorry, Russell. But I can't be the only woman in Adelais who has ever swallowed a Man by accident. Am I right?"

A short burst of laughter came from the audience. That much was true.

It usually happened on purpose.

"I'm afraid our show is ruined," the Ringmaster said. "We can't go on without a clown. We're going to have to give all these fine people their money back."

"Good thing the tickets were free," the gypsy said, more to the audience than to the Man at her feet.

The laughs were a little louder this time.

"I guess we should start looking for another clown then."

Suddenly, a light bulb appeared above the gypsy's head. "Hmm... I got it!"

"Sorry about that," somebody said. A male stagehand came down on a wire, grabbed the fallen bulb, and screwed it back into place in the ceiling.

The gypsy stared at him blankly.

"You...said you have an idea?" the Ringmaster pressed her.

"Oh...right," the gypsy said. "I remember seeing a clown around here before."

"Where?"

The gypsy pointed to the top of the ladder. The Ringmaster and the crowd looked up and saw a familiar clown perched on the diving platform. With a big grin, the clown honked his nose and there was no doubt in anybody's mind that it was indeed Jeff, the same clown as before, waving down at them.

The audience gasped and then broke into whoops and cheers.

"Ladies—the lovely Mischievelle, Mistress of Illusions!" the Ringmaster shouted over the howls of the crowd. More applause rang out.

"Thank you, everybody," the gypsy said with a flourish. Then she pulled a microphone out of nowhere. "You know, a lot of people think illusion is a dying art. They ask, 'Why should we care about the things we cannot see?'" She bent down and picked up the Ringmaster, setting him on the mouthpiece of her microphone. "Love, fear, excitement... These are all things we cannot see. Does that mean they do not exist? Illusion is not a dying art. Illusion is simply a different channel through which we can view the world, through senses other than the eyes. To illustrate this, I would like to ask for a volunteer from the audience."

She chose a young lady from the first row.

"Children have a way of better understanding this than us adults," she explained. She waited for the little girl to make her way to the stage and then grabbed three turtle shells that were sitting on the table next to her.

"I'm sure you've seen this trick before," she said. "What I'm going to do is put our host under one of these shells and then mix them up. When I'm done, I want you to point to the shell you think he's under. Understand?"

The little girl nodded eagerly.

"Okay..." The gypsy put down her microphone, causing the Ringmaster to spill across the table. "Here we go."

"Hey, wait—!" The Ringmaster tried to stand up, but he was suddenly shoved underneath one of the turtle shells. Two more shells were placed down next to him, and then the gypsy began to shuffle them—very slowly at first, and then a bit quicker. Still, she never moved her hands quite fast enough for even the people in the back of the audience to lose track of the right shell.

When she was finished, she moved her hands away from the table. "Okay. Which one do you think he is under?"

The little girl stood on her tiptoes and pointed to the middle shell.

The gypsy lifted it, but there was nothing underneath.

"I'm sorry," she said. "He doesn't appear to be there."

The little girl was confused, and so was the audience. They had all watched the shells very closely and they knew which one he had placed under.

Before the gypsy could stop her, the little girl flipped over the other two shells. There was nothing under either of them.

"Where'd he go?" she asked.

"Well," the gypsy explained, "this trick is quite simple. When I go to mix up the shells, I simply lift the back of one of them—the side you cannot see—and flick him up my sleeve. Then I continue to shuffle them for as long as I wish and ask you which one he is under. Because your eyes are focused on the shells, you don't notice the movements of my hand."

"But, Miss Michievelle..."

"Yes?"

"You're not wearing any sleeves."

The gypsy looked down at her bare arms and blushed.

"Oh, you are right..." she said. She reached for her robe that was on the other side of the table and put her arms through it "Is that better?"

"All better for me," the Ringmaster said, crawling out of the gypsy's sleeve and into her waiting hand.

The little girl's jaw dropped and the audience cheered again.

"But... but..." the little girl stammered, holding an empty turtle shell in each hand.

Smiling, the gypsy took her by the hand and walked her back to her seat.

"But illusion isn't just about making things appear and disappear," she said, putting up her hood. "It's also about changing the way things look, are, and operate. For instance... I can change the way I look." She spun around and the color of her robe turned from white to multicolor. "I can change the way I sound. Or...I can even change what I am."

Suddenly, keeping her back to the audience, the gypsy dropped her hands and the robe she was wearing fell lifelessly to the floor. There was a hush over the crowd and then, crawling out from the fallen threads, came a tiny kitten with the same blue eyes as the gypsy.

"It's really quite amazing," the kitten said.

The audience was stunned.

The kitten flicked her tail, and then a dark-skinned Man with a whip ran onto the stage and began to taunt the feline with his rope.

"Back—back, you foul beast!" he said.

The kitten mewed and stepped back. Her paws scraped the robe on the floor.

The Ringmaster, was now sitting on the kitten's head, picked up his microphone.

"Ladies," he cried, "I'd like to introduce Big Mack, the Tamer of Vicious Beasts and Household Pets!"

"Get off of me," the kitten said, taking a wild swat at him.

The Ringmaster was knocked to the stage floor, but he quickly regained his footing and ran behind Mack.

"You've been a very bad pussy," Mack said, cracking his whip.

The kitten rolled her eyes. "That was an unnecessary choice of words."

"Back into your cage, I say!"

One of the girls in the audience stood up.

"Kick his ass!" she yelled.

The others in the crowd cheered her on.

This only caused the kitten to lick her lips and stare Mack down.

"I would hate to disappoint my fans," she purred.

Mack bopped her on the nose. She reared back, hissed, and lunged for him.

But again, he cracked his whip and she pulled back. Angrily, she circled him, but he could spin just as fast as her, and his whip was always ready to meet her maw.

Finally, she gave up and sunk on all four legs.

"Good kitty," Mack said. He stroked the kitten's nose. "Your fans are now my fans."

Then, to demonstrate how well he had tamed the vicious kitten, he commanded Mischievelle to open her mouth and he stuck his entire head inside.

"The beast has been tamed!" he called out.

The applause he got only led to him doing that a second time. This time, the cheers were even louder, so he decided to stick his whole body inside, plop down on the kitten's tongue, and flex his muscles to the crowd.

Well, he had gotten two of those three things done when the kitten got through yawning and closed her mouth. Then she tilted her head back, swallowed the dumbfounded Man, and began licking her paw.

The audience gasped and the mother of two covered the eyes of her daughters.

The kitten flicked her tail a couple times, showed the audience her shiny white teeth and empty mouth, and then pranced about happily for a minute. Afterward, she scrambled back under the robe. Then, like the magic, the robe rose up from the floor, took shape, and the gypsy had returned.

"That's one trick you certainly don't want to try at home," she said.

The audience let out a nervous laugh. Then they watched her, waiting, as if they expected something else to happen.

"What?" she asked.

"What about the Man you ate?" someone finally yelled.

"What about him?"

"Is he still there?"

Instead of answering, the gypsy bent down, pinched the Ringmaster's microphone between her fingertips, and swallowed it. The audience heard a long series of hollow thumps, followed by a whistling echo, and then a splash. There was some fumbling for a moment, and then a muffled voice came over the loudspeaker.

"...Hello?" the voice said. "Michelle? What's going on? This wasn't in the script."

"Hell hath no fury, Mack," the gypsy said, looking down at her belly.

Someone in the crowd stood up. "Now you're going to make him reappear, right?"

"No, that's it. Trick's over."

The gypsy raised her hands to the ceiling and bowed her head and gave the audience such a grand flourish that her skirt danced and skittered across the stage floor. But all the while, Mack was bowled about in her stomach like a bad dessert, and the audience could still hear his voice over the loudspeaker.

"This isn't funny," he whined. "You promised you wouldn't do this anymore!"

When she was finished, the gypsy stood up, and waved to the audience with beads and charms bouncing off her wrists

"Have a good night, everybody!" she said.

"Okay, you can let me out now," Mack said, but the gypsy skipped off stage and the microphone soon went dead.

The male stagehand from before dropped in from the ceiling and, while being suspended from a wire in midair, presented the Ringmaster with a new microphone.

"Thanks, Neil," the Ringmaster said. Then he looked out at the audience and started to wring his collar. "We'll, um...talk to Mischievelle after the show...and get this taken care of."

"I think it's time to move onto the next act," the stagehand named Neil whispered.

The Ringmaster released his collar and hopped onto Neil's unsuspecting back. "You are correct!" Then he yanked on the wire, which began to rise, and carried him and a screaming stagehand out over the crowd of Women.

"For our next act," he announced, "I am going to need some help from somebody in the audience. Do I have a volunteer?"

He scanned all the eager faces and then pointed to a girl who was sitting quietly in the back. "How about you, young lady?"

The girl blushed and put a hand over her face, but her friends eventually forced her out of her seat. She nervously weaved her way through the crowd.

"And what is your name?" the Ringmaster asked.

The girl offered him her hand, which he jumped into it.

"Valerie..." she said quietly.

"Valerie... How would you like to meet the World's Strongest Man?"

"Oh, I'd like that very much."

"I'm sorry—I have tiny ears. I couldn't hear you."

He held the microphone up and she leaned her face down next to it.

"I'd like that very much," she repeated.

The audience applauded. Red as a flower, she followed the stairs down to the stage and was greeted by a bald Man no bigger than the total length of her nose. He stood with his hands behind his back and smiled up at her.

"Valerie," the Ringmaster said, "I'd like you to meet my good friend, Wallace—or, as we like to call him, the World's Strongest Man!"

Valerie reached down to shake his hand. Then she remembered his size, turned even redder, and only held out her pinky.

He shook it and didn't seem to take any offense.

She did her best not to giggle. The World's Strongest Man? If she wasn't careful, she might accidentally crush him with her smallest finger.

"Now, Valerie," the Ringmaster said. "What I'm about to ask you to do might shock you, but I'm sure you've heard what I'm about to say a million times before." He paused for a moment. "Valerie... Step on that Man!"

It did, in fact, shock her. She almost fell over, but the cheers from the crowd seemed to catch her and edge her on. After all, it wasn't often that they came across a Man who was willing to die.

Usually that took some effort on their part.

"I...I don't know," she said, shifting from one foot to the other.

"It's okay, Valerie," Wallace said. Even without a microphone to his face, his voice boomed across the tent. "I'm a trained professional."

"A professional at being stepped on?" she asked.

Snickers rose from the crowd, but Wallace simply nodded his head.

Valerie looked down. She was wearing thick leather boots that came up to her knees. There was no way a Man could survive a full, boot-on-body collision with those.

"If you're worried about your shoes," the Ringmaster said, "the Circus will graciously reimburse you if you ruin them during this act."

She shook her head. "No, it's not that."

"If you don't step on him, I will!" some fat, obnoxious woman with a hot dog yelled.

Wallace glanced over at her and then back at Valerie, retaining his calm and gentle demeanor.

"I don't think any of us want to see that, Valerie," he said.

She gave a trying smile, followed by a giggle, and then nodded.

"Okay," she said. "...Um, does it matter which foot?"

He shook his head.

With trembling knees, Valerie raised her right foot. She moved it forward and held it a few inches over Wallace head, and then slowly brought her foot down. When it touched him, though, she pulled back.

"I can't do it," she said.

The fat woman stood up. "Oh, for the love of Dai Celesta—let me do it!"

But the sudden noise started Valerie. She lost her balance and brought her full weight down on Wallace. Before she could react, he disappeared under her boot. She brought both her hands up to her lips and gasped, but she didn't even think to move her foot.

"N-no..." she said. "I'm sorry."

The fat woman downed her fourth hot dog of the night. "Ha, ha! That's one less Man to eat our food."

A few people in the audience booed her, a few threw food, and a few moved to a new seat that didn't have a large hippo blocking their view of the show.

Valerie almost broke into tears. Then, suddenly, she felt something moving around underneath her foot. Could he still be alive, she wondered, and her heart skipped a beat. She started to lift her leg, but then she realized—her foot was already off the floor! She looked down and stared in disbelief. The Man was not only still alive, but he was heaving his way to freedom against the weight of her entire leg.

Wallace grunted. His back was arched, with one leg bent out in front of him and the other held stiffly behind him for support, and he carried the bulk of the girl's boot on his massive two inch-wide shoulders.

When he had lifted the foot about four inches off the stage, Valerie lost her balance and fell backwards. But he was as quick as he was strong, and he barreled towards her backside like a cannonball and caught her before she hit the floor. And there he stood, a Man among Men, holding up this Woman with one hand and not a bead of sweat on his face.

Then he bent at the knees and tossed Valerie back onto her feet, as gently as a cloud.

"W-wow..." was all she could say. That's all the audience could say as well. They just gawked at the miniature wonder and forgot to applaud or even breathe.

The only person in the stands who wasn't frozen to her seat was the fat heckler.

"Plant!" she bellowed. "She's obviously a plant."

"That's strange," Wallace said. "I didn't see any roots growing from her feet."

The audience laughed, but the hippo wasn't amused.

"She's as fake as this whole show is," she said. "I know for a fact that no Man is strong enough to lift a Woman."

"The illusion portion of our show is already over," the Ringmaster said. "I assure you that what you just saw is very real. And now, for our final act of the evening..."

"For our final act, I'm going to stomp that Man to pieces!"

The hippo pushed her way through the crowd. She got a lot of boos for this, but the Ringmaster calmed the audience down with his usual charismatic remarks.

"Let her come," he said. "Here at the Circus, we don't turn anybody away."

Finally, she reached the stage. After taking a moment to catch her breath, she pushed Valerie out of the way and planted a foot on either side of Wallace.

"I've squished enough of these in my time," she said with a wide grin. "I know just how to do it so they stay dead."

Wallace noticed a piece of hot dog that was still stuck in her teeth.

"You're going to want to get your cleric back in here," she said. Then she jumped. She couldn't jump very high, but she was somehow able to rotate her body in the air and stick her flabby legs straight out, so that her entire rump came down on Wallace. And it came down hard, causing a small tremor to shake the stage and nearly break through it.

After that, there was silence.

She shifted her weight and then smiled.

"Well, well..." she said."I can't feel him anymore."

"Get off him!" Valerie cried. She tried to push the hippo off Wallace, but the fat lady ignored her like a salad bar in an all-you-can-eat restaurant.

Even the audience started yelling, but she just threw back her head and guffawed.

"The World's Strongest Man is now the World's Flattest Man!" she said.

Suddenly, her rump began to shake. Still trapped underneath her, Wallace's muscles took on a new and amazing form, swelling to three times their normal size. As if some godlike power was coursing through him, he began to grow in every way, causing his shirt to be ripped from his body. He was nearly twelve inches tall by the time he was visible to the crowd, hoisting the entire mass of blubber on his back.

"What the fudge is going on!?" the fat lady bellowed. She was just as flabbergasted as everybody else who was staring at this mountain of a Man.

With a groan that boomed like thunder, Wallace seized a thick roll of flesh in each hand and began to whirl the hippo around in the air.

"Stop that!" she screamed. "Put me down at once!"

"With...pleasure..." Wallace grunted. Then he planted his feet firmly on the stage floor and hurled the fat lady out the trailer. With a huge plop that blanketed the side of the tent, she landed in a mud puddle and the audience erupted in laughter and cheers.

"Wallace, the World's Strongest Man!" the Ringmaster shouted, pointing the microphone towards Wallace and Valerie.

"My hero!" Valerie cried, clapping her hands and giggling. Then, still smiling, she knelt down and gave Wallace a big wet kiss that caused him to shrink back to normal size.

The crowd whistled and Valerie's face returned to a bright shade of red.

"Now, before I introduce the final act," the Ringmaster said, "I'd like you to meet the composer of all the wonderful music you keep hearing. I'm sure you've heard of her before, she earned fame long before the Circus even existed—ladies and gentlewomen, it's my great pleasure to introduce the one, the only—Sophia Van Helen!"

The curtains were pushed apart completely this time. Behind them was a raised and darkened stage, but there was nobody on it. Then, one by one, the bulbs overhead began to flicker and then burst in sudden flashes of light. This process started out slow—a bulb every few seconds, perhaps—and then quickened its pace, with each explosion becoming brighter and more colorful than the last, until every bulb in the tent was either flashing or bursting or had already burst. As this happened, the light filaments from the broken bulbs would rain to the floor, creating a series of loud and consecutive sparks that would pop and glitter across the stage like electricity. That is when a haunting guitar solo filled the night and a crouching figure appeared on the rooftop of the adjacent trailer, facing the audience.

When the last bulb had burned out, the figure rose to full height and played a ballad in darkness. Only the moon, whose blue threads of light were being filtered through a few patches and holes in the tent's lining, allowed for the audience to make out the musician's movements as her fingers plucked those guitar strings.

When she played, all eyes in the audience were fixated on her and nothing else. She was a thing to behold. Her body was still, the placement of her fingers precise, and her music unforgettable. And when she jumped onto the stage and a spotlight came on and shone down on her like a beam from the heavens, she held that guitar to her chest and tore across those strings like a hurricane from hell. Every Woman in the stands stood up and cheered over the ghostly wail of the chords that made fire itself dance from her fingertips.

These musical embers rose and replaced the lights that had burned out overhead with a warm, red glow that seemed to hover in place. Then, without missing a note, the musician lifted her foot and kicked up a harmonica stand that was built into the neck of her guitar, and she began to play that as well. Afterward, she jumped onto the stage and there were drums there that she began to play with her feet, and yet the music from her guitar and harmonica never stopped. The audience watched in sheer amazement—masked over by their screaming voices—as she played three instruments at once, each better than they had ever heard in their lives, and banged her head to the rhythm of the music she was playing.

There are many who have never heard of the Circus, but Sophia Van Helen was a legend, even in these days. She had a face plastered in make-up, black and scraggly hair with wild streaks of pink dye that would make a demon look primp by comparison, and she wore piercings in places that most girls in Adelais didn't even know holes could go. Sophia was the poster child for every teenage girl who wanted to break free of the tyranny of her mother, and she was known the kingdom over for her ability to bring music to life.

For five minutes, she played, and the audience shouted and raised their hands and cheered and wished to the Goddess that they could be her for a day. Then, as she eased into a softer melody, Sophia stepped back, lowered her head, and the curtain began to close.

Nobody had been watching the Ringmaster until now, but he had climbed to the top of the ladder and now stood on the fifteen foot platform, looking out over the audience.

"And now for our final act," he yelled. "Ladies, I give you...Thunderbird Jesse James, Daredevil Extraordinaire!" He pointed to the stage, where a Man had just stepped out from behind the curtain. He was wearing black leather with flames on the sleeves and back, and his presence brought screams from five teenage girls in the stands.

"WE LOVE YOU, JESSE!" they screamed, lifting up their shirts.

He turned to them and saw, not to his great surprise, their undershirts that spelled his name, J-E-S-S-E, from left to the right. He flashed them a smile and gave a two-finger salute. Then he had to duck and run to avoid all the roses that were being thrown down at him. He did all of this only to end up under a brassiere.

But he came out from under it, still smiling, and flipped up his collar. That brought screams from the crowd that topped the audible levels of Sophia's guitar solo.

Jesse ran a hand through his golden-brown hair and adjusted the straps on the metal backpack he was wearing, which was a strange device that hooked around his shoulders and was decorated with colorful flames to match his outfit.

While he was doing that, Roy and his frog came back onto the stage, wheeling a cannon.

"Good luck, partner," Roy said, tossing him a helmet.

Jesse slapped the cowboy's hand, put on the helmet, and jumped into the cannon feet first.

"Can I have a light?" he asked, lowering his goggles.

The frog tilted her head back and lassoed one of the flames that was still hovering in the air with her tongue. She rolled the fire around in her mouth, puffed her cheeks a couple of times, and then let out a huge, flamethrower-like belch in the direction of the cannon.

"Good girl," Roy said.

Jesse gave him a thumbs-up and dropped down into the cannon. The fuse was lit, the audience was watching, and Roy and the frog got the hell out of the way because they knew what was coming.

Then, in what sounded like a loud clap of thunder, the cannon exploded and Jesse shot across the stage. He whistled through the air like an arrow, but he didn't fly out of the tent, like the audience expected. Instead, he passed through a U-shaped funnel attached to the pole at the edge of the stage and was flung in the opposite direction.

When he reached the other side of the tent, he vanished into another plastic tube and was then spit out towards the back of the stage. There, a track had been set up—most likely during Sophia's performance—and he landed on a skateboard that was sitting on the top of a five-foot incline. His oncoming momentum propelled him and the skateboard forward and down they went, the wheels of the skateboard skidding and bouncing across the wooden surface, and Jesse moved from side to side and held out his arms for balance.

Up ahead, the track came to a giant loop. The audience knew he didn't have the speed to make it, but he didn't veer off the track. Instead, he rode the skateboard towards the center of the track and grabbed the handles that were protruding from his backpack. Then, he leaned forward, buckled at the knees, and pushed the buttons that were located on top of the handles. Two rocket thrusters suddenly appeared at the bottom of his backpack and ignited, causing him to burn rubber over the loop. A trail of fire and black streaks marked the path he had taken.

After that, he rode the rails of the track around a series of winding turns, holding his body parallel to the stage floor, before coming to the end of the track. It ended abruptly, with a slope towards the ceiling, and he ramped off it and flew straight towards the audience, apparently out of control.

Then, he cut the thrusters and twirled in the air like a spinning top. As he reached the zenith of his arc, he hung motionless for a second, and then he pointed his arm towards the pole in the center of the stage. A grappling hook shot out of the mechanical device that was on his forearm and wrapped around the pole. Before gravity could overtake him, he latched the rope onto his backpack, turned the thrusters back on, and was sent rocketing in circles around the pole.

The audience oohed and ahhed him. During the first few trips around the pole, he was nearly over their heads, but the circle gradually got tighter and tighter and tighter, and soon it was ready to smash him into the pole.

At the last second, he pulled a ripcord and released himself from the hook. He soared over the audience, the thrusters choked and burned out, and he fumbled with the straps on his backpack as he started to fall.

While the Women fell over each other in an attempt to be the one to catch him, he pulled a cord and his backpack sprung open. A parachute popped out, opened, and carried him gently into the hands of fifteen screaming Women who were all his biggest fan.

"That's all our for our show tonight!" the Ringmaster announced, still standing at the top of the diving platform. "But before we do our last act, I'd like to thank you for letting us join all of you this fine evening outside of your village. I hope, after seeing our performances tonight, we humble Circus folk have found a place in your hearts...though we'd very much appreciate it if we didn't find a place in your pockets as well." He winked at a certain girl in the audience, who blushed and set Jesse down on the stage.

"You've all been wonderful," the Ringmaster said as Jesse wiped the lipstick from his face and went backstage. "Truly wonderful. Again, we thank you." Then he made a fist-pump with his hand and turned around. "Sophia, play us out!"

The curtain fell and the stage blazed with a gut-wrenching cacophony of fire and rock. Sophia danced on those drums and her fingers raced so fast across her guitar that they became one with the vibrating strings. Every now and then, one of the lids of the drums that she wasn't standing on would burst into flames and fire would shoot from the open cavity that had been created. Then, she would lean into the neck of her guitar and play that harmonica like nobody else could.

But somewhere in the middle of her dance, she was interrupted by the frantic wail of an instrument other than her own. She stopped her dance, released the strings on the guitar, and looked down at her feet. The spotlight followed, revealing Hopalong Roy, mounted on the back of his frog, whisking a bow across a golden fiddle. He played that thing just as loud as Sophia could play her guitar, and just as good.

When he was finished, he gestured to Sophia with his bow and she took up his challenge. She planted a foot on either side of Roy and cranked out another riff, strumming the guitar with careful finger strokes, and ended on a reverberating twang that lasted for nearly ten seconds before she slid her fingers down the strings and brought it a stop.

Roy grinned. Before the spotlight was on him again, his bow was out and he was sawing that fiddle again, chaining together notes faster than any human should be able to hear, let alone play.

Sophia answered back with a hailstorm of rock. She fondled the neck of the guitar and her fingers blew across the frets, but Roy was not to be outdone. He stood on the back of his frog, shifted his weight to one foot, and played that fiddle like he had won it from the devil herself.

When it was back to Sophia, her guitar was so hot that there were cinders dripping from the strings. She kept playing, though, and finished her best riff yet with a chord that could take the skin off an elephant, but Roy jumped in right where she had left off, and soon the two were playing as one. Their music rocked the stage and brought tears to the audience.

That's about the time the other members of the Circus came onto the stage and joined in. First, there was Jeff the clown, shaking a tambourine, and then Neil the stagehand, who had come down from his wire and was now stooping over a piano that was half his size. Wallace, the World's Strongest Man, replaced Sophia on the drums, using his massive fists to create a rhythm that boomed throughout the tent, and Thunderbird Jesse James came out with a bass guitar and started playing it between Sophia's ever-dancing feet. And then there was the Ringmaster, the great conductor himself, leading the band from his platform high above.

The music crescendoed to a great crash of cymbals, and then, save for a steady, driving beat from Wallace's drums, they were silent. Even the embers from above began to dim.

Then, apparently freed from his gypsy prison, Big Mack appeared on the stage, crooning a saxophone. Mischievelle entered behind him, shaking the beads on her arms and twirling across the floor on her toes. She danced around each of the Men on the stage, brushing them with the colorful frills on her skirt, and began chanting in such a way that it brought the embers from Sophia Van Helen's guitar to life. These beautiful orbs began to form wispy constellations in the shape of more dancers, mimicking the movements of the gypsy, and they changed colors in the air, ranging from red to blue to purple to green to everything in between.

As the array of ember gypsies closed in on their creator, the rest of the band grabbed their instruments and joined back in, returning the music to its former clamor of glory.

Seeing that the show was coming to an end, two Men from backstage ran out and joined the festivities. One of them—Bob, as his friends called him—played a triangle, while the other—Guy, Bob's only friend—clapped his hands to the music. Neither of them were very good, but their sounds were all but muted anyway against the clash of the instruments and the roaring of the crowd.

Then, Sophia stepped forward, passing over the heads of Bob and Guy, and played a fiery aria of rock that at last began to melt her guitar. As this happened, Mischievelle came up from behind, waved her hands, and the fire from Sophia's guitar started to separate from the guitar itself. One at a time, the flames rose out of the magical instrument like a soul out of a body, and the hot, smoldering cinders eventually wrapped around each other like vines before exploding into the head of a dragon.

The fiery beast rose towards the ceiling and then swooped out over the audience. Down the beast came, but the music from the guitar seemed to serenade the dragon, and it came back, circled Sophia, and its long, flickering tail began to undulate like a wave of cosmic energy in the air.

"Flame on," Sophia whispered, and the dragon turned to face the audience. With a horrifying roar—one that could split an oak tree right down the middle—the beast opened its mouth and released such a plume of fire that the entire tent was engulfed in a sea of color and flame.

The girls in the audience were blown back into their seats. Their hair tingled and their faces were scorched by the touch of fire, but they were unharmed. It was just an amazing sensation, one that they would not soon forget, and it silenced all their cheers. They just leaned back, felt the fire warm their skin like the sun on a fresh spring day, when the snow first begins to thaw, and closed their eyes.

When the fire cleared, the dragon was gone, and the band was playing below a cloud of smoke as black as the night sky, which was momentarily revealed through the flapping of the tent's sides, having been torn loose by the roar of the dragon.

Yes, it's true that not everybody has heard of the Circus. Not all legends are famous, not all heroes renowned, and not all wonders have been seen by every human eye. But for those lucky few who have seen them, they would say to those who have not, "If the Circus is in town—yes, go. You must see them live. I saw the wonder, and so should you."

-------------------------

"Nonsense! Rubbish! Absolute poppycock!" Isabella turned up her nose. "You couldn't possibly tell a more ridiculous story if you had a million years to write it, and I a million years to listen."

The fool smiled. "I knew you'd like it."

A letter from Ellewyn:

Erika,

I find the wording of your last letter most offensive. When you speak of 'your people,' why do you specify the race of Men? Do you feel you identify with such loathsome creatures? If so, then I question the potency of the phrase, 'sisters of blood,' that you flaunt so proudly. Let me tell you something, my pretentious Princess of Kaligar: sisters do not go to war for Men. Sisters keep to their own, as they always have, and leave Men to whatever fate the Goddess has intended for them. You cannot hope to change this. At the end of the day, your ideals are faulty and your passion a flaw.

Make no mistake; Sorena will come, and Ellewyn will not stand in her way. The lives of a million slaves are not worth the life of even a single Woman. Regardless of your beliefs, what you are asking for is a betrayal of me, my kingdom, and my people. I would never agree to such terms. And, as you seem to have forgotten, every member on the council who matters has already decided to welcome Sorena on a red carpet. If you hope to retain any status in your kingdom when this is over, you will do the same. Confronting the council with your ill-conceived reasons for protecting Penee or prolonging the false notion that Men are anything more than vermin will only damage you and your reputation.

I will make sure of that.

Your sister,
Queen Isabella

-------------------------

Most days in Masiela were peaceful. Every morning, as predictable and precise and as rhythmic as the hands of a clock, the clouds would peel apart like a flower in bloom and a warm, steady rain would cloak the city in a veil of mist. By midday, the rain would either clear, giving way to a tropical sun and the buzzing of mosquitoes, or the white beads from the heavens would continue to splatter against the muddy earth as merchants and traders set up their tents in the city's market square. During this time, the beating of drums could always be heard in the distance. 'Thunder music,' as the natives of Masiela called it, was a friendly reminder to the citizens that they were protected by the many tribes, vagrants, and gypsies who made their homes in the surrounding rainforest.

When evening rolled around, the great drawbridge to the city would rise and seal off contact with the outside world. Soon after, the palace gates would open and all the Women of the village would gather inside to socialize. This was done for two reasons. The first reason—and the most readily apparent to anyone who has ever had the chance to visit Masiela—was that the walls outside the city weren't safe after nightfall. Bandits had just as many camps as gypsies in those hills, and night was the perfect time for them to prey on lone merchants wandering the winding trails of the rainforest. Even the centurions, the fearless guardians of Masiela, who were renowned for their bravery, strength, and expertise in all fields of combat, would surrender their outside posts when the sun disappeared over the treetops. As a poet once wrote, Masiela, for all its beauty, money, and power, was but a rich oasis in a green desert of outlaws and killers—and these scoundrels had the centurions outnumbered ten-to-one.

The second reason the Women were invited into the palace walls in the evening was because Princess Erika used this time of the day to meet with them and discuss issues that might be of concern. In addition, she would often lead or participate in ceremonial rituals and customs. She was, after all, a princess of ceremony—meaning that she was given power because the people liked her. Unlike in Ellewyn, where royal titles were always passed down from mother to daughter, the only way to gain power in Kaligar was to gain support. Of course, this not only applied to the political structure of Masiela, but it also played a critical role in deciding the hierarchical system that formed the ranks of tribal groups and gangs of outlaws that inhabited the wild Kaligarian lands outside of the city.

Because of this, it was important that Erika remained in good relations with her people. But for someone like Erika, this was not hard. She was patient and wise, despite her age, and she had a strong spiritual side and respected all the cultures of her land. She spoke many different tongues, so she spent much of her time communicating talks of peace and friendship between the people of her village and the tribes outside of Masiela. During her short, seven-year reign as a stewardess of Kaligar, she fought hard to keep the cultures, traditions, and people of her land alive. There were some who would even claim that, without her efforts, Masiela would have crumbled to the hands of smugglers and become just another hideaway for their kind to scurry into.

For this, Erika was loved by almost all. In fact, in a recent poll elicited by Queen Isabella, Erika was the most popular and well-received member of the royal council since the days of Countess Gwendolyn of the House of Sienna, over twenty years ago. Her fame even carried into the tribes outside her village. Those who played their thunder music considered Erika a goddess. She denied these claims, of course, but semi-modest caricatures of her body and face could still be recognized in their idols, totems, and artwork.

But tonight, as the citizens of Masiela gathered in the courtyard for their usual powwow, Erika was nowhere to be found. This wasn't the first time. Ever since rumors of Sorena's return reached the gates of their fair city, the princess had been spending more and more time by herself, locked in her room. For tonight, her absence went by mostly unnoticed, but there was a certain uneasiness that hovered over the people like a fog—because if Erika was troubled, they knew they should be as well.

Regardless, the Women talked, as they always did, about the weather, about the day's events, about the suffering trade market or the latest achievements in a tapestry they had been working on or how much better Erika was than that horrible, no good, very bad Isabella—but, mostly, they talked about Sorena. Three years ago, many of them had never heard of her. But now, the Dark Lady filled their every thought. What would she do to them? Would their lives be spared? If not, could Erika really save them from such an awesome foe? They knew a world existed outside of Masiela, but, up until now, their stone walls had never been breached. Were they safe here? Would Ellewyn, their alleged sister of blood, protect them from her reach? These things were a mystery, a fear, and an unwavering fog that wouldn't clear as easily as a summer rain.

But children rarely have such thoughts. While mothers mused over matters outside of their control, their daughters young and old went off to play games of merriment elsewhere. For a while, tag seemed to be the sport of choice—but, as the evening went on, more and more of these children began to find their way to the back of the courtyard, in a small arena surrounded by torchlit, where a centurion was sparring with a brown-haired fencer under the flickering flames.

Curious and amazed—two states of mind that can effectively calm even the wildest of children—the young girls perched on whatever bench, rock, or branch they could find, and watched the two battlers dance across the cobblestone path like two butterflies in mating. The centurion was quick, despite her heavy armor, but the fencer was the one that all the eyes were on. She never once allowed the tip of her opponent's sabre to tap her. It was truly remarkable, they would later tell their mothers, the way she could bend her body in ways that would make a contortionist wince, and dodge attacks that were so accurate on execution that they could skewer a fly right out of midair.

It wasn't long before the audience had grown so big that the children had to stand on each other's shoulders. And they watched, openly spellbound, as the fencer continued to block and parry every attack thrown her way before finally side-stepping a forward assault and then thrusting her rapier into the chest of the centurion, causing a loud 'tink' to echo through their ears.

The children tried not to cheer, for they knew better than to celebrate the defeat of a centurion, but some of them couldn't help themselves. It was, after all, a phenomenal performance.

But the centurion just let out a good-natured laugh and lowered her blade.

"We should stop this before I get hurt," she said, and then extended her arm in a friendly gesture. "Lady Fallon, you may have bested me in battle, but I feel it is I who have won to be able to duel a legend such as yourself. I now understand why your name is always followed by such admiration."

Fallon took off her glove and tucked it under her arm to shake the centurion's hand.

"I take no pleasure in besting one I view as an equal," she said. "Your swordsmanship is truly stunning. Odessa has done well in training you."

The centurion seemed a bit taken aback. "How did you know I trained under Odessa?"

"I suppose that's where I had the upper hand. I have dueled Odessa many times, and I saw her sword technique in you."

"I'm impressed. I didn't know I was so easy to read."

"Oh, believe me—you are not. I learned to read Odessa's techniques the hard way. Dueling you has only reminded me how many times I let her sword pass through my guard."

"And yet, I couldn't get a single hit in..."

"I am not the person to compare yourself to. We have top knights in Ellewyn who struggle with the very same thrusts and blocks that you executed perfectly. Do I have the honor of knowing your name?"

The centurion removed her helmet and cast it aside. "Eleanor Tearwind, milady."

"Ah..." Fallon flashed a warm smile. "The hurricane herself. Odessa speaks highly of you, Eleanor."

"She speaks the same of you," Eleanor said. "And it brings to mind a question that is so forward that I almost hate to ask, but I feel I must, for you have piqued my curiosity."

"Please," Fallon said, and Eleanor led her to the edge of the cobblestone path, where they would be out of earshot of the children who were still gathered around.

"I am as curious as I am confused," the centurion confessed. "How does a courier of the royal court become as capable as you with a blade and not join the militia? I know the training in Ellewyn has become more difficult in recent years, but there is no doubt in my mind, based on what I've seen here tonight, that you could easily become a second-in-command to Duchess May."

Fallon's smile never broke.

"I get this question a lot," she said. "My answer remains the same; I have nothing against the militia or Duchess May, but I am bound to Isabella. I cared for her from the time we were both children, and I will continue to do so until the day I die."

"Then I do not understand why your queen feels she needs the services of the Black Knight. With you around, only a crazed fool would try to get near her!"

Fallon laughed. "Well, I am not her bodyguard. These days, I serve as her messenger and an ambassador of peace. But Roxanne—er, the Black Knight, if you will—has only one task, and that is protecting the queen. That is a lifetime commitment, I assure you. You wouldn't believe the number of death threats Isabella receives every day."

But Eleanor had a pretty good idea in mind.

"I suppose tending to her every need eats up a lot of your time as well," she said. "When do you have time to yourself, Fallon?"

"Mostly at night," she answered. "I've found it easier to...get things done after Isabella has gone to sleep. That's when I do most of my work."

"Then I should leave you to your work then," Eleanor said.

"There will be no work tonight. I am on vacation."

"Really? I thought you and Princess Erika were discussing the terms of alliance between Kaligar and Ellewyn during the upcoming war."

"Upcoming war?"

"With Sorena."

Fallon frowned.

"I just...assumed that's what you were here for. I heard she received a letter from Queen Isabella today, and I figured you were the one to deliver it."

"I know of no such letter."

"Oh..."

"I suppose I'll hear about it soon enough," Fallon said. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Eleanor."

"Not a problem," the centurion said, going back to retrieve her helmet. "I look forward to seeing you again. Enjoy your stay in Masiela, Lady Fallon."

Fallon nodded and bowed to her. When she turned around, she saw all the children were still in their seats, watching her every movement intently. Slowly, Fallon put away her rapier.

"It's always nice to have an audience," she said, "but I'd much rather have students."

The children's eyes lit up.

"You would teach us to fence?" one of them asked.

"Well, I don't think your mothers would approve of me teaching you how to use a sword, but I don't see any harm in teaching you a few techniques on how to defend yourself."

The other girls cheered and the one who was standing up jumped off the rock she was on.

"I want to go first!" she said.

Fallon looked down at her. The little girl was only about waist-high, but she was wearing a ridiculous, red-haired wig that added an extra six or seven inches. In one hand, she was holding a wooden sword, and her other hand was being used to pinch together the corners of a cloak had draped over her shoulders to keep it from falling down.

"And what's your name?" Fallon asked, kneeling down.

The girl beamed. "I'm Rene Chandel!"

"You're too short to be Rene," one of the girls behind her said, and the others snickered.

"Shut up! I am so Rene."

Another girl leaned over and poked her with a stick. "Ha! If you were Rene, you woulda blocked that."

The girl in the wig dropped her sword and tried to grab the stick, but the stick was thrown over her hair and she was poked in the back again. Turning as red as her hair, she twirled around and tackled the new assailant. They tumbled into the grass and rolled over on top of each other for a while, clawing and biting each other, until Fallon was able to separate them.

"That's enough," she said, holding them at arms-length apart. "If I'm going to teach you girls anything, you have to promise me that you can be mature about it." She looked at them. "Can you do that?"

The girls glared at each other until the one with the stick surrendered her weapon.

"You fight like a man anyway," she said.

Enraged, the girl in the wig threw a punch, but it went wide and Fallon pulled her back.

"Say that again and I'll cut out your tongue!" the girl screamed.

"Excuse you!" Fallon said. "Where did you learn to talk like that?"

"What? That's what Rene would do if somebody insulted her."

Fallon stared at her.

"It's true," another girl said. "I heard someone once called Rene a cheater, so she cut off their tongue, slapped them with it, and then stuffed it back in their mouth so they could eat their own words."

"That's horrible," Fallon said. "Where do you children—"

"I heard Rene once stepped in quicksand, and the quicksand almost drowned!" another chimed in.

"I heard she got really hungry one day, so she found a dragon, challenged it to a duel, and ended up strangling it with a lock of her own hair! Then she cooked it and it lasted her almost twenty-four hours."

"Well, I heard she can fly! You know—whoooosh!"

Everybody was quiet until someone slapped that person.

"We'll have none of that here."

"Girls..." Fallon said. "I'm familiar with her work, but I'm not sure Rene Chandel is the best role model to have." With a troubled smile, she took a seat on the rock and gestured for the children to gather around her.

The girl who had the stick before was the first to reach Fallon's side. "Rene is okay, but she's nothing compared to you. I bet you could beat her in a swordfight any day of the week, Fallon!"

Her comment was met with nods and murmurs of agreement. In fact, the only one who didn't seem completely convinced that her statement was true was the girl in the red-haired wig.

"Nobody can beat Rene," she said. "She's invincible."

Fallon folded her hands in her lap. "I know it's hard to realize, but nobody is truly invincible."

"Well, have you ever slain a dragon?"

The other girls were quick to jump to Fallon's defense.

"I bet she's slain twenty of them!" one of them said.

"I'm afraid I've never even seen a dragon," Fallon admitted. " I spend most of my time in the castle. Coming here was one of the few chances I've had to get away in a long time."

"I knew it," the girl in the wig said.

"But...if you ever saw a dragon, you'd kill it, right?" a girl in the back asked.

Fallon laughed. "I don't suppose I would. Unless, of course, the dragon did something that would warrant such an act."

"Why? They're big and ugly. They deserve to die."

"Is that really what you think?" Fallon looked around. "How many of you think that something deserves to die if it looks a little different than you or me?"

A few hands went up.

Fallon's smile faded. "...Let me try again. I notice that most of you are blondes. Do you think any less of the brunettes like me?"

One or two of the hands went down.

"That's not really a fair question," the girl in the back said.

"It's not?"

"No... I mean, you have brown hair, but you still look like one of us."

"So, at what point does something have to look different enough that it becomes acceptable to contemplating killing such a creature?"

"Well...when they're big and ugly. Like dragons."

"Or small and ugly—like Men," one of the girls said and the rest snickered.

"...That's called something, you know," Fallon said. "It's called bigotry. It is the worst kind of mindset a person can have, and it's a mindset you must absolutely overcome if you ever want to learn how to fence."

"Why?"

"Because fencing is a sport where reading your opponent is essential. It's not enough to be good. The best fencers aren't the ones with the quickest wrists or the lightest feet. I should know—I have two left feet and I'm a horrible dancer."

The children giggled.

"But I put bigotry behind me a long time ago. Bigotry is a product of fear—the fear of something or someone different than you—and it's a far more dangerous enemy to you than the person on the other end of the sword you're trying to dodge. Fear is easy to read, and a truly experienced fencer will see it, know it, and, most importantly, know how to counter it." Leaning back for a moment, she drew out her rapier and placed it across her thigh. "Reading your opponent is everything. The easiest ones to defeat are the ones who are the most predictable."

"But what if you're not afraid of your opponent?" one of the girls asked. "What's so bad about bigotry then?"

Fallon nodded her head. "In real life, we often hide our fear. If I asked how many of you who raised your hands before are actually afraid of Men, you'd laugh at me. And that's completely understandable. The thought of being afraid of something the size of a spider is pretty ridiculous, isn't it?"

For once, the children were quiet.

"It's easy to see and understand how someone can be afraid when facing a dragon. How Rene Chandel does it is beyond me. But not many people are afraid of me when I go to face them in a duel. I suppose I don't look very menacing, and these colorful ribbons in my hair don't help any, but it's precisely because of these things that I am able to win, more often than not. Do you know why?"

"Do the ribbons give you special powers?" someone asked.

Fallon laughed.

"No," she said. "It's because when somebody feels you are weaker or inferior to them, they become arrogant. And can you guess what the most predictable people in any combat situation are?"

"...Arrogant?"

"And do you know what bigotry leads to?"

"...Arrogance?"

Fallon moved her hand. "...There's a reason I always have a difficult time dueling the centurions here. Women like Eleanor Tearwind are trained to respect their opponent. Even before they go into battle, they take the time to study their opponents, to know their technique and culture and training. They have learned that no fight is a joke and that no battle is impossible. They have overcome fear and bigotry, and they live by a code in which there is never an excuse for underestimating one's opponent. That is why you children are blessed to have the greatest battalion of soldiers in the history of Adelais guarding your city."

"...Wow," they said.

The girl in the wig stood in front of Fallon and put her hands on her hips.

"Maybe that works for you," she said, "but I bet Rene never has to think about any of that."

"Yes," Fallon said, "but that's because Rene Chandel can apparently slay a dragon by pointing her finger at it and saying 'Stab!'"

The girls behind her barreled over in laughter.

Even the girl in the wig managed to break a smile.

"You do have a point..." she said.

Fallon started to say something, but her view of the girl was suddenly blocked off by a long pair of legs jutting out of a beaded red skirt.

"How do you stand her?"

Fallon had already recognized those legs, but she recognized the voice even better. Standing up, she stood face to face with Erika, whose face was as red as her skirt.

"What do you mean?" Fallon asked, putting away her rapier.

Erika didn't say a word as she shoved a piece of parchment into the courier's hand.

Curiously, Fallon unraveled the note and began to read.

"...This does not sound like Isabella," she said, after she had finished. "I've known her for a very long time. I even taught her how to read and write, and I can assure you that this writing is neither her tongue nor her hand."

Erika was quick on her retort. "I noticed the same thing. For a while, I couldn't be convinced it actually came from her. I even entertained a notion that it might be the work of one of her lackeys, in a feeble attempt to get me riled up so that I might do something I regret, and then... Then, I remembered that every time I receive a letter from Isabella, you're the one to deliver it to me." Her eyebrows lifted and seemed to sadden. "You are, Fallon."

"...Pardon my confusion," Fallon said. "Are you suggesting I rewrite her letters before I hand them to you?"

"Isn't it your job to make Isabella come across as eloquent and polite? We both know she's neither of those. Now, I realize you're just covering for her, the way you always do."

"Erika, that's not true. I could never pretend to be someone I am not."

"I'm just glad you weren't able to intercept this one," she said, taking the letter back. Then, Erika paused for a moment, looking down, and studied her feet closely, as if she had to give very careful thought to the next words out of her mouth. "Fallon... I've spent the greater part of today trying to figure out how I was going to confront you with this. You've always been very direct with me, so I thought I would extend the same courtesy to you... But, honestly, I can't even look you in the face right now. I am so disappointed."

"Erika..."

"You really hurt me today. You're like a sister to me. Maybe not of blood, but of something stronger and more meaningful, and I thought you respected that." She turned away. "You've truly tested the weight of that bond today by lying to me."

"I have not lied," Fallon said. "Though I may advise Isabella on diplomatic concerns, I do not write letters in her name, nor do I believe the document you hold in your hand now came from her or even passed her eyes before it was sent to you. This reeks of foul play."

"...You'll have to excuse me," Erika said. "I have to decide how I'm going to deal with that monster of yours." She crinkled up the letter. "And please, do not try to follow me. I've already instructed my centurions to keep you out of the palace until I handle this matter."

Fallon watched her leave, but did not try to follow.

"Erika..." she said softly. "I would not lie to you."

The children behind her had remained quiet and still until now. Maintaining their silence, they slid off the rock and slowly scattered in different directions as silently as ripples in a pond.

Only the girl in the red-haired wig remained. She looked around for a moment, biting her lip, and then moved closer to Fallon's side.

"...Lady Fallon?" she said, pulling on the courier's white bodice.

Fallon broke out of her trance.

"I believe you," the girl said. "A long time ago, my mother taught me how to see if a person is lying. I was watching your face the whole time, and I know you're telling the truth about that letter."

A weak smile appeared on Fallon's face.

"...Your mother sounds like a wise person," she said. "I think she would make a better role model than Rene Chandel, don't you?"

The little girl flopped her shoulders. "Maybe..."

Smiling wider now, Fallon knelt down, put a hand around either side of the girl's head, and gently removed the wig.

"I think I prefer you as a brunette," she said, tossing the red hair aside.

"Yeah... That's what my mom says, too."

"Well, you should listen to her. I bet there's a lot she could teach you."

"I dunno..." The girl looked away. "She's not around much these days."

"Oh... I'm sorry. I know how that is. I didn't know my mother either."

She shrugged. "It's okay. I've learned to take care of myself. Yesterday, I killed a bird with a stick, and cooked it and ate it without help from anybody else."

"...Did your mom teach you that as well?"

"Sure did!"

"That's, uh..."

"Lady Fallon?"

"Yes?"

"I'm joking."

"....Very funny," Fallon said, and she tried to laugh, but something was obviously holding her back.

"Naw, but I'm okay, really," the girl said, dismissing the subject as quickly as a child dismisses a scraped knee. "I have a feeling my mom will be coming back very soon, and we'll get to have fun again."

"Well, that's great. I hope I get to meet her some time."

"Me too! I know she'd like you."

Then, with a smirk, the girl turned to walk home. When she saw the wig that was lying on the ground, she stopped for a moment, mused over it, and then brushed it out of the way with her foot.

"Good girl," Fallon said.

"Ha. I have ten at home just like it."

"I'm sure you do."

Then, the girl was quiet.

"...Amelie," she said at last.

"What?"

"A while ago, you asked me for my name. I told you it was Rene Chandel." She peered over her shoulder. "I lied... It's Amelie. I figure if you can be honest, then so can I."

Fallon smiled. "Okay. It's nice to meet you, Amelie. Perhaps I will see you around again sometime."

"Perhaps."

She left and Fallon was standing alone.

-------------------------

Adelais had undergone many changes since the fall of the Last King, some five hundred years ago. Some of these changes were obvious: Men no longer held status or power, Women stood alone as the dominant race in the world, and toilets no longer required adjustable seats—but perhaps one of the more subtle changes was how the trade market had been affected by all of this. Once a foreign concept, slavery was now more popular than ever, and it was of no great surprise for anyone to learn that one of the highest-grossing exports in all the land today...was Man.

"Ready, guys?" Malkav asked.

Although it's true that most Women of the world did not tolerate Men, there was also a general consensus that Men were a rare delicacy when seasoned and packaged correctly. In more recent years, this had led to the practice of 'Man-smuggling' in Kaligar, where the Man population was high and so were the number of outlaws looking to get rich quickly. The practice of Man-smuggling was made illegal by Princess Erika, but—like most other laws in Kaligar—it was ignored even by the people who swore to uphold it. In fact, it was no secret that some of the richest smugglers lived in the palace of Masiela, pretending to be just and honorable people.
Blackthorn picked up three heavy stones that were sitting in a rail cart and tossed one to Malkav and another to Adam.

"Let's do this," he said.

There were at least as many Men as Women in the world, but their lifestyles were quite different. For the average Man born in Penee, there were only two paths in life. If he was lucky, he would show signs of intelligence from an early age and be allowed to remain in Penee, given a good education, and live out the rest of his days as an engineer or mechanic or gadgeteer within the walls of his native kingdom. But most Men were not lucky. When those unlucky ones became of age (usually before their sixth birthday), they would be taken away and sentenced to work as slaves in Kaligar. It wasn't a bad life there, as Erika treated her people well, but it wouldn't last forever. Eventually, the Men would be packaged up like fruit, shipped off, and wind up on the dinner plate of some girl in Ellewyn when they were too old or weak to work any longer. For these Men, the entire process didn't take very long, and their average lifespan of a Man could be anywhere from fifteen to twenty years of age.

Malkav tested the weight of the stone by bouncing it a few times in his hands. Once he was satisfied, he put both hands on the stone and held it to his chest. Blackthorn and Adam did the same. Then, they lined up at the edge of the pool, took a few deep breaths, and jumped in.

But not all Men who were taken from Penee were exported to Kaligar to serve as slaves or Ellewyn to be served as a meal. A large portion of these Men were sent out to sea, to the underwater city of Atlantis, where they served in yet another Adelain trade for the rest of their days...

The stones carried the Men to the bottom of the pool. Once they were there, they released the stones, kicked off the sandy bottom, and swam over to an oyster that was bigger than a house to them. Malkav was the first to reach it and used hand signals to direct Adam to the right side of the oyster and Blackthorn to the left. He then took his spot at the front lip of the oyster and waited for them to get into position.

At his call, they each unhooked a metal pry bar from the back of their wetsuits and began wedging the devices between the tightly-sealed lips of the bivalve. Then, pushing in unison, they were able to pry open the oyster's shell wide enough that they could squeeze through. The muscles of the agitated creature tried to shut, but Adam and Blackthorn held their pry bars stiff while Malkav swam into the oyster and wedged his device near the hinge to keep it from closing.

Once it was in place, he gave the signal to Adam and Blackthorn, and then swam back to the surface alone.

"Go!" he yelled the moment his head was out of the water. Beads of an artificial sun glittered across his face.

Before he was even finished speaking, an elderly man standing at the shore had jumped into the water, carrying one end of a rope and a rock under his arm. The rock allowed him to quickly sink to the bottom of the pool, and then he tugged on the rope and kicked towards the open lip of the oyster. Sitting on a pink tissue throne inside was a beautiful pearl, as pure and white and round as the full moon, but he didn't take time to admire it. Once he was in, he lassoed the rope around the pearl, working quickly but carefully, like a hardened blacksmith who knew the dangers of his trade. The man's hands were old, but they were as steady as a leather strap, and he had put three solid knots around the pearl by the time Malkav had dove back down to help him with the fourth and final knot.

As soon as the knot was finished, the old man tugged on the rope and followed it back to the surface.

Meanwhile, on the shore above, Captain Jargon felt the tug on the rope and his muscles swelled as he yanked back. He had to dig the nail he had for a leg into the ground, but Exthame was pulling on the rope as well, and Malkav was still underwater, pushing at the pearl from behind. In less than seven seconds, they were able to roll the pearl out of the oyster, and they continued to drag it across the sandy bottom of the pool while Malkav went back for his pry bar.

He unhitched it and swam out of the oyster, waving to Adam and Blackthorn, who immediately unlatched their devices as well. The oyster's lips slammed shut, creating a sudden jet of water that blasted them forward. For an extra boost, they kicked off the top shell of the oyster and made for the surface, swinging their legs like the tails of fish.

Their heads popped out—one, two, three—and they gasped and breathed in the fresh air for a moment.

With the hard part over, they paddled to the shore and joined Jargon, Blackthorn, and now the old man, who were all dragging the pearl onto shore. With the six of them working at it, they were able to lift the pearl out of water and undo the knots. The threads of the rope fell to their feet and they stepped back, dripping wet, to admire the beauty they had just harvested.

"Ain't she sweet," the old man said, stroking the outside of the pearl.

"She sure is," Malkav said. "This will work perfectly."

This process of extracting pearls was repeated a thousand times a day, by a hundred groups just like them. Every group was a little different, in terms of its members and its strengths and its weaknesses, but the basis of every pearl diving team could be broken down into three roles: pryers, divers, and pullers.

Now, the mermaids allowed the Men to divide the positions amongst themselves, but this usually led to problems. Because pullers had the smallest chance for a work-related hazard, every Man wanted to be one. The only thing a puller had to worry about were rope burns and the occasional pulled muscle. Of course, not everyone could be a puller, so the job was usually surrendered to the biggest and toughest Men on each team, who would puff up their chests and demand it.

The next obvious position was diver. Divers may have had a dangerous job, having to swim inside the oyster to secure the pearl, but statistics showed that pryers were in the worst spot because they would be underwater the entire time. Because of this, it was the weakest Men on the team who would end up as pryers, and they often didn't have the strength to open the oyster, let alone to keep it open long enough for the diver to do his job. Many pryers had drowned in the line of duty, and many divers had been crushed to death inside an oyster. And, once a team couldn't perform their job, the mermaids would step in—at which point, not even the pullers would be safe.

This was the problem with the system.

Understandably, then, it was incredibly rare for one team to last as long as the pirates had. But they weren't fools. Instead of fighting for the best positions, they decided long ago that Adam and Blackthorn were the best-suited to be pryers because they had large hands to pry open the oyster and large lungs to store enough air to survive the three or four minutes they would be underwater. Malkav was the captain of the pryers, and his nimble body helped him to get back to the surface quickly so that he could signal the old man—better known as Coop—that the oyster was secured. Exthame, despite being blind, was unbelievably strong, and so was Jargon, despite missing an eye, leg, and one hand, so they both made good pullers—especially after considering the fact that neither would be capable of swimming.

"You boys load 'er on the cart and I'll turn in this work order," the old man said, picking up a clipboard.

Malkav took off his wetsuit and flipped back his wet hair that had grown all the way down to his shoulders during his extended stay in Atlantis, where stylists were hard to find.

"You still haven't said if you're going, Coop," he said.

The old man pretended not to hear him and turned the other way.

"I'm going to need an answer from you, one way or the other."

Coop sighed and lowered the clipboard to his waist.

"If you had shown up twenty years ago, I would be right there with you,," he said, putting a finger in his ear and turning it like a screw. "I'm afraid this body just ain't what it used to be, son."

"That's ridiculous. You're in great shape. You can swim circles around any man here, including me."

"A man lives by doing what he is good at. I can't say I'm happy with the way things turned out, but I've been here for too long, outlived all my friends, and it's only a matter of time now before the mermaids have my old hide on a platter with a side of fish chips." He put a comforting hand on Malkav's shoulder. "When you get to be my age, that's more of a blessing than a curse. Trust me."

"Bull. You don't want to die any more than we do."

Coop laughed. "What I want stopped mattering a very long time ago. These days, it's all about what I'm willing to accept." He put on his eyeglasses, scribbled something down on the clipboard, and then set them both down on the work table next to him. "I think you need to consider that, too. Just what are you willing to accept?"

"Well, I'm not going to accept letting the mermaids kill you, if that's what you mean," he said.

Adam tapped Malkav on the shoulder. "Uh, oh... Here comes Bruzzeli. Better look busy."

Adam bent down and pretended to be fixing his shoe with a pry bar.

Malkav ignored his advice and turned to see a man in blue overalls marching towards them. He was about a heads-length taller than Malkav, with a long nose, hair as dark and greasy as his oil-stained hands, and shoulders that were wide enough to serve dinner on. A utility belt swung from his hips. When he was close enough, he reached for the belt, pulled out a knife, and slapped it into Malkav's palm.

"You guys look like you need one of these," he said.

"...Thanks," Malkav said. He turned the knife around and handed it back. "But I think we're good."

Grinning so wide that the gaps between his teeth in the back were visible, Bruzzeli first looked to the left, then to the right, and then seized the knife—and Malkav's hand—and yanked him closer.

"I suggest you take it," he whispered into Malkav's ear. "It would be very unfortunate for you to find yourself in a situation where you desperately need something like this and don't have it around because you thought you could do the job without it. Know what I mean?"

Malkav flashed him a smirk. "You think I'm going to leave you behind, Bruzzeli?"

"Oh, the thought had crossed my mind once or twice."

"Well, then it's a good thing I desperately need you, isn't it?"

Bruzzeli's grin turned into a scowl. For a moment, it looked like he was ready to snap Malkav's wrist, and Jargon and Blackthorn edged a little closer—just in case. Then, Bruzzeli chuckled, squeezed Malkav's hand a little tighter, and let go.

"I suppose it is," he said. He took a step back and didn't even acknowledge the pirates on either side of him. " ...If you need any more tools, you know where to find me."

Malkav waited until he was out of sight to wince and drop the knife. Kicking it away, he grabbed his wrist and wriggled the fingers that had almost been broken.

Sensing that danger was gone, and because he had already put a hole in his shoe with the pry bar, Adam stood back and turned in the direction Bruzzeli had went.

"...I don't trust that guy," he said.

"I don't either, but we need him." Malkav popped his thumb back into place. "More importantly, he needs us, so I guess we're stuck together."

"Does that make us blood brothers or something?"

Malkav looked down and a stream of crimson blood was running down his palm. He tore a piece of cloth from his pant leg and wrapped it tightly around his hand.

"Something like that..." he said.

-------------------------

At the center of the pearl farms, like a large, twisted, green-bellied hydra, there was a spire with five necks that loomed over the shores of white sand and glittering pools of water. Each of these necks were attached to the base of the spire, but they had separate tower heads that could be reached either by a winding staircase around the outside of the neck or by an elevator shaft on the inside. The tops of these towers had two windows a piece, positioned only a few paces apart, to resemble the eyes of a monster.

Inside the central tower, which was higher up than the other four, there were about half a dozen pygmies, but only one of them was standing by the window. Her eyes were fixated on one spot below. The other pygmies were gathered in the corner of the room, gossiping and giggling, while their boss—a blonde-haired pygmy by the name of Zana—sat at her desk, behind an aquarium of fish that were bigger than her, and read the newest edition of Atlantis' most popular magazine, Starfish.

After a while, she casually turned the page and folded it in her lap.

"...I don't see what the attraction is," she said aloud.

Fayrelin was the only one within earshot, and she had been standing with her face pressed against the window long enough to leave a smudge mark on the glass, so she knew exactly who her boss was talking to.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

Zana didn't look up. "You've been staring at those fish all day."

"I'm just making sure they're staying on task."

"I can't imagine why you would be doing that." She began to mindlessly drum her fingers along the pages of the magazine. "Unless, of course, you caught them screwing around before."

"No."

"No?"

"I mean, no, they're not screwing around."

The drumming stopped. "Then what's your obsession with them?"

"It's just.." She stopped when Malkav glanced up from his work station below and caught her eyes for a moment. "One of them said something to me this morning, and..."

"Did he threaten you?"

"No."

"Did he insult you?" Zana dropped her magazine excitedly. "If he did, we can have him on a dinner plate by nightfall. Yours, if you want."

Fayrelin shook her head. "No, it's nothing like that."

"...Hm." Zana leaned back on her chair. "Well, maybe I should alert the mermaids anyway."

"Why? I told you he didn't do anything wrong."

Zana shrugged. "I don't like those fish."

"They're not fish anymore, Zana. They've been here for a long time."

"Why do you hang out with them so much?"

"I told you."

"You told me they were slaves on your ship before you ended up in Atlantis."

"Well... They were."

"That doesn't explain why you should feel any sort of connection to them." Zana laughed. "After all, they're just Men."

"But they're my Men... I own them. I feel I should have a say in what happens to them, you know?"

"Fay, Fay, Fay..." Zana spun her chair around, stood up, and walked over to the window. "Girl, I like you. You know I like you."

"I know, Zana..."

"But those Men down there..." She pointed out the window to Malkav and his friends. "They're fish. One day, they're going to slip up, like fish always do, and I'm going to be forced to report them to the mermaids. That's my job, you understand?"

"I know it is."

"And when I report them, they're going to die. All of them. Dead. Gone. Poof. No more."

"Well, we're all going to die here," Fayrelin argued. "We're not any different than them."

"Of course we are!" Zana put an arm around Fayrelin and led her away from the window. "Saying we're the same as them... What's gotten into you lately? You like it here, don't you?"

"Sure, I do," Fayrelin lied.

"That's good. We're a lot alike, Fay."

"We are?"

"Why, sure! When I first came here, I felt a closer connection to the Men than the mermaids. I thought, because I was small, I would be treated the same way as a fish. But the mermaids understand that pygmies are superior to Men." She grinned shamelessly. "...I bet those fish never respected you when they were your slaves."

Fayrelin thought about for a moment. "Well, they did use my ship a lot without my permission..."

"I'm sure they did! Men are so stupid. They obey Women and mermaids because of their size, but they're not willing to accept that pygmies come from the exact same blood. That's why we're seen as foreigners in places like Penee. We're one of the very few races to have no land to call our own."

"I guess you're right..." Fayrelin lifted her heel and scratched the back of her leg. "Gee, I'm sorry, Zana. I don't know what's wrong with me today. I was talking to one of the Men down there this morning, and he said something to me, and it got me thinking about stuff I usually don't think about, and...I don't know. I just got confused."

"Hey... It's okay. You just gotta forget about those fish. They're not one of us." Then she snapped her finger. "I know what will make you feel better."

"What's that?"

"Let's go harass the workers! We can tell them what a bad job they're doing, and how worthless they are, and how we're going to call the mermaids on them if they don't shape up."

"Well, okay..."

They got into the elevator and rode it down to the base of the spire. When the door opened, Zana ambled over to Malkav and his pirate crew while Fayrelin tagged along from behind, trying to look inconspicuous.

Zana was quite the opposite.

"What are you fish doing!?" she yelled. "It's not time for a lunch break!"

Adam looked down at the sandwich he had just dropped and then up at the giant clock on the spire. "Um... Yes, it is."

"New rule," Zana said. "You can only eat if I give you permission to eat."

"Oh..." Adam stared at his sandwich on the ground. "...Can I eat now?"

"Sure."

"Thanks." He picked up the sandwich.

Zana slapped it out of his hand. "Lunch time is over!"

"Hey, you can't do that," Jargon said, hobbling over from where he had been drinking. He only made it about halfway before he stumbled over, drunk, and landed at Zana's feet.

"...You fish are pathetic," she said, making a face of disgust. "Here." She bent down, scooped up Adam's sandwich, and handed it back to him. "You can eat it now."

Adam held it up to his face.

"...It's covered in sand," he said.

"Well, now it's a proper sandwich, isn't it?" Zana laughed.

"I...guess..."

Malkav glared in their direction, but said nothing.

"Anyway," Zana said, stepping over Jargon's body, "Fayrelin has been watching you fish very closely today, and she hasn't had very many good things to report. Your performance has certainly declined since you first started working here."

"It's only noon and we've already met the day's quota," Malkav said. He hid his face behind his mug for a moment to take a long sip of his ale. "...We should get the afternoon off."

"...Like hell you should," Fayrelin said quietly.

All eyes turned to her.

"This pearl is cracked," she said, pointing to the specimen that was sitting on the rail cart next to them. "Do you have any idea how much the value of a pearl drops from a single crack like that?"

"We'll buff it out tomorrow," Malkav said, and he looked away.

Fayrelin's face turned red.

"You'll buff it out now if I tell you!" she snapped.

Malkav nearly spilled his drink.

"Geez, Fay," he said, setting down his mug. "This wouldn't have something to do with what I said to you earlier, would it?"

"...So what if it does?"

"Well, I think it's a little unfair for you to come in here and start harassing us about our job just because you're a little peeved that I—"

"Buff it." Fayrelin threw a rag at him. "Buff it now."

Malkav glowered at her and then at Zana, who only smirked.

"Better do what you're told," she said.

Malkav didn't say a word as he stood up. He gave a dirty look to Fayrelin, walked the long way around her, and kept his back to her as he held up the rag to the pearl. After two minutes of running his hands back and forth as hard as he could, he threw down the rag and stepped back.

"...No way," he said. He scratched the crack with his fingernail. "It's too deep. We won't be able to get this one out."

"You idiots," Zana said. "How could you even scratch a pearl that much? It looks like somebody took a knife to it."

"It was like that when we found it," Malkav said.

"Then how do we know all the rest of the pearls you harvested today aren't scratched up as well?" Fayrelin asked.

"That's a good point," Zana said. She looked at Malkav. "Well?"

Malkav shrugged. "I...I guess we could go back and inspect the other ones we extracted today. Maybe some of the equipment we've been using is faulty."

"Then there's no telling how far back these scratches could go," Fayrelin said. "You better reinspect every pearl since the last shipment was sent to the surface, just to be sure."

"The last shipment? That was three weeks ago! We'll be backlogged for months if we do that."

"Not if you work nights, too." Fayrelin looked at Zana. "You can arrange that, can't you?"

Zana laughed. "I sure can. You fish are going to be busy." Then she patted Fayrelin on the back. "Way to go, sister. I knew it was a good idea to bring you down here."

Malkav and the rest of the pirates (except for Jargon, who was unconscious) stared at the ground and waited for Zana to leave. When only Fayrelin was left, they looked up.

"Well?" she asked. "How did I do?"

"Perfect," Malkav said, grinning.

A letter from Kaligar:

Isabella,

Do not threaten me. You were never good at such things.

You are wrong to call my beliefs a betrayal. Say what you will, but there are still those in the council who will stand by Penee. The druids, the monks, King Kazekov—do you think you can just ignore them all? This war involves you too, no matter how long you keep your eyes closed, your head in the clouds, and refuse to face the truth. Your castle in the sky won't protect you forever. You will soon find that you can't simply remain idle while an entire kingdom crumbles to dust at your feet.

This is my final warning, Isabella. Tell Sorena that she is not welcome here. Tell her to crawl back to her tomb, seal the door from the outside, and never return to this mortal realm again. Do this, and I will forgive you for the insult you have cast upon me and my people.

I warn you now, sister—you do not want me as an enemy.

Princess Erika

-------------------------

Summer in Felwinter was the shortest of the seasons, and it was made even shorter by the constant rain that plagued the city. Inside the dining hall of the barracks, the Paladins were gathered, chowing down on their daily slop and mush, while the rain pelted the old wooden roof over their heads.

Most of the tables were filled with new recruits. They ate in silence—not because they wanted to, but because their entire bodies ached from the day's rigorous training, which had begun three days ago. Some of them couldn't even open their mouths wide enough to slip a spoon inside of there, which might have been for the better, as the food was barely edible anyway.

That is, of course, except for the food at the head table, where Roxanne and her cronies were seated. They ate ribs and fresh apples and corn that was still on the cob. They drank ale and belched and laughed and acted like animals—all except for Roxanne, who said not a word the entire time, and ate more than any of them.

As the evening waned and the recruits began to clear out of the room, they remained at the table and finally began to sober up.

"So, how did you like your tour of the new training grounds, Vlanis?" Dextra the Righthand asked, cutting a slab of cheese from the wheel of cheddar in front of her.

The scar-faced warden from Haledon looked up from her mug and wiped her nose.

"...I'm quite impressed by what I've seen so far," she said. "I never liked what Lucilla had done to the Paladins. She preached too much about moral values and convictions, and made the Paladins spineless and weak in the process. A band of elves and men could've marched into Felwinter and taken over, if given the chance."

"Yeah, not anymore," Sineste the Lefthand said. "We live by a code here: the Paladins are only as good as their weakest link."

Dextra chugged her ale and snorted. "Yeah, and we're still working on Cara."

The others laughed.

"...I'm surprised she's still around," Vlanis said. "Cara never was much of a fighter, as I recall."

"Her personality sucks too," Dextra said. "Remember that time when we caught those bandits red-handed and she wanted to give them a 'fair trial'?"

"Yeah," Sineste said. "We gave them a fair trial, alright."

"Right off the nearest cliff."

They pounded the table in laughter.

Vlanis waited for her chance to speak.

"It almost sounds like she needs to be replaced," she said. "You know, I—"

"She could be replaced by a tree," Dextra said.

"Or a toilet," Sineste said.

"Yeah, at least then she'd have a use."

This time, they laughed so hard that they spilled their ale across the table.

"Now look what you've done," Sineste said.

Dextra finished what was left in her stein.

"Bah, just leave it," she said. "Cara can clean it up later."

Roxanne, who was sucking the meat from a leg of chicken, lifted her head just long enough to say something.

"No," she said, with thick juice dribbling from her chin. "Get a rag and clean it up yourself."

Dextra didn't argue and Roxanne went back to tearing the chicken apart and tossing the leftover bones into the fireplace behind her.

"Sorry about that, boss," Dextra said after she had mopped up the mess.

Roxanne didn't look up.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. It was already open, but they looked over anyway to see Countess Rebecca standing in the rain. She stepped inside and combed back the wet strands of hair that her large hat hadn't managed to shield.

"Pardon me," she said, "but I have a private audience with Captain Vlanis. I would ask the rest of you to leave."

Dextra and Sineste looked at Roxanne, who waved her hand in a silent dismissal, and then grabbed their belongings and headed for the door.

Rebecca waited for them to leave before she turned to Roxanne.

With little more than a grunt, Roxanne turned her chair away and continued eating.

"...You will obey me when I speak to you," the countess said boldly, but her voice cracked at least once. "I asked you to leave. I wish to speak to Vlanis alone."

Roxanne dropped her chicken and rose from her chair so suddenly that Rebecca fell against the wall.

After catching her breath, Rebecca suddenly remembered something and fumbled around inside her pockets. "But, before you go... I have a message I need you to deliver to the queen."

"Aren't you her new pet?" Roxanne sneered. "Give it to her yourself."

"I am and I would, but this particular message comes from Princess Erika, and I would feel much better if you were the one to present it to her." She found what she was looking for and pulled out a parchment that was bounded by a blue ribbon and marked with the royal seal of Kaligar. "It's...not exactly good news."

"Yeah, it'd be a real shame if she were to kill the messenger," Roxanne scoffed, snatching the letter out of her hands.

Rebecca took a step back, frightened by the mere sight of the Black Knight advancing towards her. She tried to cover it up by brushing back her hair and leaning back against the open doorway.

"We could be going to war, you know," she said.

Roxanne stuffed the letter into a leather pouch she had slung around her waist.

"I say this because you are one of the Forsaken," Rebecca continued, "and I have to wonder where your true loyalty lies."

"...You are hardly one to question a person's loyalty," Roxanne said.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Roxanne didn't answer her. She just put on her helmet, pushed Rebecca aside, and stepped out into the rain.

Infuriated, Rebecca chased after her.

"I'm her family, you know!" she yelled, plodding through the mud in her royal heels. "I'm the only family she has left. If you ever try to hurt Isabella, I swear—"

In the time it took for a single flash of lightning to paint the barracks in a white light, Roxanne spun around, grabbed Rebecca by the threads of her collar, and pinned her against wall. Heavy heavenly raindrops pelted their faces.

"What will you do?" Roxanne hissed through the metal chambers of her helmet. "What will you—the one who shamed her mother, betrayed the former queen, and declared her own daughter clinically insane so she could gain power—do to me? You have no loyalties or ties to anyone. You are a leech. A filthy, disgusting, life-sucking leech. You pretend you have so much sway in this kingdom, but all your powers comes from the hands of someone else. Without Isabella, you are nothing but a worm in the mud, waiting to be stepped on."

"You forget..." Rebecca gasped, squirming in her grip. "So...are you..."

"Ha. Without Isabella, I would still exist...but you would certainly not." She released Rebecca, who stumbled back into the barracks like a drunk. "I would've killed you by now."

Rebecca cleared her throat and tried to gather what was left of her composure by smoothing out the disheveled parts of her robe.

"...I don't need to make threats at you," she said smugly. "When Isabella sees the kind of threat Sorena and your people are to this kingdom, you'll be on the next execution block out of here."

"Then I guess we'll meet again in hell," Roxanne said. "I hope you learn to fight your own battles before then."

Not wanting the Black Knight to see the color in her face, Rebecca reached up and slammed the door.

"I will see you dead before then, demon..." she muttered.

Vlanis remained seated at the table, coolly sipping her ale.

"You must have a lot of guts to say that," she said. "I've seen her kill for less."

"...I'm not afraid of her."

"Of course not."

A booming clap of thunder caused Rebecca to jump and hurry away from the door. As she reached the table, she slowed down and removed her hat.

"...How is my daughter?" she asked.

Vlanis slumped down in her chair. "Your daughter is fine. Is that all you called me out here for?"

"Has she been drinking her tea?"

"Yes, of course. Every day. Just as you requested."

"Good, good..." Rebecca laid her hat on the table. "The poor dear. She always loved that tea."

Vlanis waited.

"It's a Sienna family recipe, you know," Rebecca continued, sitting in Roxanne's chair. "The tea. It calls for a special mixture of herbs that only grow in the farthest reaches of Summer's Vale. They cost a fortune to ship here, but...Olivia is worth it." She stroked the feather on her hat with her index finger. "I remember once, when a shipment was robbed on its way through Kaligar, and I knew I wouldn't get another batch for at least a fortnight, I tried to pass off some of the grapevine leaves from our vineyard as the real stuff. Olivia took one sip of that fake tea and refused to talk to me for at least a week."

"...It sounds like you two were close," Vlanis said.

"Oh, yes. Very close. Much closer than the relationship I had with my mother, at any rate."

Vlanis raised her eyebrows, causing the scar that ran through her left eye to stretch. Grimacing, she put a hand over it and tried to ignore the throbbing pain.

"Of course, these are different times. When I was growing up, I didn't need help from my mother. I did everything myself, for myself, and asked nothing of her. The old bat wouldn't have given me anything anyway."

Vlanis lowered her hand. "Really? That sounds nothing like Gwendolyn."

"You don't know my mother then. She cared more about the people of her kingdom than her own family. Can you believe that? Who puts strangers before family?"

"I wouldn't know. I don't have a family."

"Family is everything. You don't just ignore your daughter. They have to be loved, or they..." Rebecca's voice trailed off and picked up much later. "...I told myself that I would never be like my mother. I wanted to be good to my daughter. I wanted to be there for her."

"Then why don't you—"

"I never left her side when she was a child. She always needed me. You've seen her, you know what she's like. She demands your attention every minute of every day. If you don't keep a constant watch out for her, she could hurt herself, and then..."

"Uh-huh..."

"It didn't help that she always made friends with strange things, like men and bugs. The normal children would make fun of her for that, and I'd have to be there to comfort her. I was the best mother in the world, and look where it got me."

Vlanis looked at the time.

"...Tell me again that she is fine," the countess pleaded.

"Yeah, she's doing great," Vlanis lied. "I'm seeing to it that she never hurts herself again."

"Thank you." Rebecca seemed to relax a little. "You've been so good to me over the years, Vlanis. I wish there she was some way I could repay you."

"You could put in a good word for me to the Paladins, so I can become one of them and get out of that bloody awful pit in the earth that is just as much a prison to me as the ones locked up there," Vlanis thought to herself. But she didn't dare speak those words aloud, and certainly not to her superior.

Instead, she set down her mug and flashed a warm smile.

"My continued service to your family is enough," she said.

"At least someone still respects the idea of a family. Thank you, Vlanis. I will see to it that you get a small bonus in next week's pay."

"Go choke on a watermelon," Vlanis thought to herself.

"...Well, I have to get back to the castle," Rebecca said. "Isabella will need her bedsheets ironed, and there's still so much to do."

Vlanis stopped her. "Wait. There is...one more thing."

"Yes?"

"Who is 'Kadaj'?"

Rebecca froze. She grabbed her hat and then hesitated for a moment before putting it on.

"...That's her imaginary friend," she said quickly.

"But I've heard that name associated with her before."

"Yes, well... She's had this 'friend' for a long time."

"Then where did he go? If he's imaginary, then why wouldn't—"

"I told you she makes friends with strange things!" the countess snapped. "Your only job is to make sure she keeps drinking her tea. Understand? That tea is the only thing that makes her happy—not this 'Kadaj' character, or whatever other weird fantasies she might conjure up in that crazy head of hers. She's not well."

If Vlanis was taken aback, she sure didn't show it, as Rebecca adjusted the brim of her hat and stormed away. When she was gone, Vlanis leaned forward and began to trace her finger around the rim of her mug.

"The only thing that makes her happy, huh..." she said with a crooked smile. "Is that so?"

-------------------------

"You told me a story," Isabella said to Squish, who was sitting on the table in front of her. "And, although I obviously don't owe you anything, I do feel it's my turn to tell a tale."

"By all means," he said. "I grow tired of hearing myself talk anyway."

"As do I." Isabella folded one leg over the other. "Now, as you can imagine, I was just as charming and beautiful as a child as I am now. In fact, my mother used to tell me all the time that if I behaved myself, I would get cake."

"And did you?"

"Of course. I always get my cake."

"I mean, did you behave yourself?"

Isabella smirked.

"From the time I was a baby, I loved cake," she said. "All kinds of cake. Chocolate cake, strawberry cake, marble cake, cheesecake, ice cream cake, sponge cake, gingerman cake, fruitcake..."

"Um, don't you mean gingerbread cake?"

"I loved cake so much that I started to think to myself, 'Why should I just be given cake when I'm good? I'm a princess—I should get cake whenever I please!' So I told my mother that. And do you know what she said?"

"No."

"Exactly!" Isabella leaned back in her chair. "That was her favorite word. 'No' this and 'no' that. She never let me have any fun."

"But you said that you always got your cake."

"Well, yeah. I used to have Fallon steal me some."

"Fallon?"

"My best friend."

Squish tilted his head to the side. "Is she the creepy one who always follows you around, wears black armor, and never cracks a smile?"

"No, no. That's the Black Knight. She's not nearly as much fun."

"Oh."

"I've known Fallon for much longer. When we were children, she used to sneak into the royal kitchen and steal all the cookies and cake I ever wanted."

"You made her?"

"No, I dared her! There's a difference."

"You dared her...to steal food for you?"

"She's really good at it."

"Is that so?"

Isabella nodded. "She never once got caught. That's why everybody thinks she's so polite and innocent—but only I know the real her."

"Well, you and everybody you tell."

"Oh." Isabella waved her hand at Squish and laughed. "You don't matter much. By the end of the day, I'll be in my bed, you'll be a stain on the floor, and I'll hardly have to worry about what you know or think you may know."

"That sounds like a challenge."

"Too bad you're not as good as Fallon."

"Well, it's a good thing I'm not going up against Fallon then, isn't it?"

Isabella gave him a smug look.

"...At any rate," she said, "I don't need Fallon to steal cake for me anymore. As you can see, I now have an entire room dedicated to nothing but delicious, sweet, mouth-watering baked goods."

"It is quite impressive," Squish remarked, swinging his legs over the edge of the table and looking around. There were towers of cakes lining the walls and endless platters of cookies strewn across the tables and counter tops. There were colorful jello molds in the shape of animals, with fruits and berries and even the occasional man inside of them. There were pie tins stacked to the ceiling and huge barrels filled with candy.

On the opposite end of the room from where Isabella and Squish were seated, there was an enormous kitchen, where a few dozen men were scurrying about, loading sprinkles onto cupcakes, painting glaze onto donuts with tiny brushes, and rolling dough with their bare hands. They seemed to pay no attention to Isabella as she stood up, put Squish on her shoulder, and walked towards them.

"I told my mother I'd someday have my own cake room," she said, although her voice had gotten more wistful and it seemed more like she was talking to herself than telling a story. "She said I'd grow out of that phase eventually. Who do you think was right?"

She stopped to pick up a cookie that was coated in blue frosting and shaped like an elephant. She smiled at it for a moment, holding it by its hind legs in front of her face, and let it dangle loosely between her fingers.

"Have you ever seen an elephant before?" she asked Squish.

Squish shook his head. "I cannot say that I have."

"They're beautiful creatures, really. I hear they're almost extinct now." Isabella held the cookie up to her eyes. "Someday, I'm going to have a whole garden of elephants."

"That would be a sight to see."

Isabella didn't say anything. She laid the elephant cookie back down, found one that looked like an owlbear, and promptly bit off its head.

"Stupid crossbreeds," she said, dropping the rest of the cookie to the floor. She proceeded to do the same thing with the next three owlbear cookies.

"Oh!" she said, suddenly, causing a trail of crumbs to rain down from her lips. She pushed the plate of cookies aside. "I want to show you how to bake a cake."

"You bake?" Squish asked.

"Of course. It's a piece of cake to bake a pretty cake."

"But what if the way is hazy?"

"Well, you gotta do the cooking by the book," she said. "You know you can't be lazy."

"What book?"

"This one." Isabella stood on her tiptoes for a second, grabbed a large tome off a shelf from above, and slammed it down on the counter. Two men who were working nearby were blasted with a sudden cloud of flour.

Isabella casually wafted the cloud away with the back of her hand and flipped through the book.

"We just have to find a good recipe," she said. "We most certainly don't want a messy one. The cake will end up crazy."

Squish slapped his forehead.

"Here's a good one!" Isabella said. She grabbed a bowl from under the counter and started measuring out flour and baking powder and sugar.

"I'm impressed," Squish said. "I didn't realize you did your own baking. As a queen, you should have servants to do that for you."

"Yeah, I've come to realize that if you want something done in this world, you have to do it yourself."

Isabella and Squish stared at each other for a minute and then shared a good, long laugh.

"You had me going there for a second," Squish said.

"Well, you are pretty easy to fool," Isabella said, dumping the ingredients into the bowl. She reached over and grabbed a large, oddly-colored egg. "The truth is, I like to bake, just like you like to tell bad jokes."

She cracked the egg over another empty bowl and started to beat it with a whisk.

"This is an owlbear egg, you know," she said.

"What do you have against owlbears?"

"They're ugly."

"Oh."

When she was finished beating the egg, she added vanilla extract and cream before pouring the mixture into the first bowl.

"What kind of cake are you making anyway?" Squish asked.

"Strawberry shortcake."

"Sounds good. Is that your favorite?"

"Oh, one of them, for sure." Isabella held the bowl up and started stirring. "But you know what I love even more than eating the cake itself?"

"What's that?"

"Licking the spoon that's in the batter before I put it in the oven."

"Ah, I see..."

Isabella continued stirring.

"You know," she said, smiling to herself, "I might just let you have a taste of the batter."

"You would do that?"

"Not normally, no. I don't even let Fallon lick the spoon. But...you told such a vivid story before. Circus people and strange men in funny clothes doing dangerous stunts for the entertainment of women... Such a colorful tale deserves some kind of...reward, I do believe."

"You are most gracious, my queen."

Isabella was no longer smiling to just herself.

"Why don't you jump in?" she said, bringing the bowl closer.

Squish peered down from her shoulder at the moist milky mixture below, being churned by the motion of Isabella's hand going around and around.

"It's a long jump," he said.

"You'll make it, don't worry."

He pushed himself closer to the edge of her puffy sleeve.

"You won't move the bowl as soon as I jump?" he asked.

"Of course not."

He pushed himself closer still and Isabella had to forcibly bit down on her lower lip to keep from laughing.

"...I wonder," Squish said, holding onto the soft fabric of her sleeve. "How many fools before me have you tricked this way?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Your face is quite easy to read, Isabella."

She stopped biting her lip and let go of the spoon.

"...I could flick you into the batter right now," she said.

"You sure could."

"I could pour you into a pan, stick you in the oven, and make faces at you through the glass for the next fifteen minutes while you bake."

"Yup."

"...I could even 'forget' to turn the oven off and leave you in there for the rest of the day."

"Yeah, I wouldn't be able to do a thing about that."

"No, you wouldn't!"

Squish smiled at her and she glared at him, her nostrils flaring. This standoff continued until Isabella finally threw the bowl down in a rage.

"Fine!" she said, dumping the batter into a pan. She motioned to the two workers who were busy brushing the flour off their clothes. "You two—get in the batter, now!"

"But—" one of them started.

"NOW!"

"...You'll have to catch us first!" the other shouted, grabbing his friend's hand, and they took off across the counter.

Isabella sighed and picked up the pan.

The two men weaved their way through a maze of bowls and plates and various kitchen utensils until they found themselves at the edge of the counter. With nowhere to run, they looked over their shoulder, where they spotted Isabella walking towards them.

"We have to jump!" one of the men cried.

"You don't need to yell!" said the other. "I'm right next to you."

"I'm just trying to be dramatic!"

"Well, stop doing that and jump!"

"Okay!"

Still holding hands, they leapt from the counter and sailed down, down towards the floor, screaming the whole time.

"I love you, brother!" the one man shouted.

"I love you, too!"

They expected to splatter across the floor. They expected to break every bone in their body. They expected the worst and instead—instead, they found their lives spared by a spongy cushion of fluff.

"It's a miracle," they remarked, opening their eyes. "We are saved!"

Isabella stood up, for she had been kneeling down and holding the pan in the path of the men's descent, and walked over to the oven. She put the pan on one of the racks inside. Then, with a triumphant slam, she closed the oven door and cranked the temperature knob as high as it would allow.

Squish shook his head.

"...Well, aren't you going to make faces at them?" he asked.

Isabella folded her arms across her chest. "I don't feel like it anymore."

"Aw, come on. Don't be like that."

Isabella watched the men inside the oven as they screamed, clawed at their faces, and tried desperately to climb out of the pan.

"...That should be you in there," she said, with more than a hint of disappointment in her voice.

One of the men fell over, his hands burning after touching the metal side of the pan.

"You had your chance," Squish said.

"It's just not fair."

"Well, I'm sure you'll get me next time."

"Yeah... I will."

The men in the oven continued to bake in horrible agony as Isabella gathered strawberries and whipped cream and began setting the table for herself.

It was about this time that Roxanne entered the room, casting a dark shadow over the entire kitchen.

"Oh...it's you," Isabella said, giving her only a minor glance. "I thought you were training the new recruits."

"I was, but your lapdog wanted me to deliver you a message from Kaligar."

Isabella's eyes lit up.

"Is it from Fallon this time?" she asked excitedly.

"No, it's from Erika."

"Ugh..." The oven dinged and Isabella took the pan out and set in on the counter to cool. "What does she want now?"

"I don't know. I don't read your private messages."

Isabella rolled her eyes. "Well, you better start, because I'm not going to read it myself."

"Shall I read it to you then?" Roxanne asked.

"Can you do it in Erika's voice?"

"Do what in Erika's voice?"

Isabella sighed so deeply that her shoulders fell and almost knocked Squish off and into the cake pan.

Just in case, she sighed a couple more times like that, but he was ready this time.

"Nevermind..." she said, turning back to the cake and decorating it with strawberries and whipped cream. "Let's see... Cake, check. Strawberries, check." She looked at the men that were still alive, flailing about in the whipped cream, and pushed them down a little further with her thumb. "Short, check. My strawberry shortcake is complete!"

Roxanne stood expressionless by the doorway.

"...You really are a bore, Black Knight," she said, licking the frosting from her thumb. "You should have more fun. Fallon would've laughed tremendously at that joke."

"I thought it was funny," Squish said.

"Shut up. I'm still not speaking to you."

Roxanne remained like a statue.

"...Just read me the letter," Isabella said.

"As you wish." Roxanne took out the letter from the satchel around her waist. "...It begins, 'Isabella, do not threaten me. You were never good at such things.'"

Isabella muttered something under her breath as she carried the cake over to the table.

"You don't have to read everything, you know," she said as she sat down. "Just sum it up for me."

Roxanne nodded and read through the whole letter first. "...Erika claims there are still those in the royal council who are loyal to Penee. She then proceeds to make some vague, pathetic threat in which you have to choose between making enemies with her or Sorena."

"Oh, no," Isabella said sarcastically. "Erika and her filthy swamp people are going to come throw coconuts at my castle and do a naked dance in the courtyard if I don't help them. I'm so scared." She grabbed a large knife and cut into the cake. "Honestly, what an attention whore."

"It's obvious that she's hungry for power."

"You think so?"

"Yes, I've seen this before. She is like a little mouse begging for a cookie. You have what she wants, so she's going to keep on begging until she gets the cookie or..."

"Or she runs into a hungry cat."

"...Sorena can be that cat, you know."

Isabella began to poke at her moving food. "Well, at least I know not to have Rebecca write any more letters in my name. She was supposed to make it so that Erika stops pestering me."

"Well, we could always kill Rebecca."

Isabella laughed.

"I have a better idea," she said, driving her fork into the chest of one of the men on her cake and then popping it into her mouth. "Let's..." She scrunched her nose into a ball, made an ugly face, and then spit the cake and the man back onto her plate. "Yuck. There's too much short and not enough strawberry in this cake."

"Should I kill the chef for you?"

Squish started laughing until Isabella flicked him off her shoulder.

"No," she said, "but you can get me my crayons so that I can give Erika the whore a proper response." Then she dropped her fork. "Oh, and you can have my cake. It left a bad taste in my mouth."

Roxanne came over and looked down at the cake with one screaming man still mired in whipped cream and another lying motionless on top. Without saying a word, she picked the entire thing up, stuffed it inside her mouth, and swallowed.

"Wow..." Isabella said. "Next time, Black Knight, you might want to try chewing."

"I thought you said I should have more fun."

-------------------------

"Hurry up, Bob!" Guy said.

"I'm coming! Just give me a minute."

"Make it quick!"

Bob finished what he was doing and climbed into the large metallic box next to his friend. Snickering and slapping each other's hands like a couple of idiots, they dropped to their knees and pressed their faces against a narrow slit that was cut into the front of the box. From here, they had a perfect view of the doorway.

It wasn't long before they heard voices and footsteps coming towards them.

"...I just don't think it's a good idea for him to do those stunts," Sophia was saying. "They're dangerous."

"Yes, but that's exactly why he has to do them," Michelle said. "Have you forgotten what it was like in our world? For a man to feel like a man, he had to live his life on the edge. It's a pride thing. Here, in Adelais, I think men feel even more obligated to prove themselves to women and to each other." She opened the door and Bob and Guy ducked their heads. "You can't expect him to simply give that up. He has urges, you know."

Sophia followed her into the dressing room, checked to make sure they were alone, and then quietly shut the door.

"...We all have urges, but that doesn't make them a good thing," she said. "Especially not here. Those urges that you speak of could get them killed."

"Better for a wild animal to die by the forces of nature than to wither away in captivity, wouldn't you say?"

"Don't get philosophical with me, Michelle," Sophia muttered. She walked over to the vanity on the far wall and checked her hair in the mirror. Grimacing at what she saw, she reached for a brush and began messing it up.

"...You could be very pretty if you didn't do that to your hair all the time," Michelle said.

Sophia ignored her.

"You're going to rip it out if you keep doing that."

Sophia worked her hands faster.

"Look, I'm not trying to be your mother—"

"Then don't. Because you fall way short."

Michelle sighed, slid her arms out of the sleeves of her robe, and hung it on the rack near the door. She thought she heard some giggling coming from the other side of the room, but the noises stopped by the time she turned around.

"...I just think we've been here for too long for you to still give me the cold shoulder," she said.

"Don't think you're so special. I treat everybody like I treat you."

"I know you do. But that's why it's wrong." Michelle moved closer and sat on the backless chair next to Sophia's vanity. "We share something, Sophia. We're the only ones who remember what it was like...before all of this."

"I try not to."

"But you can't help it." Michelle began to undo her earrings. "The men have undergone too many changes, both physically and mentally, to retain any memories of our lives before Adelais. But you and I have trouble letting the past go. We remember how our lives used to be, and how we long for those days again."

A not-so-subtle grin crept across Sophia's face.

"What?"

"That's the same pile of shit you were shoveling on us when you came back into our lives three years ago. I can see right through you, Michelle. The only time you want to go back to is when my father was in love with you and I wasn't around."

"That's not true, Sophia."

"To hell with you."

Michelle was quiet as she opened the top of her jewelry box, gathered up the rest of her earrings, and began putting them away. It wasn't until she had finished and closed the lid that she noticed one of the front drawers was opened slightly. Without giving it much thought, she pushed it shut with the back of her hand, causing Bob and Guy to lose their footing and tumble into the back of the drawer.

"...You know, it's hard enough to keep an eye on all the men around here," Michelle said. "I don't like having to worry about you as well."

"It's not your job to worry about me."

"What? You think it's normal for a young lady to hate the world, dye her hair strange colors, wear black all the time, and write songs about death and despair?"

"You think it's normal for a grown woman to dress up like a gypsy and prance about on a stage with a bunch of tiny people doing a circus act?"

"...I suppose we've found our own ways to cope with these changes."

"Yeah."

Michelle stood up and took off her skirt. Bob and Guy's faces were immediately glued to the slit in the front of the jewelry box. They had to stick their fists in their mouths to keep from giggling too hard and being overheard.

"...I still worry about you," Michelle said.

"...Well, don't." Sophia threw down her brush. "I never needed you before, and I certainly don't want you now."

Michelle was about to undo the laces of her bodice when Sophia started for the door.

"Ooooh, here it comes!" Bob snickered.

Guy bounced on his knees like a little child.

"Well, you may not like it, but I'm still going to save one eye to watch over you," Michelle said.

"Whatever." Sophia opened the door and then stood there for a minute, as if musing over something important. "...By the way..."

"Yes?"

"Maybe if you weren't so busy watching me all the time, you'd notice that Bob and Guy are spying on you from inside your jewelry box. Again."

Sophia jumped out of the carriage, smiling to herself. A few seconds later, there was a scream, followed by some curse words and then two more screams as Bob and Guy were flung out of the trailer. They flew over Sophia's head, still screaming, and landed in the soft grass in front of her.

She made sure to step on them both as she walked by.

Bob and Guy laid there, motionless, with their faces in the dirt. After a minute or so, Bob's leg began to twitch, followed by Guy's arm. Little by little, they regained the feeling in their muscles and were able to peel themselves out of the boot imprint they were in.

Afterward, they sat up and stared at each other in disbelief.

"That...was...so...awesome!" Guy said.

"Totally!" Bob agreed. "We have to tell someone what we did."

"But who!?"

They looked around and spotted Roy fishing over by a small creek. The blond-haired cowboy was sitting on the back of his frog, with his legs in the water, and biting down on a stalk of wheat that was three times longer than him.

Giggling to each other, Bob and Guy started running towards him.

"Hey, Roy!" Guy yelled from about fifty yards away. "You won't believe what Bob and I just did!"

Roy spun around and put a finger to his lips.

"What's he doing?"

"Looks like he's motioning towards his mouth and pointing up."

Guy looked at the sky. "Up? What could that mean?"

"I think it means we need to speak up for him to hear us. The old boy must be going deaf."

"Oh, okay." Guy cupped his hands over his mouth. "HEY, ROY—CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?"

Roy waved his arms frantically.

"HOW ABOUT NOW?" Bob yelled.

Roy began giving them a new gesture with his hand.

"What's he doing now?"

"Looks like he's still pointing up, but with a different finger."

"HEY, ROY! CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?"

"HOW ABOUT NOW?"

"CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?"

Bob and Guy were standing directly next to Roy by this time and yelling directly into his ear.

"...Yes, I can hear you," Roy said, grinding his teeth. "I can hear you, my frog can hear you, every damn fish in the stream can hear you."

"What are you doing, Roy?" Guy asked, peering into the water.

"I'm fishing, Guy."

"What's 'fishing,' Roy?"

Roy tried to ignore them in hopes that they would go away.

"I'm trying to catch the fish—not scare them all away!" Roy said, dismounting the frog. He grabbed Bob by the collar of his shirt and dragged him out of the water before knocking the stick out of Guy's hand.

"Well, you're not doing a very good job, Roy," Bob said. "I still see lots of fish in the water."

Guy pointed. "Yeah, right there! Look at them all."

A school of minnows stared up at the men and then began swimming in circles.

Excitedly, Roy grabbed his fishing pole and scampered onto the frog's back. "Okay, I just need you two to stay quiet, and we'll be eating well tonight."

"But, Roy, we want to tell you what we just did!" Guy said.

"Yeah, you're going to love it!" Bob said.

Roy cast his line.

"...Okay, what did you do?" he asked, realizing they weren't going to leave him alone otherwise.

"We... We..."

Bob and Guy fell over in a fit of giggles.

"We saw... We saw..."

Suddenly, Roy felt a bite.

Bob was on the ground, still laughing, while Guy rolled over on top of him.

"This is a big one!" Roy cried, reeling in his line. "It must weigh at least three ounces!"

Bob and Guy continued to roll around in the grass.

The hooked minnow flopped around on top of the water and Roy stood up on the back of his frog and buckled his knees as the pole jiggled wildly in his hands.

"We saw Michelle NAKED!" Bob and Guy screamed at the same time.

Roy's eyes shot open and the pole flew from his hand. It skipped across the water—once, twice, three times—and then disappeared beneath the ripples.

Roy gawked at them. "You...what?"

"We saw her naked!" Guy repeated.

"Stop lying."

"Nuh-uh, it's true!" Bob said. "I saw her, too."

"Yeah, and she was totally naked," Guy said.

"Totally. She couldn't have been any more naked if she had clothes on."

Roy stared at them. "...Well, okay. How was it?"

"Huh?"

"I mean, did you like it?"

Bob and Guy stared at him blankly.

"Why would we like it?" Guy asked.

"Yeah..." Bob said. "You're weird, Roy."

Roy shook his head and sat back down. "Whatever. I'm going back to fishing, guys."

"Okay! We're going to go tell more people what we did."

They ran in the other direction and Roy took off his hat and scratched his head. Then he turned back to the creek, where the minnow that was on his line came out of the water and laughed at him.

After a bit of searching, Bob and Guy found Mack on a stump, whittling something out of a piece of wood.

"No," he said, not even glancing up at them.

"But—" Guy started.

"No."

Bob opened his mouth. "We just want—"

"No."

Shrugging, Bob and Guy continued running across the field and found Wallace collecting firewood from the grassy meadow.

"Hey, Wally!" Guy cried, jumping on the burly man's back. "Guess what!"

Bob ran around the front of him and began picking up all the logs Wallace had just dropped.

"Did you two come to help me gather kindling?" Wallace asked, prying Guy from his shoulders.

"Um, no..." Bob said, stuffing the logs he had picked up into Wallace's hands.

"Are you two helping Roy with our dinner?" Wallace asked.

"Um, no..."

"Are you two doing anything that benefits anybody other than yourselves?"

Bob had to think about that one.

"We saw Michelle naked!" Guy blurted out.

Wallace's face immediately turned to stone and the logs fell to his feet.

"...What?" he said, and Bob and Guy began to feel the heat of his gargoyle-like glare.

"Uh...we have to go now," Guy said.

"Bye!" Bob said, and they took off across the field.

"Know what our problem is, Bob?" Guy asked, in the midst of their running marathon.

"What's that, Guy?"

"It's that we're telling people something about a subject that doesn't interest them. If we want to get recognition for our accomplishment, we need to find somebody who would appreciate what we did."

"You mean find somebody who would want to see Michelle naked."

"Exactly."

"Then I know just the guy..."

They made it back to the trailer and found Russell counting the money from their last show.

"Hey, Russell!" Bob yelled. "You won't believe what we have to tell you about your ex-girlfriend..."

The next two hours were all black to Bob and Guy. When they finally awoke, they found themselves lying in the dirt—again—with black eyes and bruises across their faces.

"I feel like I got hit by a woman's shoe..." Bob said, cracking his neck.

Guy looked around, but they were alone now.

"You know, Bob..." he said. "I get the feeling that we aren't respected around here."

"I get the same feeling, Guy."

"You know what we should do?"

"What's that?"

"We should get our own gig and call it... 'The Bob & Guy Show'!"

"Yeah! We'd put those Circus freaks out of business. Everybody would come to see us."

"Totally, because we're Bob and Guy."

"Yeah! We're lovable characters who always get into comical mischief but come out unscathed and people love us for that."

"Plus, we're super annoying!"

"Yeah, I bet there isn't anybody half as annoying as the two of us combined!"

Suddenly, Jeff poked his head up through a gopher hole in the ground.

"Hi, guys!" he said.

"Wha...?" Bob stared down the gopher hole. "Where did this—?"

"I overheard you talking from where I was eavesdropping on your conversation," Jeff said. "I'm sick of being told what to do, too! Around here, it's always, 'Jeff, would you please stop talking' or 'Jeff, would you please not stand so close' or 'Jeff, would you please stop listening in on other people's conversations and then interrupting them to go off on your own semi-related, but somehow entirely different, monologue sequence that is of no interest to anybody here'!"

"Why are you in a gopher hole?" Guy asked.

"I think 'The Bob & Guy Show' needs a Jeff character," Jeff said. "What do you say, guys?"

"I don't think you get the concept here," Bob explained. "'The Bob & Guy Show' would only have two characters. Bob—that's me—and Guy—that's him. There's no 'Jeff' in there."

Jeff considered that for a minute.

"But...I could change my name to Guy," he said.

"You're not allowed to do that!" Guy argued. "That's already my name."

"Oh..."

Then Jeff got another idea.

"What if we named it, 'The Bob & Guy & Jeff Show'?"

"L-o-l," Bob said."Nobody would come to see you, Jeff."

"Why not?"

"Well, what talent do you have?"

"...You need talent to have your own show?"

"Well, not if you join the Circus. Haha, zing!"

Bob and Guy gave each other a high-five. It took them three tries before they were able to make contact, but it was probably the most intelligent thing they had ever said.

"Just face it, Jeff," Bob said. "You're just not at the same caliber of cool as me or Guy."

Jeff frowned. "I guess not."

"You also didn't see Michelle naked," Guy pointed out.

Bob nodded.

"That's true..." Jeff said. "She always says no when I ask."

"You dummy," Bob said. "You don't ask to see her naked! You sneak into her dressing room when she's not looking and watch her get undressed."

"Duh!" Guy said. "What a moron. How else would you see a girl naked?"

They shared a good laugh at Jeff's expense.

"I bet he's never even spied on a naked girl," Bob said, slapping Guy on the back.

"Yeah, he doesn't even have the guts to hide in one of their rooms!"

Jeff's eyes began to water. "You guys are mean. I'm not your friend anymore."

They laughed harder.

Jeff sank down into the gopher hole and disappeared.

"He'll be a virgin for the rest of his life," Guy said, wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes.

"Yeah, I popped my cherry when I was like ten," Bob said.

"Me too. I was totally spying on girls all the time by the time I was a teenager."

"I even talked to a girl by the time I was twenty!"

"Yeah, Jeff is such a loser!"

"Come on. Let's go inside the trailer and get some food."

As they walked, they felt a cool breeze brushing against the back of their necks. They stopped for a moment, because they thought they heard a twig crack behind them, but it turned out to only be the branches of the trees scraping together.

"You were scared," Bob said.

"Was not!" Guy said, pushing him.

It was a moonless night, but there were so many stars in the sky that the whole meadow was bathed in an elegant light. The circus tent had been removed from the carriage and all the strings of lights taken down, for they would be departing in the morning. In a field off to the side, their horses were grazing and resting on the open plain, while a couple of wild hares took refuge in the underbrush.

As Bob and Guy continued walking, they soon noticed the slender legs of a female leaning against the back door of the carriage. A dazzling yellow skirt—so bright that it outshone all the stars—flapped against the thighs of these legs, and caused Bob and Guy to shield their eyes to see who it was.

"...Michelle?" Guy said. "You look so different with your clothes on."

"No, you idiot," Bob said. "That's Sophia. Michelle has bigger—"

The legs stepped forward and Bob and Guy knew at once that they were both wrong.

Those curves wouldn't lie.

"Hello, boys," came a sweet, soft, sensual voice from above. "I've been looking for you for a very long time."

"It's...you!" Bob gasped. "J-J-June."

"No, no, you dummy," Guy said. "That's April."

"I think I know what I'm talking about, Guy."

"You most certainly do not. I remember her, and I know she was named after a spring month."

"No way. She was named after a summer month. You can tell because she is wearing summer colors right now."

"She's wearing dandelion yellow! That's a spring color."

"It is not!"

"Dandelions only come out in the springtime. Have you ever seen a dandelion in the summer?"

"Um, yes! There's some right over there."

"Those are daffodils!"

"They are not!"

"They're not even yellow, Bob! They're white, just like daffodils."

"Oh, yeah. I always get those two mixed up."

The girl knelt down.

"I'm hurt that you don't remember my name," she said. "Because I never forgot yours: Bubble and Gum."

"Actually, it's Bob and G—"

She put a finger to her lips.

"Shh, shh," she said, blowing softly. That was enough to silence them both, oddly enough. "It's time to do the world a favor and stop talking."

"But we're Bob and Guy. We always ta—"

"Your days of being 'Bob and Guy' are over. They were over three years ago, when I consumed you." She laid her palms on either side of them and dug her nails into the earth as she leaned over them. "I didn't realize at the time that you were magicians."

"Magicians?" Bob echoed. "We're not magicians—are we, Guy?"

"No way," Guy said. "We don't even know magic."

"We've never even heard of magic!"

"Yeah, what's magic?"

The girl threw back her head and laughed.

"I have no idea how you did that disappearing act last time," she said, "but it doesn't matter now. Our little cat-and-mouse game ends here."

"Hey, now I remember your name!" Bob said. He looked at Guy and they slowly stared up at the girl looming over them and gulped.

"...DECEMBER!" they screamed at the same time.

"...Your ignorant act has lost its charm," the girl said.

"What act?"

"It's okay. I don't need to know your secrets."

"Our secrets...?" Guy asked.

Bob nudged him. "She wants to know who we saw naked."

"Oh!" Guy stuck out his chest and then his tongue. "We're not telling you anything! We have more respect for Michelle than that."

The girl lowered her face until it was hovering right over their cowering bodies.

"You don't have to tell me how you did it," she whispered, blanketing their bodies with her moist breath. "I don't want to know. I don't care. It's time to stop speaking now."

"We just found a really good place to hide."

"Yeah, we could even show you," Guy said.

"I have the perfect hiding place for my little magicians," the girl said. "You see, I'm quite good at making people disappear as well."

"I do believe she means to harm us, Guy," Bob said.

"I do believe you're right, Bob," Guy said.

"Let us run away."

"Yes, let us run away quickly."

They turned on their heels and smacked into the girl's forearms, which were still positioned on either side of them. Dazed, they stumbled back and fell against each other.

"I would normally love a chase," the girl said, sitting down in the grass and pulling her legs to one side. "But, as you can see, I didn't come dressed for a chase. No, not tonight... Tonight, I came to put you two back in your place."

"But we're fun to chase," Bob said. "Come on, chase us! Really, it'll be great."

"Yeah!" Guy agreed. "We just need a ten minute head-start."

"You could even make it twenty."

"Yeah, we won't complain."

The girl shook her honey-brown hair and smiled.

"It's too late for that," she said, scooping them up into her palm. "You belong to me. You've always belonged to me. You just haven't realized it until now."

"But we—"

"You're ruining the moment." The girl leaned back, closed her eyes, and raised her palm until it was right below her smile. "Let me enjoy this."

Before Bob and Guy could do anything, the girl had opened her mouth and dropped them inside. They bounced on her tongue and tried to make for the exit, but she sealed her lips around them.

In response, they proceeded to scream and pound on her teeth.

"Shhh..." she said, putting her finger against her lips one more time. When that didn't silence them, she inserted her finger into her mouth and twisted, pushing them far back into her throat until their cries become muffled and distant.

"Do you remember my name now?" she asked softly, sucking on her finger as she pulled it out of her mouth.

She listened for their cries. When she heard them scream, "MAAAAAAAAAAAY," she swallowed and sighed contently.

"There..." she said, falling back onto the grass and staring up at the stars above. "That's all I wanted you to say."

A letter from Ellewyn:

Princess Whoreika,

Roses are red, violets are blue,
Sorena can't possibly be more annoying than you

Love,
Queen Isabella

-------------------------

"How far are you willing to take this?"

Erika closed the terrace curtains. Even though it was a warm night in the courtyard, she felt a chill blow across her bare shoulders.

"...I don't want her dead if that's what you are asking," she said, brushing her arm nervously as if she had just walked into an invisible spiderweb. "I just need her...indisposed for a while."

"Indisposed...? She's the ruler of the most powerful country in the world. You can't expect her to simply disappear for a few weeks. Somebody is bound to miss her...probably."

"She's a menace and a danger to every living creature in this land. Without her, Ellewyn will enjoy its first time of peace in over three years. Her people need her off the throne just as much as my people do."

"I see..." There was a long pause in their conversation. "...For the sake of argument, let's say I am able to break into the castle and kidnap her—what then? What am I supposed to do with her? I've seen how she acts when she's somewhere she doesn't want to be. She's worse than a baby. That's not exactly good hostage material."

"Are you saying you won't do it, Kamilla?"

The mercenary took a sip of juice.

"...No, I'm not saying I won't do it," she said, leaning against the railing. "I'm not even saying I can't do it. I'm just saying it will be very, very difficult to pull off... Am I to assume the act of killing anyone during this mission is not acceptable?"

"I'm asking you to do this instead of the Blades because I know that's a code you live by, Kamilla."

The corner of the mercenary's lip rose. "I'm the only thief with a heart of gold. Is that it?"

"Yes. And when this war is over, I'll personally see to it that your criminal record in Kaligar is wiped clean. You'll never again have to watch your back in my land."

"...For all your studies of culture and people, you don't know much about the life of a mercenary. Even if you had the power to take the bounty off my head, there will always be those who will want to kill me. It's the price I pay for doing what's right at the expense of the law."

"Then it's time I share that price with you, my friend. If you get caught, we'll both go down for this."

"And you're willing to risk that?"

Erika took one last look at the letter she had received from Ellewyn.

"...I don't have a choice," she said. "Isabella has to be dealt with. She can't be allowed to be the spark that sends all of Adelais up in flames." She held the paper up to one of the blazing torches and watched it quickly turn to ash.

"So, now the fate of the world rests with me..." Kamilla said.

"I hope it's not too much to ask."

"Break into an impenetrable castle, sneak past an elite military group whose sole purpose is to protect the queen, kidnap the most powerful person in all of Adelais, and somehow get Isabella back here without being seen by anyone... And to do it all with a bounty on my head that would be enough to buy a small island."

"You've gone up against bigger challenges."

"Yeah, like being a mother."

Erika laughed, but it was the most uncomfortable moment of the night.

"...I'll need help, you know," Kamilla said.

"I don't want to bring the Blades in on this."

"The Blades?" Kamilla rolled her eyes. "I said I need help, not hindrance. Lynne and her goons couldn't sneak up on a deaf tortoise in winter."

"So, who did you have in mind?"

"Well, there is...one person who might be able to help."

"Oh?"

"I've never met her myself. I wouldn't even know where to start looking."

"What's her name?"

"The name's not important. As a person of royalty, it's better you know as little of this operation as possible."

"...Unfortunately, I must agree. It will be easier to feign ignorance that way."

"But you trust me, right?"

"Of course I do, Kamilla, and I trust your judgment. It's just..." Erika's voice trailed off. "...The kind of people who would agree to doing something like this...probably aren't the kind of people you can trust very easily..."

"I do this for a living," the dark-haired mercenary said. "I've learned a little thing or two about trust. I'll simply put out word that I am looking for an accomplice to pull a job."

"You'll get a lot of people gunning for you."

"That's exactly what I want. If rumor gets around that it's a really big job—like the kidnapping of a certain royal brat who might be worth a lot of money to a lot of people—there's a good chance I might run into precisely the person I am looking for... Then it's just a matter of convincing her to do this for all the right reasons."

Erika cupped her hands in front of her face and inhaled.

"...Are you sure it's a good idea to tell the whole world about your plan?" she asked. "What if word gets around to Isabella's people?"

"About a possible kidnapping?" Kamilla tried not to laugh. "Do you have any idea how many rumors I hear every single day about somebody wanting to put an arrow through Isabella's head? That's pretty much the norm these days. Truth be told, that monster is probably worth more dead than alive." She rolled a strand of hair around her finger. "...Considering she's the richest person in all of Adelais, that's saying a lot."

"So, there's nothing to worry about then?"

"If we lived in Ellewyn and were having this conversation, we'd be on the chopping block by morning. The Paladins are willing to kill anyone at even the slightest hint of betrayal... But here, in Kaligar, it's all bar talk. We are fortunate enough to live in a land of drunks and thieves who are always looking for a few extra coins to line their pockets."

Erika nodded. "...I never thought I'd be glad for that."

"You don't have to worry about me, Erika," Kamilla said, putting a hand on her back. "I've never failed you before, and I don't intend to now. I know this means a lot to you."

"It means even more to my people. I have to do what is best for them."

"That is why I am going to be extra cautious with this mission."

"I know you are..." Erika shuddered anyway, despite the warm glow from the torchlight that danced across her skin. "I just hate to think of all the dangers that lurk out there. I hate myself for even asking you to do this... But we live in dark times."

"Excuse me, princess, but we knew that when we took the jobs we did."

"Yes, I suppose you are right..."

Kamilla smiled. "If you want to worry about someone, might I suggest you try Sorena? She's going to have nowhere to run when the people of Kaligar come after her."

"I long for the day."

"I will bring it to you," Kamilla assured her, turning around. "When we next meet again, Isabella will be the least of your worries."

-------------------------

The pearl farms were as quiet as an underwater graveyard at night. There were no workers rushing about, no squeaky rail carts with loads of freshly harvested pearls being pushed through the caverns, no mermaids sprawled out on the rocks with their tails in the water and their eyes on the faces of every man, waiting for a sign of weakness or fatigue. There was only the stillness of the water, breathing calmly and peacefully, like a baby in her sleep, and the rushing of small waterfalls that never slept. The usual glow from above, the artificial white light that filled every glass dome in this vast kingdom under the sea, was shut off at night, turning the pearl farms into a gray dreamworld.

But not all was quiet, and not all persons were asleep in this place. In the station house, where the pearls were stored and inspected and eventually shipped off, there was a group of men in tattered garments gathered around one particular pearl. The pearl was cracked and one of them was taking a knife to it, making the crack even bigger. Jagged shards of the pearl fell to his feet like the pieces of a broken egg, but he continued chipping away at the pearl until he could fit his hand inside.

"You could've gotten a sharper knife," Jargon said. "That blade couldn't cut its way through a fish net."

Malkav stopped cutting for a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow. "I don't need anything sharper." He flicked back his moist hair with a twitch of his head, tightened his grip on the knife, and began jamming it into the fracture once more. A stream of blood trickled through the wraps he had around his knuckles and palms for protection.

"You're killing yourself, boy. Just ask Bruzzeli for something bigger."

"He's got it under control," Adam said.

"No one asked you, chubs."

Jargon watched for a minute longer and then couldn't stand it anymore.

"Let me have a crack at it, boy," he said, grabbing Malkav's shoulder. "You're the brains of this operation anyway. Not the muscle."

Malkav's blade didn't miss a beat.

"...Get your hand off me, captain," he said, coolly but firmly. "Or I will turn this knife on you."

Jargon dropped his hand and stepped back

"You're crazy if you think you can do this all yourself," he said. "We're a team, remember? A crew. We look out for each other, mate."

Malkav didn't respond.

"...Or maybe you want all the glory for yourself. Is that it?"

"I almost have it."

Jargon scowled.

"Let the young one do his thing," Exthame said. "We are all captains in this life, and we all have our own ships. This is his ship."

"At least one of us still has a ship..." Jargon mumbled before taking a swig of ale.

When the crack was big enough that Malkav could fit his whole arm inside, he did so and grabbed a metal handle that was on the inside. With enough force, he was able to pry open a narrow door that led to the inside of the pearl. Bits of pearl dust and shards rained to the floor. He moved back, revealing a hollow metal pod—just large enough to fit a man-sized person—that was hidden behind an outer shell of pearl.

"Just like how we left it," he said, dusting off his hands. He ignored the blood that was draining down his forearms.

"It's perfect," Adam said, peering inside. "...Um...I get one with more room, right?"

"I think he needs two of them," Blackthorn bellowed, and Jargon laughed alongside of him.

"All the pods are the same size," Malkav said. "You knew that when we built them three years ago."

Adam frowned. "Yeah..." Then he looked down at his belly. "I was also thinner three years ago."

"There will be enough room," Malkav assured him. "We just have to make sure we get these pearl pods over to the shipping bin and get inside of them before the next shipment leaves. That shouldn't be too hard to do since we're stuck on night shift now, thanks to Fay." He grinned and folded his arms across his chest. "If we time this right, gentlemen, we'll be back to the surface before anybody even notices we're gone."

Blackthorn scratched his grizzly chin.

"Exactly how many of these pearl pods did you make for us?" he asked.

"Eight."

Blackthorn began counting on his fingers.

"Well, you, me, the captain, Exthame, and the fat one are five..." he said. Then he realized he had to use the other hand and almost lost count. "Oh, and I assume we're bringing Fay along..."

"And Bruzzeli," Jargon said.

"We don't have to bring Bruzzeli," Adam chipped in.

"What are you talking about, boy? He actually has people on the outside who can help us."

"But...he sucks..."

"At least he brings something to the team! What do you bring, besides extra weight?" Jargon moved closer to him. "Huh, fatso? Does fatso want a cracker?"

Adam almost fell over backwards trying to get away.

"Enough," Malkav said. "Bruzzeli is coming. We knew that from day one. He has the money and the people and the resources to help us with this escape." He started to peel the wraps from his hand. "Because, remember... We're not safe, even if we make it back to the surface."

"Yeah, I feel real safe when I'm around him..." Adam muttered, but he knew that Malkav was right.

Meanwhile, Blackthorn was still working on his arithmetic.

"But that means there are eight pearl pods and....eleven of us!" he exclaimed. "Who are you planning on leaving behind, boy!? I'll arm wrestle anybody for my spot!" He held up the hook he had for a second hand. "Who wants to go? I'll take you all on."

"That makes seven of us," Exthame said quietly. "There is one pearl pod that will be left over."

"Left over?" Jargon echoed. "You mean we went through all the trouble of harvesting this pearl and opening it up just to keep it empty?"

Malkav looked over at Coop, who was the only one in the group actually doing his job. The old man was over by the storage bins, taking inventory and waxing each pearl with a rug as gray and old as his skin. He didn't once look up and didn't once look over to see what it was the others were doing. He was trained, like a soldier in the army, to look only forward, because wandering eyes and idle hands led to an early grave. In Atlantis, that was the grim reality of it all.

"...It won't be empty," Malkav said. "Come shipping day, there will be eight bodies in those pods."

Jargon followed Malkav's gaze over to Coop.

"The old man?" he whispered, although they were well out of hearing range anyway. "Are you mad? I don't even like the idea that he knows about our plan. Fossils like him live for so long because they know how to work the system."

"He's not going to sell us out, if that's what you're thinking," Malkav said.

"Why not? I'd do it if I was him." Jargon shrugged. "What's he got—one, maybe two years left to live? There's no world outside of these pearl farms for him. The best thing he can do for himself is turn us in and live out the last of his days here in mediocre luxury. Maybe the mermaids would even spare him a painful death."

Malkav didn't look at all bothered.

"Not everybody is like you, captain," he said. "The old man wants to go with us. He just doesn't know it yet."

"Whatever. I still don't like it."

"Neither do I," Blackthorn said. "We don't need his old bones slowing us down. We already have chubby over here for that."

Adam glared at him and then turned to Malkav. "...As much as I hate to say this, I agree with them. I'm not so sure it's a good idea to bring the old man along."

"Well, it's a good thing this isn't a democracy then," Malkav said. "The 'old man' is going. If you don't like it, you can give up your seat and find somebody else who has an escape plan. I'm sure we can find somebody to replace you."

"Arr..." Jargon growled. "You've been hanging around that troublesome Fay for too long. You're starting to become just like her."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"Nothing we say about Fay is ever a compliment, mate."

Exthame cleared his throat. "Not to interrupt your criticism of our dear comrade Fayrelin, but I was wondering when the next shipment of pearls is leaving for the surface."

"We still have a few days," Malkav said. "At some point, we'll have to figure out how to get these 'defective' pearls past through the final inspection. It's not going to do us much good if they discover some of the pearls have large cracks in them."

Jargon chuckled. "It will do us a lot less good when they discover what's inside those cracks."

"Right." Malkav turned around. "But right now, we have a bigger concern. As you are all aware, the mermaids are still in possession of the Scarab of Water..."

"Here we go again," Jargon said, rolling his eyes. "Boy, would you forget that thing already? I love treasure as much as the next pirate, but even I have to draw the line somewhere."

"You're only saying that because you're sober."

"Probably."

"The point is," Malkav continued, "we are not leaving here without the Scarab of Water. If we don't have it by the time the next shipment is scheduled to leave, we'll have to wait for the next one."

"What!? I'm not waiting around for another month so that you can play treasure hunter."

"This isn't about playing treasure hunter. When I joined your crew three years ago, we set sail with a mission in mind. Now, I've never been much for commitment before, but I've learned a thing or two from being a prisoner here, and I intend to see this mission carried out at any cost."

"But you have to admit that the mission has changed over these past three years," Adam said.

"The portly one is right," Blackthorn said. "The only reason we agreed to your 'mission' was because we wanted to locate the lost treasure of Gravy Bones. And the only reason we agreed to that is because that treasure was the only way we could repay our debt to Fay and get that cursed wench to give us our ship back."

Jargon nodded. "And now that our ship is gone, what reason do we have to find Gravy Bones' treasure at all?"

"Because you're pirates," Malkav said. "You don't have to have reasons for what you do, and you certainly don't need to justify it. You loot and pillage and plunder because you enjoy it. That's why you became pirates in the first place, wasn't it?"

"Aye!" Blackthorn said.

Jargon elbowed him in the gut. "Shut up. Some cheap talk isn't going to make me agree to this, boy. We're already taking enough risks as it is."

"Okay... If you don't want to do it for the endless amounts of treasure that the mermaids are surely hoarding, then what about revenge? The mermaids have put you through three years of slavery and torture. Isn't it about time that the pirates left their mark on this place?"

There was a sudden spark in Jargon's eyes.

"...Aye," he said. "I like the sound of that."

"You can think of it as a war trophy," Malkav said. "Atlantis is the keeper of some of the greatest treasures in the world, and Gravy Bones' treasure is among the grandest of all. To walk away with it—right from under the tails of the mermaids—would make every single one of us legends. They'd probably write songs about us."

Jargon stared up at the ceiling and closed his eyes. "And just think of all the ships I could buy with that treasure... I could be the captain of an entire fleet."

"And isn't that every pirate's dream?"

"That it is, boy!" Jargon laughed and threw his arms around Malkav, kissing him one cheek and then the other. "That it is."

When it was over, Malkav took a step back.

"...Then it's settled," he said, only slightly disturbed by what had just happened. "We have just a few days to find the Scarab of Water and come up with a way to steal it without being caught."

"Do we know where to start looking?" Adam asked.

Malkav began to pace around the pearl. "Well...I know where not to look. We won't find it here."

"I could've told you that, barnacle-brain!" Jargon spat. "The mermaids aren't going to leave the treasure of Gravy Bones just lying around for any man to stumble across."

"No, they're likely to keep it in a very special, very secure place..."

"Like a bank?" Blackthorn suggested.

"No, you're thinking like a woman."

"What did you say!?"

"I said you're thinking like a woman." Malkav brushed back his hair. "Women hide their jewels in chests and drawers and locked safes—places where they can't be seen and won't be stolen. That's because women value their possessions more than their vanity. But the mermaids don't."

"Mm...good observation," Exthame said. "The mermaids are not afraid to leave their valuables in plain sight. That is why every building and structure in Atlantis is riddled with precious gems and stones. They wish to show off their wealth."

"So...the treasure might be in plain sight?" Blackthorn said.

Malkav stopped pacing. "I'd say it's likely in plain sight...but only to certain people. Like Queen Marisette."

"Oh, great," Jargon said. "So, why don't we just wait enough for Her Royal Fishtail to send us an invite to the next ball so that we may sneak into her secret chambers and steal her most precious jewel without her or any of the other mermaids noticing?"

"Well... I don't know about a ball, but I do know that the mermaids convene once a month in the opera house for a musical."

"And why would you know this?" Blackthorn asked with a raise of his eyebrow. "Are you hiding a skirt behind those pants?"

"...I know this because I've been studying every contingency of this escape plan for the past three years," Malkav said. "The opera house is directly connected to Queen Marisette's throne room. If we can find a way in there, we can gain access to her throne room and find the scarab while all the mermaids are watching the opera."

"You want to break into the opera house...at a time when every mermaid in Atlantis is in there?" Adam asked.

Blackthorn scoffed. "Why don't we just serve ourselves to the mermaids on a platter now?"

They started to argue, but Malkav held up his hand.

"It's the only time when we know Marisette won't be at her throne," he said.

"And what makes you so sure the scarab is even in there?"

"I don't," Malkav admitted, and the argument started up again. It culminated with Blackthorn and Jargon shoving Adam back and forth between them.

"Would you stop this?" Malkav asked, turning to Exthame.

Exthame flashed him a sly grin.

"You cannot blame them for being afraid," he said.

"Afraid?" Jargon echoed. He stopped pushing Adam, who immediately fell to the ground. "I'll have you know that pirates aren't afraid of anything!"

"It seems to me you are afraid of many a thing," Exthame said. "You are afraid of the mermaids and this place, which is understandable...but you are also afraid of the unknown. You don't know for certain where the treasure is, and so you fear taking a risk to end up empty-handed. You have forgotten that treasure-hunting is more than matching paces on a map and searching for the 'x' that marks the spot. If it was that easy, everybody would be pirates. What makes us exceptional is that we are willing to take chances and face the unknown, understanding we don't always know where we are going or what treasures we will find. The greatest treasures are the ones you were never searching for to begin with."

Jargon stared at him for a minute and then threw back his head and guffawed.

"I never have any clue what you are saying, Exthame, but you make it sound good!" he said. "I knew we allowed you to join a crew for a reason."

Meanwhile, Blackthorn was fighting back a tear.

"That's...so true," he said. "I...thought I was looking for gold and jewels all my life, but instead I found you guys. My friends... I love you guys."

Then he looked around because he noticed everybody was staring at him.

"...Did I just speak that aloud?" he asked. "Er, I mean...uh...arr! Pirates forever!"

Malkav lowered his head and pinched the space between his eyes.

-------------------------

"...and that's why they call them the Atlantis man-of-war."

The room exploded in laughter as Zana finished telling her twelfth man-getting-killed-by-sea-creature joke of the night.

"That was your best one yet," one of the other pygmies said. "Who would've thought a man could mistake the tentacles of a jellyfish for a rope?"

"That's why you'll never see a man escape from here," Zana said. "Even if they did, they wouldn't know whether to swim up or down to get back home!"

Fayrelin chuckled half-heatedly.

"What's wrong with you tonight?" the pygmy next to her asked, nudging Fayrelin's shoulder. "You're usually laughing the hardest at the stupidity of men."

"I don't know," Fayrelin said. "I guess I'm just a little out of it tonight. Maybe I should get to bed."

"She's just having issues with one of the fish," Zana said, completely ignoring the nasty glare she got from Fayrelin.

"Only one of them?" another pygmy asked. "They all get on my nerves."

Everybody but Fayrelin fell over laughing.

"Would you lighten up already?" Zana said, reaching into the crate she was sitting on and tossing Fayrelin another bottle of rum. "We're here to have fun. Forget the fish."

"It's kinda hard with you telling jokes about them all the time..."

The room got awkwardly silent and the pygmies shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

"Okay," Zana said, nodding her head and smiling, even though it was clear she was doing it through grinding teeth. "No more fish jokes."

"Thank you," Fayrelin said, opening the bottle with her teeth and spitting the cap onto the floor.

"...Why don't you tell us a 'clean' joke then?" Zana asked. "I'm sure the rest of us would love to hear from you. Isn't that right, girls?"

The other pygmies mumbled something, which was mostly a reluctant agreement.

"I'm not sure I can come up with a good joke tonight," Fayrelin said.

Zana leaned back on the crate. "Then a story. Even a sponge could come up with a story."

Fayrelin took a slow sip of rum, feeling the heated gaze of all the other pygmies watching her, waiting for something to come out of her mouth besides alcohol. Finally, she lowered the bottle to her waist and held it between her knees.

"...Do any of you ever think back to your lives before Atlantis?" she asked. "I mean, we all used to be surface pygmies at some point. None of us were born here, but we sure act like it."

"Fay, I don't—" Zana started.

"I used to be a thief," Fayrelin interrupted. When that didn't get a reaction, she looked around the room at the other pygmies. "I stole things from people. I made a living off it. I've always been good at luring people in and making them do my bidding so that I can benefit from it."

"Where are you going with this?" Zana asked.

"Those...those 'fish' I am having issues with..." Fayrelin stared into her rum and swashed it around. "I first met them about five years ago. From the first time I saw them, I knew they were drunken buffoons and I could trick them into doing anything...so I challenged them to a contest. If I could guess how many gold coins they had in the treasure chest on their ship, then they would have to hand their ship and all their belongings over to me. If I was wrong, I would give them my ship."

The pygmies looked at each other, confused.

"...I never had a ship," Fayrelin said. "It had hit on the rocks a few days before and all my cargo had sunken to the bottom of the sea. I saw the pirates sail by and fish up some of my cargo...including my treasure chest. I knew exactly how many gold coins were in there. That was my life's savings."

"So, wait..." Zana said. "You challenged them to a rigged contest, knowing you would win, and they would have to give up their ship?"

"...Yes. Then they tried for double or nothing by having me guess what was in my own jewelry box. Six earrings, two necklaces, and an emerald ring." She sighed. "That's the kind of person I am, girls... A thief and a liar."

It was then that she noticed all the other pygmies were rolling on the floor laughing. Even Zana was cracking up and nearly fell off her crate.

"I was wrong about you," Zana laughed. "That was the best story I've ever heard. Fish really are stupid!"

Fayrelin cocked her head to the side. What was so funny? They should have been hiding their valuables and reprimanding her—not laughing and slapping her back.

"Here's to Fay," Zana said, raising her bottle and making a toast. "May all her victims be as dull as those fish."

"To Fay!" the others said, clicking bottles in the air.

Fayrelin watched them drink and then took a long swig of ale, smiling happily to herself.

An excerpt from 'On the Legends and Lore of Adelais':

A Report on the Criminal Activity in Kaligar

For all its natural beauty, religious tolerance, and racial peace, Kaligar is often regarded as the most dangerous kingdom in Adelais. For those who have visited Kaligar, this should not come as a surprise. The rainforest is filled with many plants and animals that are not only deadly but also carry diseases. Most Adelian poisons, in fact, are derived from the seeds and petals of flowers located in the jungles of Kaligar. On top of that, small tribal wars have been known to break out every few years, and these cannot be squelched by any militia of sorts, as the thick jungles and swamps of the land make it difficult for the centurions to enforce any kind of laws outside the capital city of Masiela.

Perhaps the greatest threat Kaligar poses to the rest of the world, however, is the extent of criminal activity that takes place within its borders. Smuggling—particularly of the curious race of Man, who are captured from their native kingdom of Penee—is the most well-documented version of criminal activity in Kaligar, but it is certainly not the only one. Drugs, animal-fighting and other illegal sports, and the occasional assassination of persons of interest are also abnormally high.

Today, there is one well-known gathering point for all the various evils trafficking across the land. It is an outpost, known to those who use it as the Crossroads, in a valley in the jungle where the soil is as clean as a freshly-picked carcass. The history of the Crossroads is a fascinating one, if only because it represents humanity in its most basic form.

Many people, even those native to Kaligar, have never heard of the Crossroads. Indeed, on most modern maps of the Adelais, it cannot be found anymore. Long ago, however, the outpost was a bustling haven for merchants, traders, and the weary traveler. The inn became its most famous feature, as the burning red flames on its rooftop could be seen for many miles away.

When Masiela was founded and declared the economic capital of Kaligar, new roads were carved through the jungle and the old roads leading to the Crossroads were forgotten. Many of these old roads, without the shuffling of human feet and the careless razzing of wagon wheels to maintain them, became tangled in roots and leaves and were eventually overtaken by the underbrush of the jungle.

Eventually, the Crossroads became overrun by criminal vermin. The buildings, once stores and banks and homes, were pillaged for what little treasures remained and were burned to the ground. Perhaps nobody thought to burn down the inn, or perhaps the many kegs of ale and the dusty bottles of wine in the cellar was incentive enough to keep the old building intact. Over time, the basement of the inn was converted into a tavern, and the upstairs became a boarding house for passing evil. The criminals who lived here had learned to organize, to evolve, to become a society as corrupt as Masiela was decent, as sinister as Masiela was righteous.

We are not so different than the sirens and the mermaids, or the birds and the fish. Wherever there are two creatures that do not agree, one is destined to become a predator and the other its prey. We are at war with ourselves. In our quest to achieve greatness, we will destroy ourselves. It is the unfortunate and ironic fate that awaits us all.

-------------------------

On this particular night in Kaligar, tropical gusts swooped in from the hillsides and washed across the barren landscape of the Crossroads, carrying with them a torrent of wind and rain. The lanterns that were draped over the gates of the outpost howled with the wind as their fires were reduced to smoldering red embers.

Inside the tavern, the outlaws of the kingdom took shelter from the rain, busying themselves with booze and cards. Conversation was loud, for there were no secrets in this place, no ordinary social graces to keep up.

"She must have a reason for coming forward now, don't you think?"

"Of course she has a reason," a blue-haired woman said, tossing a handful of chips into the pot. She was dressed in the blackened garbs of a ninja, with a bandana wrapped around her neck, and she carried a katana that extended from her hip like a third leg. "She's trying to draw us out into the open."

"I don't know about that. Kamilla has never had problems getting to you before."

The blue-haired ninja gave a smug grin. "Perhaps. But Kamilla is short on friends these days. Little by little, the weasel is running out of people to protect her and places to hide..." She stroked the hilt of her katana with a single finger. "You can thank me for that."

"Thank you? I'll thank you for nothing, Lynne." The merchant glared at the other faces around the table, even though they paid her no mind. "You and your gang of thugs have done nothing but kill off my customers. I'm losing all my business."

"You're going to lose a lot more than that if you stop paying us," Lynne said calmly. She picked up the cards that were dealt in front of her and began swapping them around.

"...Is that a threat?"

Lynne decided she didn't like what she had done and swapped the cards back.

"Don't you threaten me, Lynne. I've always paid my dues on time." Her eyes returned to the other ninjas, who were snickering and whispering to each other in a foreign tongue. "...You live by a code of honor, all of you. You can't just go around killing the people you work with."

"Yes," Lynne said. "But, like you said, these are tough times. Business hasn't been so great for me either. We have to find ways to cut corners when it suits us."

"Then find Kamilla. Her head must be worth at least five hundred gold by now."

"...I don't waste my time chasing cowards."

"Oh, you'd rather shake up honest merchants for their gold?"

"Honest?" Lynne looked up from her cards and spit on the floor at the merchant's feet. "You haven't been honest since the day you opened up shop, Nina. I've seen the kind of forgeries you try to pass off as the real thing."

Nina bit down on her tongue to keep from saying anything she might have regretted, but her eyes remained fixated on Lynne. If she had the guts, maybe she would have smashed that bottle of ale in front of her and treated Lynne's face to its jagged underside. She could probably get it through Lynne's skull before the rest of the ninjas came to her aid. Or maybe they would cheer her on, for Lynne was hated by just about everybody, even the people that worked for her.

But then, there was that katana... Many women, much stronger and with quicker reflexes than Nina, had fallen to that blade. After all, Lynne wasn't nicknamed the 'Hawkeye' for nothing. She could see an attack coming before it happened, and she had the speed to draw her blade at a moment's notice and strike victory with her glowing silver talon in a single swing.

There were those who said Lynne was just that good. There were others, though, who would in secret claim Lynne was only alive today because of two reasons: one, she never picked a fight she couldn't win, and, two, she never trusted anybody. The former was a well-known catch phrase of hers, and one that most of her victims became aware of only when she had drawn her blade on them. As proof of the latter, she never made deals with somebody she didn't feel she could outsmart and she never sat with her back to the door in any establishment. In fact, she never sat anywhere near the door. Her table was at the far end of the tavern, with her chair nestled tightly into the corner, so that she could always see who was coming and going. It allowed her to judge who she could take in a brawl and who she might have to flee from.

Lynne was a little more lax on checking the door of the tavern tonight, mostly because she was discussing important business matters with her associate, but she noticed when the old wooden door creaked open and a sudden gleam of light caught her eye. It was only a quick flash—something only a person with the instincts of a ninja would have caught—but, to a professional like Lynne, it was as bright as a ruby and as blinding as the sun, if only for a moment.

Suddenly intrigued, Lynne craned her neck to see over Nina's shoulder and spotted an unfamiliar face by the door. It was the face of a young woman, hidden almost completely by a hooded cloak, who stood awkwardly and stiff in the doorway in her wet clothes.

It wasn't until Lynne moved her chair that she noticed the woman was struggling to remove something from her finger.

And that's when Lynne saw it. The ring. It was a beautiful, crimson-colored jewel, which was the size of a small jewel at least. The woman's hands were kept mostly inside the sleeves of her cloak, working quickly but uneasily, as if she had forgotten she had left a priceless jewel on her finger when she walked into a room full of thieves.

A sinister sneer worked its way across Lynne's face. The woman had removed the ring and pocketed it inside her cloak in a matter of seconds, but time moved much slower for Lynne than the average person. She could catch a fly by its wings in midair and stomp on a man before he even knew she was there. By the time the ring was out of sight, Lynne had memorized exactly what it looked like, estimated what it was worth, and created an entire profile for the young woman in her head. From what she could see at this distance, the woman was a sickly-looking thing—thin, like a mouse, but tall, and with a blushed face that suggested she was suffering from a cold—and she stumbled across the room with such nervous, wandering eyes that it was almost certain she was lost.

This wasn't all that uncommon. Many women had lost their way in the rainforest. It was a thick, sweltering place up in the hilltops, after all, and the wise traveler would always think to head into the valley where the air was cooler. That would eventually lead them here, to this place, to the Crossroads—a rugged, crudely-built sort of roadstead for the vagrant and wayward.

Of course, this young woman, this pitiful wanderer with the jewel of red, must not have realized this was only a place for the poor or the crooked. Or perhaps she did, for she was clever enough to remove her ring without attracting any attention, but she was not quick enough to keep Lynne from seeing it. That mistake would cost her.

No, she was most likely a fool. She wouldn't make it out of this tavern alive if anybody else had seen that ring. But they didn't. They didn't have the view of the door like Lynne did, they didn't have the eyes of a hawk like Lynne did, and they weren't going to be one thousand gold coins richer at the end of the night like Lynne was.

She smiled to herself, mindlessly throwing a couple of chips into the pot, and waited.

Nina stared at her. "What were you looking at?"

"...Today just might be your lucky day," Lynne said. "I think I'm about to come into a lot of gold."

"Not the way you play poker," Nina remarked, watching as Lynne dropped a pair of deuces and lost to a full house. One of the ninjas scooped up the pot and started snickering.

"Forget the game," Lynne said, scooting her chair around. "See that drifter by the bar?"

Nina turned around. "...Um, I see a lot of drifters by the bar."

"The one who looks like she'd fall over if you dropped a leaf on her."

Nina spotted the young woman stooped over one of the bar stools with her arms across her chest. The woman shivered and sneezed and nearly fell off the stool.

"...Yeah, I see her," Nina said. "What's wrong with her? It looks like she's dying."

"No... No, I don't suppose she'll die. Not if she cooperates."

"You lost me."

Lynne motioned for her ninjas to deal her out for the next hand and stood up.

"Just wait here," she said, grabbing the hilt of her katana. "I need to go introduce myself to our new friend..."

Meanwhile, the drifter was making friends of her own.

"You sneeze on my Manwich!" a husky barbarian woman roared, throwing down her half-eaten burger.

The woman looked up apologetically.

"I'm terribly sorry," she said, rubbing her nose. At the same time, she unfolded her arms and hastily reached into the contents of her cloak. "Please, allow me to buy you another..."

The barbarian caught her by the wrist and pinned her arm against the counter. "You think I dumb? I not let you pull knife on me!"

"A knife? I...I'd never keep such a thing on my person. I only—"

"You sneeze on my Manwich and now I make sandwich outta you!"

The barbarian threw a punch, but her gargantuan fist was stopped in mid-swing by Lynne. Before the barbarian could retaliate, the tip of Lynne's katana was at her throat.

"Do you want to live?" Lynne asked.

The barbarian woman grunted and nodded.

"Are you going to hurt this poor girl?"

The barbarian continued nodding and then quickly changed her mind when Lynne pushed the blade into her skin.

"N-no..." the barbarian said. "No. I not hurt poor girl."

"Good." Lynne released some of the pressure on her katana. "Now, get your face out of here before I cut it off."

The barbarian went back to nodding, took a few steps towards the door, and then ran away crying. The whole room boomed like thunder as she did so.

After the earthquake stopped, Lynne helped the young woman to her feet.

"You're shaking," Lynne said.

"It's not out of fear, I assure you," the woman said weakly. She caught herself on the edge of the counter and put a hand on her chest.

Lynne laughed as she slid her katana back into its sheath. "I like you. You must have metal in your veins to pick a fight with an ogre like that."

"I'm just glad she didn't spill my guts all over the floor."

"Yeah, it's a good thing I was here." Lynne held out her hand. "Lynne 'Hawkeye' Tsuruko, leader of the Kaligar Blades."

The woman seemed surprise at first, and then smiled and shook her hand. Lynne smiled too, but it was only because she was looking at the tan line on the woman's finger where that ring had been not too long ago.

"The Kaligar Blades?" the woman echoed, breaking her trance.

"Yes," Lynne said. "We are the proud servants of Princess Erika. We defend this kingdom against troublemakers like that ugly brute you had the displeasure of meeting."

"Oh... Well, thank you. I should reward you for your kindness."

"Reward me?" Lynne chuckled and put an arm around her. "I could never take something from a friend of mine. Come. Join us at my table for cards and all the beef and ale you can eat." Then she looked at the girl's meek face. "...Or perhaps all the biscuits and ginger tea you can eat." The woman seemed more satisfied with this, so Lynne snapped her fingers at the barkeeper. "Hey, you. Bring us over some biscuits and ginger tea or I'll cut out your tongue."

"...Um, thank you," the woman said again. "I am quite hungry. I haven't eaten in many days."

"She looks like she hasn't ever eaten," Nina whispered to the other ninjas, who snickered, even though they couldn't understand a word Nina was saying.

"Let me get you a chair," Lynne said. She walked over to another table, yanked a chair out from under someone who was clearly using it at the time, and carried it over. She placed the chair between Nina and one of the ninjas.

The woman continued to smile as she settled into her seat. She innocently glanced around on either side of her, got irritated glares from both of them, and turned red. Carefully folding her hands in her lap, she rolled up her lips and looked down at her feet.

Lynne climbed back to her usual seat in the corner.

"Do you know how to play poker?" she asked, shuffling the cards.

"Yes." The woman nodded. "Faintly. My gramma taught me when I was very young."

"Ah, your grandmother..." Lynne grinned and began dealing the cards. "Well, that's good. Poker hasn't changed much over the years."

The woman waited until all the cards were passed out before picking up her hand, and she only did so after everybody else was already looking at their cards.

The ninja to the right of Lynne scratched her chin for a while and threw five coins into the pot. The next ninja did the same.

The woman watched them with an eyebrow of confusion and then looked up at Lynne, who feigned surprise.

"Oh, it's okay if you don't want to bet real money," Lynne said. "We use these chips here as fake currency."

Nina opened her mouth to speak. "No, we don—" But she was stopped by a swift kick from Lynne.

The woman blushed and reached into her cloak, pulling out a small coin purse. "No, it's okay. I have...twenty gold on me." One by one, she pulled out five coins and placed them in the center of the table in a neat little stack that she straightened after each new coin was added. "It's the least I can do for all your hospitality."

Nina shook her head, but shrugged and dropped some coins into the pot as well. The hand continued in this fashion until everybody had finished betting.

"Okay, time to show your hands," Lynne said, revealing the two of clubs, four of diamonds, six of clubs, seven of spades, and ten of hearts.

The woman put down a pair of threes.

"You win!" Lynne announced.

Nina stared down at her ace-high straight. "Uh... Lynne, I have a—"

"She wins, Nina," Lynne hissed.

Nina felt a metal blade brush against her thigh.

"Oh...uh, silly me," she said. "I forgot all the cards have to be the same suit in a straight to count."

Lynne leaned across the table and pushed the pile of coins towards the young woman.

"Your grandmother must have been a very good teacher," Lynne said.

"Yes, she was."

"Shall we play some more?"

The woman nodded and smiled and Lynne smiled and Nina smiled and all the other ninjas at the table smiled.

For the first few hands, the woman couldn't be beat. She would win with hands that would make even the best poker players fold. Once she was up about a hundred gold, though, the game began to change.

"Oh, that's too bad," Lynne said. "My ten-high straight beats your two-of-a-kind."

"But I thought they all have to be the same suit in a straight..." the woman argued.

"That's only on the first hand of the game," Nina said.

"Oh."

Lynne took the whole pot.

"Well...I won't be a sore loser," the woman said. "Let's play some more."

And so they played, and so she lost, over and over, until her coin purse was looking very light. With a flustered grimace, she held it upside down and shook it. A single gold coin fell to the table, wobbled around in circles, and at last landed on its side.

"Well, that's my last coin..." she said. "I suppose I should call it a night."

"That is most unfortunate," Lynne said casually as she shuffled the cards. "As it turns out, it costs two gold coins to rent a room here for the night. Isn't that right, Nina?"

"That's right," Nina said. "And it costs three gold coins for the suite."

The woman frowned.

"And where are you from again?" Lynne asked.

"Ellewyn..."

Lynne shook her head sadly as she began to square the deck with her fingertips. "Ellewyn. That's a long walk from here... I don't think you'll be able to make the trip on a single gold coin. How will you eat? Where will you sleep? I hate to think of all the dangers lurking out there for someone like you."

The woman wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

"And you're so sick. How will you ever survive?"

"I do have...one more thing I can bet," the woman said. Her voice was cracking, and she sounded even weaker than before. "It's not gold, but it is worth a lot of money..."

The woman reached into her cloak and fumbled around for something. She paused when she was found what she was looking. Closing her eyes, she placed her hand on the table and laid down the most beautiful ruby ring anybody at the table had ever seen. The ninjas were frozen to their seats, Nina's jaw dropped to her chest, and the corners of Lynne's lips curled up towards her high cheekbones. That ring was worth more than she even imagined. The band was ornate jade and gold and resembled a cobra, whose head and tail connected at the top of the ruby, and its fangs draped over the sides of the ruby and locked it in place.

"This belonged to my gramma," the woman said sadly. "Before she passed away, she gave it to me and said it would give me good luck, but to only use it when I have to. I..." She opened her eyes. "I suppose this is as good of a time as any..."

"Aye," Lynne said, still mesmerized by the red stone. "Aye, this is a very good time."

"Then we have a bet?"

Lynne looked over at Nina, who gave a nod and a wink, and Lynne began gathering the cards at the edge of the table and stacking them.

"Yes, but we'll make this interesting," she said. "High card. Just between you and me."

The woman nodded, tightened the strings of her cloak, and sat up in her seat.

Lynne began shuffling once more. She spent a long time running the cards back and forth this time, as if she was waiting for something to happen.

Then, as if her prayers had been answered, the woman looked away and sneezed. She only had turned her head to the side for a second, but that was all the time Lynne needed to swap the deck in her hand with the one up her sleeve. Just as quickly, she slammed the deck down on the center of the table and leaned back in her chair.

"I'll go first," she said, sliding her fingers along the edge of the cards. She touched them each carefully, using her ninja instincts, and then squeezed down and pulled up the card tenth down in the deck.

"Ha," Lynne said. She almost forgot to look at the card. " The queen of diamonds."

The ninjas at the table cheered and began banging their palms against the table. Nina simply rolled her eyes.

Still grinning, Lynne slid the remainder of the deck over to the woman.

"Good luck," she said.

The woman put a hand on the deck. She stroked the cards carefully, tapping the top of the deck with her index finger. Then, taking a deep breath, she pinched her fingers around a certain amount of cards and picked them up and looked at the card she had received.

"...It's the king of clubs," she said, turning the card around.

There was silence at the table, followed by the roar of laughter.

"You lose!" Lynne said.

The woman sighed and dropped the cards. Everybody in Adelais knew kings were the lowest cards in the deck.

"I'll be taking that now," Lynne said, swiping the ring from the table. She stood up and gazed down at the young woman as she slipped the precious family heirloom onto her ring finger. "It looks better on me anyway, don't you think?"

The woman's eyes began to water, but she tried to hide it by wiping her nose and her eyes at the same time.

"Why don't you get out of here now, tramp? We have what we want from you."

The woman put her hand down.

"But..." she said. "I thought we were friends..."

Lynne laughed, Nina laughed, and even the ninjas who didn't understand a word of their language laughed.

"Friends?" Lynne said. "I saw the ring on your finger when you walked in the door. It's your fault for being careless. You're just lucky I didn't have to kill you to get it."

"You...would kill me for my ring?"

"I still will, if you don't get away from our table now."

The woman remained seated, trembling, and laid her hands on the table.

"What's wrong with you?"

"...Could I just have a few more coins for the road?" she asked. "It's such a long walk and—"

"She said 'get out of here!'" Nina said, planting a foot in the woman's side and knocking her out of the seat. They all laughed when she hit to the floor.

With a smug grin, Lynne scooped up a small handful of coins from the table and flung them at her.

"Take them," she said. "If you ever make it home, do yourself a favor and buy a spine."

The woman crawled across the floor and gathered up the scattered coins while the ninjas pointed and laughed at her. When she had collected them, she rose to her feet, adjusted the hood of her cloak and, with a face redder than the sun, took one last look at the ninjas before turning away.

"Tell your dead grandmother I'll take good care of her ring!" Lynne laughed.

The woman stopped. She stood there for a minute, still shaking, before turning around and marching straight towards the ninjas. She raised her hand as if she was going to strike them and then, perhaps thinking better of it, slammed her palm against the table. The gold coins rang like bells and she pulled her hand away.

"I want my ring back," she said.

Lynne shook her head and held out her hands.

"I gave you the chance to walk away with a little money and dignity," she said. "If you really want to lose the rest of your money to us, then have a seat."

The woman narrowed her eyebrows, but didn't say a word as she sat back down. Chuckling to herself, Lynne picked up the cards and began dealing them.

The betting began and all of the woman's coins soon ended up in the pot.

"I sure hope you have a good hand," Lynne said. "Or otherwise this won't be much of a dramatic comeback."

The woman bit down on her lip.

Lynne laid down her cards. "Three fours."

"Three sevens," the woman said quickly, tossing her cards on top of Lynne's cards and taking the entire pot.

The other ninjas started snickering.

"...Very impressive," Lynne said. She reached over, grabbed a bottle of ale, and took a long swig. When she put the bottle down, she began collecting the cards. "I'm surprised I didn't have to throw a hand for you to actually win one."

The woman ignored her and went on to win the next hand.

And the next.

And the next.

Before long, she had over a hundred gold coins.

"This is getting ridiculous," Lynne said. "Nobody gets three sevens three hands in a row."

"I think you're just unlucky," the woman said. "Maybe I should deal."

"No."

The woman shrugged and pushed all her coins into the center of the table. "I'm all in."

"I haven't even dealt yet!"

"Oh, sorry." The woman waited patiently for the cards to be dealt. She looked them over and hummed a soft melody to herself.

Lynne glared at her. "How many cards do you want?"

"Zero," she answered.

Everybody else folded.

Lynne scowled. "...You are messing with the wrong person, kid. I'll raise you forty gold coins."

"Then I'll raise you sixty gold."

"One hundred gold!" Lynne shouted, kicking the table.

The woman nodded. "I'll call. What do you have?"

Nina peeked over at Lynne's cards and slapped her forehead.

"You bet that much with a queen-high?"

"That's not so bad," the woman said quietly, flipping over her cards. "All I had was an ace."

Grinding her teeth, Lynne began to crinkle the cards in her hand and flicked them across the table as she fell back into her chair.

"You cheating tramp..." she muttered, putting the bottle back to her lips.

"Pardon?"

"I know you're cheating."

"You're the one using the rigged deck. Not me."

Lynne mumbled something, but began passing out the cards again.

"You won't win this one..." she promised.

The woman nodded, glanced at her cards, and tossed ten coins into the pot.

"I raise you twenty," Lynne said without even looking at her cards.

"I'll call."

"Fine..." Lynne put down her bottle. "How many cards do you want?"

"None. In fact..." She put the tip of her finger on one of the cards and slid it across the table facedown. "I won't be needing this one at all."

Lynne was fuming as she drew two cards from the deck for herself. She looked at her hand and grinned. Three sevens.

"Ten gold," the woman said calmly.

"Call," Nina said.

All the ninjas folded.

When it was Lynne's turn, she counted out fifty gold coins and threw them into the pot.

The woman responded by raising her ten more coins.

Nina glanced around the table and then at her remaining money. With a frustrated sigh, she folded her hand.

"You two can fight it out," she said.

Lynne glared at the woman. "...I know you don't have your three sevens this time."

"Is that how you rigged the deck this time?"

"I don't have to answer that."

The woman flashed her a warm smile.

"...I'm going to end this here," Lynne stood up. "I am raising you three hundred gold coins."

She spent a couple of minutes counting out her chips while the woman laid her four cards on the table.

"I bet you've never seen that much money in your life," Lynne said.

"It is indeed a lot of gold," the woman agreed.

"It's a good hand."

"I'm sure it is."

Lynne pushed the money into the pot, but her hands were shaking. It really was a lot of gold.

The woman looked down at the colorful backs of her cards and appeared to be pondering her options very carefully.

"Getting a little too hot for you?" Lynne asked, sitting back down.

"No, I was just thinking..." The woman traced her fingers across the cards. Then she picked up one of her cards, seemingly at random, and cast it aside. "I don't really need this one either. And I raise you three hundred more."

"What!" Lynne screamed. "You are a filthy cheater!"

"I have two less cards than you. How is that cheating?"

"I don't know how you're doing it, but I know you're cheating!"

"She's not cheating, Lynne," Nina said. "I've been watching her the whole time."

Lynne drew her katana. "Shut UP, Nina!"

"Are you in or out?" the woman asked.

"I don't have three hundred left."

"You have my ring."

Lynne looked at her finger. The eyes of the snake glittered, even in the dimly-lit tavern, and seemed to mock her. Then she turned to the woman, who was suddenly looking a lot less flushed in the cheeks, and her eyebrows narrowed to a point.

"...Fold," Lynne said at last, tossing her cards away. "At least you won't get your ring back."

The woman shrugged and started gathering up the huge stack of coins in the pot, one coin at a time.

"What did you have anyway?" Nina asked, peeking at one of the cards. When she saw what it was, she turned it over and blinked. "...What the hell is a queen of circles?"

Lynne knocked her chair over. "What!?"

Nina turned over the other two cards. In addition to the queen of circles, there was a joker from another deck entirely and a coupon for a free turkey sandwich at Lanamdi's Lunch 'N' Lurch.

Lynne's eyes turned to flames.

"I'm not a very good cheater," the woman admitted as she began stacking the coins into perfect little stacks. "But then, I don't really need to be."

"...You should've gotten out of here when you had the chance," Lynne said.

The woman ignored her and continued building a sculpture of coins.

With an angry shout, Lynne grabbed the table between both hands and flipped it over. Coins, bottles of ale, bits of food, and ninjas were thrown to the floor. The woman remained in her seat and put her now empty hands in her lap.

"I'll enjoy gutting you very much," Lynne said, coming at her.

The woman didn't resist as Lynne seized her by the cloak, threw her out of the seat, and pinned her against the wall.

"You seem upset," the woman said. "If it helps, you can keep all the money I won. I only want my ring back."

"Your ring?" Lynne made a fist and held her knuckle to the woman's face, pressing the ring into her eye socket. "You don't seem to understand where you are, kid. You don't go around cheating me at cards and then try to make deals with me."

"It's not a deal. It's a proposition."

"A proposition?" For a moment, Lynne's anger subsided and there was a hint of drunken humor in her voice. She peered over her shoulder at Nina and the other ninjas. "Did you hear that? The kid wants to make a 'proposition' with me." She punched the woman's face and dropped her arm. "What kind of proposition could you possibly have for me?"

The woman collapsed to one knee and put a hand over her eye.

And that's when Lynne first noticed it. The woman's hair. It had been hidden by that hood this entire time, but a single strand of red now dangled over her forehead, knocked loose by the blow she had just suffered. Standing back up, the woman casually blew it away.

"What the f—" Lynne started to say, and she pulled down the woman's hood and her hands went limp. She knew that face. Those eyes. That damn red hair.

"It's Rene Chandel!" Nina screamed, and she ran behind the counter and hid.

The other ninjas drew their weapons and made a circle around Lynne and the redheaded woman.

"How about a proposition for your life?" Rene asked.

"My life?" The strength in Lynne's arm seemed to return and she raised her katana to the woman's throat, although her hand was not nearly as steady as before. "Rene Chandel, you wrong me. You may be a legend outside these walls, but you will find no friends here. As you can see, you are quite outnumbered right now."

Rene took a moment to glance at all the weapons pointed at her.

"It would certainly seem that way," she said. "Fortunately, I will not take this personally. My proposition is still on the table. That is, unless you want to knock over that table as well."

Lynne punched her again.

"Don't speak to me like that!" she snapped. "I don't care who you are."

Back on her knees, Rene checked her lip and she was bleeding. She wiped away what she could with her tongue and used her finger for the rest.

"You didn't even hear me out," she said.

Lynne grabbed her by the hair and dragged her into the corner of the room.

"I think I'll sleep just fine tonight without knowing why the legendary Rene Chandel surrendered her ring and her life to me in my own tavern," she said, kicking the redhead in the gut. "Yes." She kicked her again. "I think I'll rest very easily knowing you're dead."

Rene sat up, still bleeding, and leaned against the wall.

"...Search her," Lynne commanded. The ninjas rushed over and began ripping apart Rene's cloak.

"...I'm feeling like it's a little crowded in here," Rene said, coughing. "Why don't we go outside, Lynne? Just you and me. I'll tell you my proposition there."

Lynne walked over to nearby table and grabbed a bottle of ale.

Meanwhile, the ninjas stood up and said something to Lynne in their foreign language. The blue-haired ninja seemed surprised at first, and then ripped the cork off the bottle with her teeth and spit it to the side before taking a swig.

"Tell me," she said, setting a chair down in front of Rene and sitting backwards on it. "Is it common practice for a swashbuckler of your stature to go around unarmed?"

"I must have left my rapier in my other cloak," she said. "Perhaps you'll allow me to go retrieve it."

The drunks in the tavern laughed and Lynne took another sip of ale. Nina, who had been crouched down behind the counter in hiding until now, stood up and joined them.

"You truly are pathetic," Lynne said, looking down at battered redhead. "I didn't think all those legends about your overblown accomplishments were true."

"Well, I suppose you're in the minority then," Rene said. "Still, my proposition stands. I cannot disclose all the details with so many witnesses around, but I can say I am looking to do some hunting and I need a partner. I was hoping for someone else, but I suppose you'll do."

"Is that what you suppose?" Lynne laughed and the others joined in. "And what is the target of this hunt? Is the 'legendary' Rene Chandel going to slay another dragon? Or is that just a story for the kiddies?"

"I feel it's okay for me to say the target of this hunt is neither an animal or a beast," Rene said.

"A human then?" Lynne's eyes widened and she started banging the bottle in her hand with the side of her katana. "Now, hear this, ladies! Rene Chandel needs my help tracking down another woman! Who would believe this if I told them?"

Lynne placed her foot on Rene's shoulder and took another swig of ale.

"And who exactly are we hunting?" she asked.

"I will reveal that information when you agree to meet me alone in a destination I decide at a time I will determine."

Lynne pondered it over for a moment.

"You do realize you leave me a difficult situation, Rene Chandel," she said, dangling the bottle in her hand by its neck. "I mean, I could let you walk out of here with only your word that we'll meet up later for this supposed 'hunt' that you refuse to tell me anything about... Or I could slit your throat right where you sit. That sounds a lot less messy to me. And afterward, they'll all call me 'Lynne Hawkeye Tsuroko the Dragon Slayer Slayer.'"

"...I'm fairly certain nobody would ever call you that," Rene said. "Particularity because you won't live to see tomorrow's sunrise without my help."

"Is that so?" Lynne finished her ale and rocked in the chair. "And just how do you figure that?"

Rene smiled and let her head dangle loosely on her shoulders. With a calm sigh, she looked down at her fingernails, which she was using to scrape away a splinter of wood from the floorboards beneath her.

"Because that ring you are wearing has been slowly injecting your blood stream with a very lethal amount of lifandoral since you threw that first punch at me," she said.

"...What?"

Lynne dropped the bottle and tugged at the ring on her finger, but it was stuck. The fangs of the cobra had punctured through her skin and were now pumping toxins through her body from a capsule within the cobra's head.

"It's a very small amount of lifandoral," Rene said softly. "I hope you don't mind. It's more than enough to stop your heart, I assure you, but I just couldn't bring myself to waste more than a few ounces on you."

"You ginger-haired tramp!" Lynne cried, yanking on her finger. "I'll kill you for this, Rene. I'll rip out your throat and feed your insides to the dogs!"

Rene watched her stumble off the chair.

"I didn't expect you to agree to my proposition," she said. She remained sitting even as Nina drew a dagger from a strap around her leg and pressed it down on the skin below Rene's eye. "I don't imagine there's a life you care about more than mine. Except your own."

"Should I kill her?" Nina asked. "I could kill her right now, Lynne. I could do you a big favor." Sweat dribbled from her face and splashed against Rene's forehead.

Rene sighed and wiped it away.

"The antidote," Lynne said, grabbing Rene's hair. "Where is the antidote!?"

"I can have it ready by morning, I think. I have to go make it."

"Make it!?"

"Let's cut her open and make her talk," Nina said.

Lynne started to breathe heavily.

"We can make her give up the antidote!"

"You don't have the time to torture me," Rene said. "Think, Nina."

"We could cut off her fingers one by one until she talks!" Nina said, panicking as Lynne clutched her chest and fell against the overturned table.

"Yes, because having less fingers will make it much easier to make the antidote."

"An eye! I could just take out one of her eyes!"

"You don't have the time, Nina," Rene repeated, never once raising her voice.

"She's not going to talk—dammit, Nina!" Lynne screamed. "She's fuckin' Rene Chandel, you stupid twit. Let... Let her go."

Nina released the dagger.

"How do we know you're going to give her the antidote?" she asked.

"...Please," Rene said. "...It's the least I could do for all the hospitality I've endured here tonight." She stood up with a firm brow, gathered the torn pieces of clothing on the floor, and threw them over her shoulder. "I think you'll find the terms of my offer most agreeable, Lynne, given the circumstances. If you'd like to hear more, meet me at the old farm outside of town at sunrise. The initial effects will wear off by then, so you'll be able to walk by your power. That means I'll be expecting you to come alone. I can't stress that enough. Large crowds make me...uncomfortable."
She smiled at the drunks in the tavern and started for the door as Nina helped a very unstable Lynne to her feet.

"Oh," the redhead said, stopping for a moment to glance back at all the stunned onlookers. "And, please, don't be late. Time is a factor for you."

It was dawn and streaks of red bled from the morning sun like veins from a beating heart as Lynne pushed through a maze of wheat and corn. She tripped a few times, limping from an apparent numbness in her left leg, and sweat stained the dark and ragged garments she wore. As she finally exited the cornfield and neared the old farmhouse, her knees buckled and she collapsed to the dirt. Moaning, she planted her forearms on the ground and began crawling forward.

When the farmhouse was only twenty yards away, she threw herself against a wooden fence and sat up, panting and nauseous.

"I'm here," she cried, leaning her head back. She cleared her throat and tried to yell louder. "I'm here! I'm all alone here."

Only the wind answered her.

She listened for a while and looked around, but the fields were empty. A pair of crows watched her from a nearby fencepost. She scowled at them and made a sharp hissing noise between her teeth, causing them to take to the air.

"Where are you, you dirty tramp?" she mumbled under her breath. Her voice seemed as distant as those flapping wings. Clutching her stomach, her eyelids began to get heavy and she hung her head over the dirt, feeling the ever increasing weight of gravity dragging her down. On the ground, about an arms-length away from her thigh, she saw the spiraling movements of about a hundred ants gathered around an old squash. They were crawling in and out and under and all over that rotting fruit. As her head drooped further and further down, the ants began to get bigger, until she at last crashed down next to them. Her eyes were closed.

She might never have woken up, but a sudden voice brought her back to the world of the living.

"Good morning, Lynne."

Lynne looked up and squinted into the orange sun.

"Go to hell, Rene Chandel..." Lynne said, closing her eyes again.

Rene planted a foot on Lynne's chest and rolled her over with a small kick.

"Do you want to hear my proposition now?" the redheaded rogue asked.

Lynne spoke into the dirt. "Do I have a choice?"

"You always have a choice, Lynne. I would never force you to do anything."

Lynne groaned and reached out her weary arms. They eventually found the wooden fence behind her and she was able to pull herself up.

"The antidote..." she whispered. Her forehead was doused in a mixture of sweat and earth. "Please, Rene... I need the antidote."

"You have time to hear me out first." She knelt down in front of Lynne, took a damp rag from the bucket she had carried over, and began scrubbing the dirt from Lynne's face. "I will make this brief by being completely honest with you."

"Oh. You can do that?"

"I don't particularly like you. In fact, you may be one of the most unpleasant people I've ever met. If even half of the stories I've heard about you are true, I should just put my rapier through your heart now and leave your body here for the crows."

"Then why don't you?"

Rene moved the cloth down Lynne's neck.

"Because those stories are precisely the reason I sought you out. You're good at finding people. And, as I said last night, I need your help tracking someone."

Lynne caught Rene by the wrist.

"But why me?" she asked. "You're a scout. Why can't you track this person down?"

"Let's just say I don't have time to be chasing rats through tunnels when you already know your way around these sewers."

"Yes..." There was more than a subtle hint of irritation in Lynne's voice. "Let's say that..."

"This particular rat, however, is someone you know very well."

"Ah, I see. You want me to betray one of my friends." Lynne flashed a weak grin, got a little braver, and released Rene's arm. "Well, my friend, unlike you, I live by a code of hon—"

"Shut up about your code," Rene said, dunking the rag back in the bucket. "Do you think I don't know you? I've done my homework. I know you were dismissed from the Sisterhood of the Blue Rose for abusing your powers. I know you began working as a mercenary and made a name for yourself by killing a couple of big-time marauders and pillaging their homes. You probably thought you could achieve fame and fortune by hiding behind a badge and sword. Not a bad idea for a two-bit thug like yourself—but let me tell you something, Lynne. You can speak all you want of honor and justice, but even the noblest cause is shit in the water if your intentions are aligned elsewhere." She slapped the rag against Lynne's face again. "That's the difference between you and me. I don't hide who I am."

Lynne sputtered out water.

"Besides," Rene said, scrubbing the ninja's hair, "this isn't one of your friends. At least, the last I heard, you and Kamilla were still sworn enemies."

"Kamilla? You want to find Kamilla?" Lynne laughed. "Is that what this is about? Kamilla is a phantom. You can look for her all day long, in any season of any year, and you won't find her. You don't find her. She finds you."

"One could say the same about anybody with a large bounty on their head."

"Yeah... Well, except for you, you little tramp. You could learn a lot from Kamilla. At least she knows how to stay in the shadows. You can't even do that! You could be the single worst rogue I've ever met. You try to be secretive, but everybody knows your name and what you've done."

"If you ask me, that means I must be pretty good at what I do."

"But are you good enough to find Kamilla on your own?" Lynne sneered.

"I guess we'll find out," Rene said. She dropped the rag, dusted off her hands, and stood up. "...Good-bye, Lynne."

"Hey, wait."

"What?"

"What about the antidote?"

"I didn't make any."

"What? You said—"

"I'm a liar. You said so yourself."

Sparks lit up in the ninja's eyes.

"Damn you!" Lynne cried, scrambling to her feet. She was a little unsteady at first, but she came at Rene full force.

Rene easily sidestepped the attack and knocked her to the ground.

After wiping the blood from her lips, Lynne crawled to her feet again.

"You snake," she growled. "You were just going to leave me here to rot like a sack of potatoes after I told you how to find Kamilla."

"You don't know how to find Kamilla."

"I didn't say that."

"I don't have time for games. And neither do you."

Lynne was quiet, but the pounding of her heart could be heard halfway across the farmyard.

"...Look, I might—just might—be able to help you," she said. "But I don't know where Kamilla is right now. Nobody does. And I certainly can't find her if I only have a couple of hours left to live."

"I suppose that would be asking a lot, even from a great tracker like yourself."

"Yes, so you see the dilemma we face."

"I see no dilemma here."

"Yes, Rene!" Lynne said, flailing her arms about. "The antidote. The antidote you said it'd take you all night to make!"

"I don't know about that. I spent the night sleeping."

"So you lied!"

"Last night? Yes, I did."

Lynne looked confused. "Wait... What are you saying?"

Rene picked up the bucket and set it on the fencepost.

"Lifandoral isn't lethal," she said. "Actually, it's quite delicious when ingested normally. I put it on my bread all the time. In fact, I have a plate inside waiting for you, if you'd like to join me."

"But..."

"All the side-effects you exhibited were brought on by yourself. I had no idea you would take it so seriously."

Lynne stood there, mouth agape, and stared at Rene with such anger and hatred in her eyes that she might have burned a hole in the sun if she had looked the other way.

"I should kill you now..." she said, reaching for the hilt of her katana, even though she hadn't brought it with her. After a moment or two, her face muscles began to relax and she chuckled a little. "...But damn, that's impressive. You got me."

"Then you will help?"

"That depends. Are your intentions towards Kamilla friendly or hostile?"

"Why does that matter to you?"

Realizing she wasn't a few minutes away from certain death, Lynne seemed more confident than before.

"Well, you see..." she said. "If you and Kamilla were to join forces and rally against me, that would put me in a difficult and awkward situation. You two are dangerous fugitives of justice, after all. If you ask me, I believe Kaligar would be a much better place when the two of you are behind bars once and for all."

"...Fortunately for you, I don't think that will ever happen."

"Then we are in agreement. For now."

"I am glad to hear it," Rene said, extending her hand.

Lynne shook it, tightened her grip, and pulled the redhead closer.

"But let me warn you right now," she hissed into Rene's ear. "Your performance last night made me look like a fool in front of my own kind. If you ever do something like to me again, or if I even suspect you of trying to double-cross me, I will scalp you, bury you alive, and piss on your grave."

"That is quite the vile thing to do," Rene said with a smile. "I just got my hair done."

-------------------------

It was a quiet night at the pearl farms when a rowboat pulled up to the docks and a drunken Zana stumbled out, holding onto the neck of a beer bottle in one hand and the handle of an oar in the other. It wasn't until she got halfway across the pier that she realized she didn't need the oar and tossed it in the water.

It wasn't until she got to the end of the pier that she realized she was still holding the oar and the beer bottle was gone.

Coop was inside the storage shed, polishing a seemingly endless row of pearls with a rag as old and dusty as his hair, while Captain Jargon and Blackthorn snoozed in the corner of the room. As the staggering footsteps of Zana drew closer, Exthame moved away from the wall and shook them awake.

"Halt," Adam said, blocking the doorway. His large body blocked the dim light inside the shed. "Who goes there?"

"It's me, you stupid fish," Zana belched as she bumped into him. "Your boss. Your superior. Lemme through."

"I can't do that," Adam said. "We're...uh...bleaching the floor."

Zana tried to get by him, but he was too heavy to move and she was too inebriated to make a halfway decent attempt.

"You are not," she said. "Lemme through."

Adam continued to form a wall around the door.

"What are you hiding?" Zana hiccuped. She tried to peek over Adam's shoulders. "Do you got beer in there? I smell beer."

"That's probably because you're drunk," Adam said.

"Shut up. I don't need a fish to tell me when I've had too much."

"I only said—"

"Lemme through!" Zana cried. This time, she was able to break through Adam and squeeze through the doorway.

"A-ha!" she said. "I knew it. You're all drinking in here."

The pirates, who were all gathered around an overturned crate, put down their bottles.

"...Well, yeah," Captain Jargon said. "We're pirates. That's what we do."

"I'm reporting you to the mermaids..." Zana stumbled over to them. "...Unless... Unless you give me some."

Blackthorn slid a bottle over to her.

"Here you go, lassie," he said. "Drink up."

She eyed him, picked up the bottle, and took a swig.

"...You're doing a terrible job at taking inventory," she said, gazing around the room. "Is this what you do all night? Sit around and drink while those two fish do all the work?" She pointed over at Coop, who turned his back to her. "Hey, wait a second..." She squinted her eyes. "That's just one fish." She turned back to the table and scratched her scalp with her long, jagged fingernails. "How many fish are there supposed to be?"

"Just us," Adam said quickly, helping Zana into a chair. "We're all here."

Zana's head began to wobble in her seat.

"So, what brings our illustrious boss to our humble quarters tonight?" Exthame asked. His expression remained stoic behind his darkened shades. "Have you come to see the common man at work?"

"I'm looking for Fayrelin," she said. "I can't find her anywhere."

"Have you checked the tavern yet?" Captain Jargon asked, and then he and Blackthorn roared in laughter.

"...Shut up," Zana said. "She's nowhere to be found. I thought maybe she stayed behind to talk to some of you fish."

Adam glanced around nervously. "Talk to us? W-why would she talk to us?"

Blackthorn elbowed him in the gut.

"Because she's always talking to you fish!" Zana snapped, wringing the neck of the bottle in her hand. "Every time I take my eyes off her, she's either talking to one of you or giving you looks out of the corner of her eye. I don't know what she sees in you."

"You got me," Adam said. "We're not good people..."

"You're not even people! You're fish. Little teeny fish swimming in a little teeny fishbowl, waiting to get eaten by even bigger fish..." Zana began puckering her lips and making fish faces at them. "Glub glub glub."

"...You're really drunk," Adam said. "Maybe you should put down the..."

"You know she tricked you?" Zana blurted out. "That bet you made with her...when you lost your ship...about guessing the number of gold coins in a treasure chest... She totally rigged that. That was her treasure chest. She tricked you guys and you believed her. That's how dumb you are. Dumb little fishies."

"What!?" Jargon's fist went through the crate. "That devious, lying scoundrel!"

It took both Blackthorn and Adam to hold him down.

"Aw, is the little fishy upset?" Zana cooed, puckering her lips again. "I can't believe she never told you the truth. She must really hate you."

"That's enough," Adam said. "Fayrelin isn't here. We haven't seen her all night."

"Well, that's strange, because I know every place she frequents and she's not in any of those places."

"Maybe she found someone else to hang out with tonight," Exthame said. "I hear it's not uncommon for you pygmies to have many friends."

"I'm going to kill her!" Jargon continued to scream as Blackthorn and Adam pinned him to his chair.

"That's why I thought she might be here..." Zana said, scanning the room again. "One fish, two fish..."

"Well, she's obviously not here," Adam interrupted.

"Hang on. I'm trying to count."

"You can see none of us look like her."

"Hey... Where's the long-haired one?"

"Who?"

Zana dropped her bottle and stood up.

"The one with long hair who Fayrelin is always talking to," she said. "Where is he?"

"Uh, uh..." Adam looked at the others and then panicked and ran outside.

"...Malkav went into the backroom to get us some supplies," Exthame said coolly. "He'll be out shortly. In the meantime, we can discuss the world's changing economics."

"Ugh, no... Nevermind." Zana held her head. "I need to go lie down... I feel nauseous."

"Here I am!" Adam said, jumping back into the room with a mop on his head. "I am Malkav, the long-haired rogue, returning from my short trip to the latrine."

Zana gawked at him with her mouth still open.

"What kind of joke are you fish trying to play on me...?" she asked. "I can tell you're the chubby one."

"Um, no. I am Malkav! See my dagger?" Adam held up a spoon.

"Give me that!" Zana swiped it away from it and pointed it at Adam and then the pirates at the table. "...I don't know what's going on here, but I'm going to get to the bottom of this. If you don't tell me where the long-haired fish is now, I'm going to gut you all...like...like fish!"

Blackthorn stared down at the weapon in her hand.

"...With a spoon?" he asked.

"Tell me!"

"...We don't know," Exthame said.

"You don't know!?"

"He never showed up after work."

"Ah... So, he thought he can play hockey, eh?"

"Hookey."

"I'll get to the bottom of this!"

"You already said that," Adam said, but Zana pushed right through him.

"When you see me next, I'll be wearing the long-haired fish as a necklace!" Zana shouted and promptly ran into the wall. It took her two more tries to get through the door. Then, about a minute later, they heard a splash as Zana missed the rowboat completely.

"...Do you boys think you should be egging her on like that?" Coop asked. "She may not be the brightest pearl in the sea, but she has a temper. You've all seen it. If she goes back to the island and finds those two together, it's going to spell trouble for us all."

"I don't even think she'll make it back to the island," Blackthorn joked. "That is, unless she swims!"

"We'll be okay," Exthame assured the old man, who still had his back to them. "Zana never remembers anything when she gets this drunk. She'll get back, wander around the streets for a couple of hours looking for them, and then pass out on somebody's doorstep."

"Aye, you're probably right," Coop said, polishing the large pearl in front of him.

"...I still don't think it was a good idea for them to run off together like that," Blackthorn said. "That sorry lad is running a fine line with the higher-ups here. He might just get us all killed."

"Malkav knows what he's doing," Adam said, picking up the spilled beer bottles on the floor. "If he says it's important to the mission, then it is."

Exthame nodded his head in silent agreement.

"...Whatever. Jargon and I aren't so convinced. Isn't that right, captain?"

But Jargon was too busy grinding his fist into the crate.

"I'm going to kill that scamp," he muttered to himself. "When I get my hands on her, she's going to wish she never crossed paths with pirates before..."

Suddenly, Zana stormed back into the room. Her clothes were heavy and wet and she dragged them across the floor and snatched one of the beer bottles away from Adam.

"I want my oar back," she said, and then she staggered out the door.

-------------------------

"...This is your fault, you know," Sophia said.

Michelle ignored her and continued to sift through the shards of glass and shredded papers scattered unceremoniously across the floor of their trailer. When she found her stage bodice buried beneath the wreckage of a fallen bookshelf, she sighed, ironed out the wrinkles with her hands, and laid it on the table next to her vanity.

"You literally threw them out the door. You just couldn't wait to get rid of them."

"I didn't think they'd vandalize our stuff and run away," Michelle said. "How in the world did those two even manage this?" She picked up an overturned chair and righted it, only to see the stuffing had dribbled onto the floor from a series of crisscrossing gashes in the cushion.

"Well, they did, Michelle! Some fortune-teller you are. Idiot. Those two are smarter than you've ever been..."

"Excuse me? Young lady, I will not—"

Sophia shoved her middle finger in the gypsy's face.

"This isn't Michelle's fault," Roy said. He and the others were sitting on the edge of Michelle's vanity. "....I got mad at Bob and Guy for trying to teach me their...uh, unique fishing techniques...and I yelled at them. Maybe a little too much. If anyone's to blame for their disappearance, it's me."

"So you're the one we have to thank?" Mack asked.

"I suppose I was pretty harsh on the little guys, too," Wallace said, rubbing his neck. "I shouldn't have tried to force work ethic on them."

"And maybe I shouldn't have pounded their faces into the dirt for claiming to see Michelle in the nude," Russell said, more to himself than anyone else.

Mack looked over. "Wait. They got to see Michelle naked? How come we never get to see Michelle naked?"

"Probably because you'd turn to stone," Sophia muttered, picking up a heavy black ledger that had fallen beneath the desk and flipping through it.

Jesse clambered into the trailer through the open door, which had been broken from its hinges.

"No luck," he said. "They've probably made it into the forest by now."

"Then we'll never find them," Sophia said, closing the ledger. "Bob and Guy are gone forever."

Mack pumped his arm in celebration.

"I'm sure they'll be back," Jesse said, dusting off his daredevil jacket. "I mean, come on. They're Bob and Guy. Where are they going to go?"

"Maybe they'll find a job somewhere else," Roy suggested, but that notion was ridiculous enough that they all shared a good laugh at the expense of their missing comrades.

Meanwhile, Michelle picked up a broom that was leaning against the far wall and began to sweep the debris on the floor into a tidy pile.

"Maybe they left some kind of clue behind," she suggested.

"Oh, so now you're a detective?" Sophia asked.

Michelle's knuckles turned white around the broom handle.

"...You know, Sophia," she said, after taking a deep breath. "I could use some help here. You're the only other one in this room big enough to help me clean up."

Sophia folded her arms across her chest. "But a broom just seems so fitting for you."

"...I'm trying really hard to make peace with you, Sophia. The least you could do is give me a chance every now and then instead of ridiculing me for everything I do." Michelle threw down the broom. "If you have a problem with me, let me know."

"Okay. I have a problem with you."

"Well... Good then. We're making progress."

"We're not making anything, Michelle," Sophia said. "You can cut out this 'motherly' act of yours. You don't know the first thing about me."

"It's okay, Sophia," a voice piped in from underneath the trailer and Jeff suddenly popped his head up through one of the holes in the floorboards at Sophia's feet. "You don't need to be jealous that Bob and Guy would rather see Michelle naked than you."

A unison moan echoed through the trailer, breaking the tension.

"...We were beginning to wonder if you went with Bob and Guy," Mack said.

"Nope. I'm still here." Jeff climbed out of the floorboards, yawned, and scratched his underarm. "Anyway, if it makes you feel better, Sophia, I'd rather see you naked than Michelle any day."

Michelle huffed and glared at him.

"Don't talk that way about my daughter, boy," Russell shouted from atop the vanity. He tossed a crumpled piece of paper at Jeff's head.

Sophia snatched up the fallen broom. "...You know, I think I'll help you clean up the garbage after all." With that, she swept Jeff into the heap of detritus.

"It might not be too late, Jeff," Mack said. "You could probably still catch up to Bob and Guy if you hurry."

Jeff crawled out of the refuse and wiped the dust from his face.

"I don't want to go with Bob and Guy!" he said. "They're stupid and mean. They think they're so cool just because they got to hang out with that pretty yellow lady."

Michelle looked down at her dress. "But I'm not even wearing yellow..."

"Not everything is about you, Michelle," Sophia said. "He could be referring to me."

Everybody looked at Sophia's black leather shirt, black leather leggings, black leather boots, and black leather gloves. Then they had themselves another good round of laughter.

"Neither of you!" Jeff said. "I was referring to the pretty lady in the yellow dress that sparkled like daffodils."

"You mean dandelions?" Mack asked.

"No. Daffodils..."

Sophia knelt down next to Jeff. "What are you talking about? What lady?"

"You can't have her. Bob and Guy already claimed her."

"Jeff, I swear, if you know what happened to them..."

"Oh, keep your pants on, Sophia." Then he turned to Mack and winked. "Unless you want to take them off..."

"...Don't make me come down there," Russell growled.

Sophia pinched Jeff's head between her forefinger and thumb and spun him around like a top. Her colossal face loomed over him.

"Start talking," she breathed. "Now."

"Oh, well..." Jeff started. "I was spying on them from inside my gopher hole. I do that a lot, you see. They won't talk to me otherwise. They think they're better than me. But they're really not. So I was listening to the and I overheard them talking about how none of you have any talent and they are so much better and how they wanted to start their own circus, which would be like a bajillion times better than the boring routine you guys do."

"Get to the woman already."

"Well, after I stuck up for you and told them how awesome you all are—especially you, Sophia—they told me to go away. I usually don't listen to them, but I did this time because what they were saying was so not true. So I left, but not really, because I was still watching them from inside my gopher hole. I told you I did that a lot. And that's when the lady in the pretty yellow dress showed up and took them away."

"What did she look like?"

"Um..." Jeff blinked. "Gee, Sophia, I dunno. She looked like a girl. She was tall and had boobs."

Mack nudged Roy. "I guess that means Sophia is out."

Russell slapped Mack again.

"Details, Jeff," Sophia said. "What color hair did she have? What did she look like?"

Jeff proceeded to give them such an accurate and overly exaggerated detail of the woman that a sketch artist would have no problem creating an exact likeness of the person. In fact, it bordered on the line of creepiness.

Jesse was the first to speak up.

"I don't remember anybody dressed like that in the audience last night," he said. He had the look of a man consumed by his thoughts. "No, I'm sure I would remember if I did..."

Forgetting for a moment that her boyfriend was fawning over other women, Sophia sat down in a chair and mulled over Jeff's description of the lady in the yellow dress.

"Her choice of clothing sounds far too elegant to belong to any of the peasants around here," she said. "You saw how they were dressed. I don't think any of them could even afford a seamstress to hem a dress like that."

"Are you thinking a noble?" Jesse asked. "Or at least somebody of high standing."

Russell and Wallace looked at each other.

"Maybe," Sophia said. "But why would somebody with the gold to afford a dress like that want Bob and Guy?"

"Or anybody, for that matter," Mack pointed out.

"Yes, thank you, Mack."

Wallace nodded at Russell, who then stroked his beard casually and turned to his rather large, irate daughter.

"...Uh, Wallace and I may know the identity of this mystery girl," he said. "In fact, she may be somebody we've told you about before."

"Somebody you've told me about before..." Sophia started. "Who is that?"

"You may remember, a few years back, when Bob and Guy had...woman troubles and we were forced to rescue them. The first time that happened."

Sophia closed her eyes and leaned her palm against her forehead. "Please don't tell me this is the same psychotic girl who hunted you across her courtyard for sport..."

"The description fits," Wallace said. "I'm sorry to say, Sophia, but it looks like Duchess May is back on the hunt."

"Oh, that's great. That's fantastic, guys. Way to go." Sophia threw her arms up in the air. "You just had to play hero, and now we have a serial killer tracking us down."

"So this is what it feels like to be stalked..." Jeff muttered to himself. "This must be what all those girls in school went through before the restraining orders..."

"I can't believe this," Sophia said. "How did she find us!?"

"That's a good question," Russell said, patting Wallace on the shoulder. "The last time we saw that girl, she couldn't track an elephant across a dirt field in the middle of the day."

"I guess that's why we haven't heard from her in three years," his old war buddy added.

"I'm glad you two think this is so funny," Sophia said.

Wallace grinned sheepishly. "You didn't see her dangling upside down from a rope."

"I only wish we had a stick at the end," Russell said. "I bet candy would've come pouring out that mouth of hers."

"No...Bob and Guy would have," Sophia snapped. "In case you two have forgotten, May ate them. Remember now? Gulp. Gone. No more Bob and Guy. Ring any bells?"

Russell and Wallace looked down at their feet.

"I guess she lost her lunch and wanted it back," Mack said. "Too bad for Bob and Guy, eh?"

"We don't know that for sure," Roy said. "Maybe she's just trying to...round up her old friends and... Yeah, they're probably dead."

Mack turned back to Jeff. "You can still catch up with them, you know."

Michelle moved over to the vanity.

"If May is here, that means she's found you," she said. "We can't consider this a coincidence. Although I wonder why she took Bob and Guy and left you two alone..."

"It's true she probably came for us," Wallace said. "She fancies herself a huntress and a creature of the wild, but she enjoys toying with her prey. Killing unsuspecting game is...not in her nature."

"So, Bob and Guy were bait?"

"No..." Russell said. "May considered their lives forfeit. To her, they already lost her game and didn't deserve a sporting chase. She left that chase for us. By taking Bob and Guy and trashing our trailer, she's saying, 'The hunt is back on' the only way she knows how."

"Enough!" Sophia said. "I don't care if she's royalty. We're going to find May and tell her to stop this."

"She said you're welcome to try," Jeff said. "In fact, she said you're welcome to come to see her place at Oceanside at any time. She said the courtyard is...open for play?"

All eyes turned to Jeff.

"You...talked to her?" Sophia asked, but it was the question on everybody's mind.

"Yeah! Gee, and I thought I was the only one who was surprised a girl outside of you and Michelle talked to me." Jeff breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm glad I'm not alone."

"And you didn't think to call for help for one of us?"

"Well, no! Then she would've eaten me, too."

Michelle gasped and put a hand over her mouth.

"She ate Bob and Guy..." she whispered.

"Oh, come on! Geez, it wasn't like this was the first time she did this to them."

Wallace's face was grim.

"It looks like it was no accident that you saw what you saw, Jeff," he said. "She wanted us to know she's after us. I suppose you should consider yourself lucky."

"Then she knows we're coming," Michelle said.

"What choice do we have?" Sophia asked. "If we stay here, we don't know when she'll strike again. If we go to Oceanside, at least we'll know where to expect her."

"Or we'll be walking right into her trap."

"We're not Bob and Guy, Michelle. We're smart. We know what we're doing."

"I'd normally advise against this, but..." Michelle looked at the men on the vanity and laid her arms at her side. "You're right. If we can confront her face to face, we might have a chance. We outnumber her, after all, and maybe I can put a spell on her to make her forget this whole 'hunt' notion that she has..."

"I was thinking I'd just bash her over the head with my guitar until she suffers from a concussion—but your fruity mind trick idea works, too," Sophia said. "Pack your things, everyone. We're heading to Oceanside."

"It's really not that hard to do," Squish said. "You just need to keep your hands moving."

Isabella tried again, but the oranges only stayed in the air for a moment before slipping through her grasp and rolling across the floor.

"Ugh..." she said, pounding her heel against the floorboards. "Juggling is stupid, and people who do it are even stupider."

"Maybe you should start with something smaller," Squish suggested. He walked across the end table, picked up a grape, and carried it over.

"...Yeah, you might be right." Isabella flicked the grape away, picked Squish up by the collar of his shirt, and flung him towards the ceiling.

As he came back down, she caught him again, passed him over to her other hand, and flung him even higher.

"By golly, I think you got it!" the fool shouted as he tumbled through the air.

Isabella laughed and continued juggling him for a while until there was an abrupt rapping on the door. As she turned her head to look, she missed Squish and had to scoop him off the bed where he had landed. Almost instinctively, she cupped her hands over him, cleared her throat, and sat down on the bed.

"Enter," she said, leaning back on the mountain of pillows and closing her eyes tightly.

There was a short pause and then the door opened. Roxanne stood waiting on the other side and bowed her head at the sight of the queen.

"What is it, Black Knight?" Isabella asked, turning over. "Can't you see I am trying to rest?"

"I do not mean to disturb you, Your Highness, but Duchess May has requested an audience with you. I thought you should know."

Isabella sat up. "May? May is here?"

"Yes. She's on her way up the stairs as we speak." Roxanne's face remained as stiff as a dry corpse, but it was evident she had noticed the unusual alarm in the queen's voice by the way her eyebrows were raised. "You seem...preoccupied, milady. If you would like, I can send her away. Perhaps when you are feeling better...?"

"Don't be silly," Isabella said, sliding her legs off the side of the bed. She carefully tucked her hands into her lap. "I feel fine, Black Knight. What makes you think something is wrong?"

"Well, for one thing, it's four in the afternoon and you're still in your nightgown..."

"My wardrobe is of no concern of yours!"

"Of course not, milady. I would simply think it best to send the duchess on her way if you feel you are not well enough to entertain her company."

"Says the pale-faced vampire standing at my door, looking as sickly and miserable as ever." She lifted her nose. "If I wanted an opinion, Black Knight, I would give it to you. And my opinion is that I am fine."

"Very well. Then I shall send her in immediately."

Isabella jumped out of bed with her hands still pressed firmly against her waist. "No!"

"Your Highness...?"

"I need a moment to change my clothes!" Isabella bolted towards her oak armoire and began hastily removing her nightgown. She stopped when she noticed the Black Knight was still watching her. "I could use some privacy. Shut the door, you soot-colored oaf, and make sure you're on the other side of it at the time."

Roxanne bowed her head and did as she was commanded.

Isabella breathed more easily when she was gone. Letting go of her nightgown, she turned away from the armoire and looked around the room.

"Mmf mmf mmmf mff. Mmf mmmf mff?"

Isabella glanced down. "What?"

"Mmmf mff mff."

"Ugh, learn to speak clearly." Isabella opened her hands. Inside, she found Squish curled into a ball and nearly crushed to death. "Now, what are you trying to say?"

"I was just remarking on how strong your grip was," he said weakly, but with a grin still on his face.

"Shut up. We have to hide you."

"Oh, a game?" Squish stood up on her palm. "I do love games, Isabella."

"Yeah. So does May."

"May?"

"Shut up already," Isabella said. She moved over to the mirror next to her bed and tossed Squish into the open jewelry box on top of her dresser. She snapped it shut and turned around just as the door to her bedchamber opened.

"May!" Isabella exclaimed, spreading her arms. "It's so good to see you. Welcome!"

"Isabella... It's so good to see you too. All of you." The duchess put a hand over her brow. "...Really, what the hell? Are clothes too far beneath you now?"

Isabella looked confused and then realized she was standing in her undergarments. Turning as scarlet as the lace pillows on her bed, she walked back towards to the armoire and slipped into a teal-colored robe that was waiting on the hook.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," she said.

"...You are so very strange, Isabella," May said, closing the door behind her. "I wonder who you get that from."

"Well, naturally, it wasn't my fault. Roxanne was supposed to stall you until I slipped into something more formal."

"Oh, Roxanne... That must have been the giant sardine can that was barking at me on the way in."

Isabella smiled. "You really don't take orders from anybody, do you?"

May didn't answer. Instead, she wandered around the room, with one hand behind her back, and studied the royal decor that lined the walls. There were drapes made of the finest silks in the lands and golden frames to over a dozen magnificent paintings—nearly all of which featured stylized images of Queen Isabella herself. In fact, the only painting that featured the face of someone other than Isabella was a small canvas hanging over the bed. It was of both Isabella and Fallon and had been painted some many years ago, for they both looked much younger in the portrait than today. The red oils that colored the ribbons in Fallon's hair were beginning to fade and wash into her tresses, but Isabella had always kept the painting in a special place in her bedchamber.

May ran a finger across the mantle of the fireplace, poking at each priceless artifact that she saw, and stopped when she got to a diamond-encrusted vase that was being used as a centerpiece. She picked it up, rather loosely in her hands, and rolled it over, watching the jewels glitter and wink like stars on a cloudless night.

"You really eat this stuff up, don't you?" she asked.

"What do you mean?"

May put the vase back. "You always did enjoy the life of a noble. Do all these beautiful things really make you happy?"

Isabella tied the waistband of her robe.

"You sound bored," she said "What's wrong, May? Is life in Oceanside beginning to get dull?"

"Oh, no. Life is grand. I'm having adventures and seeing some really amazing things." She looked down at the carpet and grinned. "In fact, I just got back from seeing the circus."

"Really? The circus? I was recently told a story about a circus from...a...uh...person...who...tells stories..."

"You mean a storyteller?"

"Yes. That's the one." Isabella moved over to the couch, sat down, and began pouring two cups of tea. "So, tell me about the circus. Was it spectacular? I heard it's spectacular."

May shrugged.

"The show was good, but the food was rather bland," she said. She smiled to herself and traced a finger around her lips. "Still, I think you would like it."

"Oh, I'd love to see the circus, but my duties require me to be here at all times. Such is the life of a queen."

"You really take this life as a queen seriously..."

"Of course. I was born to be one."

"Yes, so I know..." May dropped down on the couch next to Isabella and folded one leg over the other. "That's actually what I came to see you about."

"Oh?"

"Yes. My sources tell me there's been some...trouble brewing with our friends in Kaligar."

Isabella offered her a cup of tea. "It's nothing I couldn't handle."

"Oh, I am sure." May generously took the cup. "Still, that Erika is like a mosquito. She won't simply go away if you ask her. She'll keep coming back and draining you for more and more until she gets what she wants. I dare say I know her better than you, cousin."

"Well..." Isabella started to say, and then she turned to May, stopped, and nearly spilled her tea.

There, sitting comfortably on the top of May's head in a yoga pose, was Squish. He smiled and waved at Isabella when she finally noticed him.

"Well?" May echoed.

"Uh..." Isabella put her cup down on the table. "I didn't say anything."

"...Yeah, I know. I was waiting for you to—"

"Have you seen my new necklace yet?"

Isabella jumped up, hurried over to the other side of the couch, and snatched Squish out of May's hair before she could turn around. Closing her fingers around him, Isabella continued over to the dresser and picked up the jewelry box. It was still closed.

She opened it. There was nothing inside.

"I don't even want to know how you did that," she whispered into her hand before stuffing Squish back into the jewelry box. He made no attempts to move as she snapped the lid shut again, grabbed a heart-shaped key from the top of the dresser, and locked it.

She set it back down and picked up a pearl necklace that she brought back over to May.

"Isn't it beautiful?" she asked, handing the trinket over to the duchess.

May took it after some hesitation.

"...I gave you this," she said. "Years ago."

"Oh." Isabella retook her seat. "You did?"

"Yes... These are pearls from Atlantis. You know, the trade route that I own..."

"Oh, I had completely forgotten about that."

May laid the pearls on the table.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked. "You're acting awfully strange today."

"Why does everybody keep saying that? Everything is fine. I'm fine." She put her hands in her lap and leaned back, letting out a deep exhale. "Are you fine?"

"...You know, just because she's dead doesn't mean you need to start acting like Olivia. I kinda like having at least one cousin who is normal."

"You don't need to compare me to her."

"I'm not. I wouldn't insult you like that."

"Good. Because... I am nothing like Olivia." Isabella fidgeted with her hair. "I mean, she actually carried around that disgusting man with her wherever she went... Can you believe that? What nonsense. Who does that?"

"Strange people, apparently..." May said, putting the cup of tea to her lips. She took a small sip, keeping her eyes on Isabella the whole time.

Isabella started to relax, until she glanced down and noticed two small hands grab onto the rim of May's cup, and then Squish's head popped between them. He shook his damp hair and spat out a mouthful of tea as May lowered the cup to her chest. She apparently didn't notice the brown stain he had left on her shimmering yellow dress.

"Anyway, as I was saying..." May began. "My sources tell me that Erika continues to send requests for Ellewyn's aid, despite your firm refusal to get involved. Now, while I support your decision to separate ourselves from their affairs, I don't think Kaligar is yet ready to accept your stance in the matter. Swamp people are a little boneheaded that way. That is why I propose we—"

"Let me get you some more tea," Isabella interrupted, trying to take the cup from May's hand. Her attempt failed, however, and she only managed to knock the cup over. The tea spilled into May's lap and she jumped up, causing Squish to fall down, bounce off her skirt, and land safely inside Isabella's cupped hands.

She quickly hid him from sight—by pressing him to the couch cushion and sitting on him.

"...Isabella..." May hissed, wiping the remnants of the liquid from her dress. "You're obviously distracted right now, so I'm going to say this very plainly. We need to send a message to Kaligar. With your permission, I would like to take a small group of soldiers into Masiela and knock some sense into Erika. It will be a peaceful mission on the whole, but we need to make sure that she understands Ellewyn has no intention of being the shield to a kingdom of heathens and farmers too frightened to fight for themselves."

"I didn't realize you had taken up a sudden interest in diplomacy," the queen said.

"I'm just looking out for your best interest."

"Yes, a lot of people seem to be doing that as of late..." Isabella shifted awkwardly in her seat. "But don't concern yourself with Kaligar. Fallon is down there as we speak. If any political ramifications arise from Erika's constant whining and moaning, Fallon will attend to them as she sees fit. I trust her wholeheartedly."

May did not look pleased as she stepped closer to Isabella.

"...Your Highness," she said. "You place too much trust in a mere courier. While I can appreciate Fallon's ability to wield a sword and carry out your duties here at the castle, I should not need to remind you that she has only seen this kingdom through times of peace. Fallon has never fought in a battle, never seen a war with her eyes. She is not prepared for such a thing, and she will be the first to die if you put her on the front lines. For her sake, I suggest you pull her out of Kaligar immediately and let me and my soldiers go in. We will get Erika under control."

"Calm down, May. She's hardly there on official business, and she'll be back soon enough." Isabella casually slid her hands out from under her legs. "Besides, I find Erika's begging humorous. I've finally found a way to make use of her stubbornness."

"There's more to being a queen than amusing yourself."

"How would you know?"

May's face coiled into a scowl and headed for the door. As she did, Isabella watched her and saw Squish stick his head out from the back of May's dress and wave at her.

With a silent gasp, Isabella jumped up and checked the spot where she had been sitting. There was nothing but an imprint that slowly inflated back to normal before her eyes.

"...I came here for your permission to carry out a necessary duty," May said, turning around. For the time being, the fool disappeared again. "I did this out of respect for you and your family. Whether or not you're willing to give me consent doesn't matter to me. I will do what has to be done. I always get my way, Isabella, and you know that."

Isabella crinkled her nose in disgust, but there was a look of worry in her eyes.

"Well, next time you invite yourself into my castle, you might find yourself waiting downstairs with the rest of the peasants," she said, but her threat was weak and off-key. She mostly just stood there, huffing and stomping her feet in place.

"Don't assume I'll be coming back until after I get what I want." May opened the door with her back still turned to the wall. "By the way, Bellaboo... I don't know when it became customary for you to allow men in your bedchamber, but if I ever catch that little shit climbing in my hair or swimming in my tea again, I will skin him alive and use his pelt to make a hat for one of the butterflies in my collection. Capische?"

Isabella said nothing. She only stared and chewed on the bottom of her lip as May slammed the door, causing the portraits in the room to rattle against the wall.

"You stupid, stupid fool..." the queen finally muttered.

"Me or the clown in the yellow dress with brown polka-dot stains all over it?"

Isabella's eyes dropped to her shoulder, where Squish was sitting, as calm as a frog on a lily pad, on the fabric of her robe.

"That was a fun game," he asked. "She's a very good seeker, isn't she? Or perhaps I'm not a very good hider. Which do you think, Isabella?"

"How did you...?" The queen looked dumbfounded until she snatched Squish up in her fist and thumped him with her forefinger and thumb. "...You irk me, fool. You truly do." Before he could speak again, she cupped a hand over his head, fell back on the bed, and released a long, drawn-out sigh.

Somewhere in that sigh, between all the annoyance and irritation, was a simple, momentary, barely detectable air of relief.

-------------------------

Most parts of Atlantis never saw nighttime. Even when the sun from the surface world had set and the waters of the Tethys Sea were as dark as a squid's black ink, this underwater utopia remained bathed in perpetual light. Great crystalline spheres that hung from the apex of each dome and looked down like vigilant eyes of glass made sure of this. The light from these fixtures radiated golden threads of light that draped themselves over the myriad structures reaching out from the water's surface to grace the skylines of each cavern.

Below the waterline, the light refracted all the way to the seafloor so that, even submerged, an onlooker could always witness the marvels of this city through a lens of shimmering twilight. The beautiful rays were made even more magnificent as they scattered across great white marble friezes and crystal mosaics which adorned the undersides of the curving, vaulted ceilings.

That is not to say the mermaids did not recognize the difference between day and night. They did, as should be expected, for many mermaids spent much of their time in the surface world for one reason or another. They simply had no reason to acknowledge this difference. They were creatures bred for the sea, granted life by the divine Goddess of Light, Dai Celesta. It was in Her honor that they chose a life of eternal radiance. This was Her gift to them, and their gift in return to Her.

However, the other residents of Atlantis—the men and the pygmies—were transplants from a world where they had once lived under a familiar pattern of day and night. The mermaids understood this. In their benevolent wisdom, the mermaids knew the men and pygmies needed the cycle of light and dark as much as they needed the air to breathe. To deprive these creatures of this crucial cycle was to invite widespread madness, a most unnecessary addition to the tortures already placed upon them by having been born so small, so insignificant, in the eyes of the Goddess.

And so, one of the domes was a world apart from the rest. There, in the dome of men and pygmies, the great crystal in the sky would shed its light from brightest day to moonlit night, and every hue of dawn and dusk in between. Its one limitation, however, was that it could not duplicate the meeting of the horizon, nor the exchange of the sun and moon, but it seemed the denizens inside could live with this small change, so long as the cycle of light continued.

The sky above Little Penee—for that is what the men had named their dome, the village in which they lived—had none of the grandeur of the rest of Atlantis, but it was not completely without feature. Scattered randomly throughout the drab, gray stone were tiny fragments of these magical glowing crystals, simulating a twinkling starlit sky to go with the silver light of the full moon, always holding center stage.

Tonight was no different than usual, save for a dark-haired man and a freckle-nosed pygmy, who were perched on the roof of a vacant building near the docks, looking out over the village. They had been quietly sitting there for a while, but a sudden restlessness in the waves below began to spark a conversation.

"...The pearl pods are ready," the man said. "We just have to get them over to the shipping bin before the next shipment leaves."

The pygmy smiled.

"That's good news," she said.

"...You're okay with this, aren't you?"

"Huh?" The pygmy stared at him, as if she had been caught by surprise. "Oh, yeah... Yeah. Of course. I mean, we hate it here. Don't we?"

The man shrugged.

"Well, I can't say I like waking up every morning and wondering if I'll be sleeping in a mermaid's belly by nightfall," he said. "But, I suppose, being here has helped me to forget the real world, so it can't be all bad."

"Yeah. The real world..." Her voice trailed off. "I can't believe it's already been three years. You lose track of time in this place."

"Fay..."

"Yeah?"

"There's still something we need to do before we leave."

The pygmy's lips tightened.

"I hope you're not referring to Gravy Bones' treasure," she said. When he made no attempt to confirm or deny her suspicion, she frowned. "...Malkav, you can't be serious. After all we've been through... You really want to risk everything for a few trinkets of gold?"

"I'm not concerned about the gold."

"Yeah, yeah... You just want your precious scarab piece." The pygmy slapped the back of his head. "Get over it already. We aren't meant to save the world. If there's one thing you should've learned in all your time with me, it's that we're rogues—not heroes."

"That's right," he said. "We are rogues. And, as rogues, isn't it our job to seek out treasure, no matter what danger faces us?"

"Well, the fact that I, of all people, would be perfectly content in leaving Gravy Bones' treasure untouched should give you some idea of the magnitude of danger that awaits us if we go ahead with your plan." Something seemed to dawn upon her and she cocked her head to the side. "Wait... What is your plan anyway? We aren't even sure where to look for the Scarab of Water."

"We have a good idea."

"I don't think breaking into Queen Marisette's throne room is a 'good idea' at all. I'm not even sure I understand your reasoning for it being there..."

"The mermaids are full of themselves. Gravy Bones' treasure signifies a great level of domination over another person... They're not going to hide it. Queen Marisette is going to want it to be displayed somewhere she can see it every day, as a reminder for how 'great' she and her people are. Besides..." Malkav reached into the collar of his shirt and pulled out a strange necklace with an oddly-shaped bauble attached to it. The bauble appeared to be the bottom half of a scarab, but it glowed a bright shade of green as he tapped his finger along the edge. "I've been listening to the Scarab of Earth for a while now. It talks to me in my sleep, and it says it knows the location of the others pieces. It can lead them to us."

"It...talks to you?"

"Well, not in actual words, like you and I are speaking now, but... But I can feel the presence of the Scarab of Water. It's here—in Atlantis—waiting to be found."

"Perhaps. But I don't think the mermaids are going to let us have a tour around the city to look for it. They haven't been too open to that request in the past."

He flashed a sly grin and released the necklace from his grip. Fayrelin glanced down to watch it fall and couldn't help but notice Malkav's chest sticking out through the stretched neckline of his shirt. Since when had he become anything but scrawny?

"No," he said, tucking the necklace away, "but we could take our time to look around if all of the mermaids were somewhere else."

Fayrelin's eyes returned to his face.

"Like where?" she asked.

"Like at the opera house, during their next concert. There's one happening just a few days from now, and all of the mermaids will be there. We'd have the rest of Atlantis to ourselves."

"If we could get out from Little Penee."

"And why should that be so hard?"

"Because we're trapped in a glass dome and surrounded by water?"

"But the mermaids get in and out."

"Oh, I didn't realize either of us were mermaids. Did you suddenly grow gills and a tail? Because I sure didn't."

Malkav slid an arm around her neck.

"You let me worry about that," he said. "Once we're past the wall, we can climb into the aqueduct system that connects all the domes of Atlantis. From there, we just let the Scarab of Earth lead us to Gravy Bones' treasure."

"And what if we've been right all along and the treasure is actually in Queen Marisette's throne room?"

"So what? The room will be empty. Marisette will be watching the concert, along with everybody else."

"But her throne room is connected to the opera house. You know that. And every mermaid in Atlantis will be there, like you said..."

"In case you haven't noticed, we're quite a bit smaller than the mermaids... And we're rogues. We can easily sneak past them without them knowing we're there."

Despite his confidence in every counter-argument, Fayrelin did not look reassured.

"...You do realize what goes on during one of those concerts, don't you?" she asked.

Malkav shrugged and chucked a pebble off the roof.

"A bunch of singing and bad acting, I imagine," he said. "Not much different than an opera on the surface world."

"Have you ever heard a mermaid sing before?"

"No, but I've heard them whistle at the pearl farms."

Fayrelin sighed.

"...Nevermind," she said.

"What?"

"Nothing. I could be totally wrong. It's only a myth."

"What's a myth?"

"Forget it."

"No. I want to know."

Fayrelin shifted around uneasily.

"Okay..." she said. "I grew up on the sea. I've heard many tales of the mermaids, from Blackthorn and...some more reliable people... I didn't know they were all true until we arrived here. But all the tales say that when a mermaid sings, her voice is so beautiful that any man who hears it falls under her spell and is lured towards his doom. In fact, singing is supposed one of the earliest techniques the mermaids developed to catch their prey."

"Well, that does sound like something they would do," Malkav said. "But I don't know how that affects me. I hate mermaids more than anything in this world, and nothing is going to change that. Especially not their singing. The mermaids suck, Fay. They just suck."

"But I worry, Malkav... You're a man."

"One of my many fine qualities."

"And so are Jargon and Blackthorn and Exthame. And...Adam, I think..."

"What's your point?"

"Well... If the myths are true, you won't be able to resist their singing, no matter how much you hate the mermaids." She paused for a moment. "Maybe it's better if I steal the Scarab of Water."

"No."

"But—"

"You're not going into the opera house alone, Fay. I forbid it."

"Why? Don't you trust me?"

"Of course I trust you. I just don't trust those crazy women who have tails instead of legs and go around eating my friends."

"But the mermaids will take it easier on me if I get caught."

"We're not going to get caught."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because we're good at what we—"

"A-ha!" came a drunken, slurred voice from below. "Caught you, you stinky, slippery, troublesome fish!"

Malkav and Fayrelin looked down to see Zana, more drunk than ever before, stumbling across the street on legs about as sturdy as jelly. She had a beer bottle in her hand and there was a trail of booze leading to a canoe that had run ashore. When she reached the building they were on, she lifted her arm and pointed at them with the neck of the bottle in her hand. The last of the alcohol trickled out and pooled at her feet.

"You are in a lot of trouble," she yelled, clawing at the wall of the structure with her free hand, as if she was making a half-assed attempt to climb up after them. It never seemed to register in her mind that there was a ladder leaning against the wall only a few feet away.

"I guess we're not that good," Malkav said, and Fayrelin giggled.

"You're supposed t'be at the pearl farms," Zana said. She finally found the ladder and began shaking it uncontrollably. "Get down here!"

"I think you should come up here," Malkav said.

Zana made it to the third rung before she landed on her back.

She tried it a second time and didn't even get that far, as the entire ladder tipped over and landed on top of her. Malkav and Fayrelin barreled over in laughter as Zana squirmed out from under the ladder and began cursing at them from the ground.

"We probably should get out of here," Fayrelin said. "She's likely to wake up the whole village."

Malkav listened to Zana scream for a little while longer and then ducked as she threw her beer bottle at him. It soared over his head and shattered on the rooftop behind him.

"I suppose you're right," he said.

They stood up, waved goodbye to Zana, and jumped off the back of the roof hand-in-hand.

"This way," Malkav said, pointing down a dark alley.

Fayrelin followed him, but it didn't take Zana long to realize they were no longer on the roof. Hobbling around to the back of the building, she saw Fayrelin's ponytail disappear around a corner and gave chase.

"Get back here!" she demanded.

Malkav and Fayrelin looked over their shoulders and laughed to see Zana trying to keep up. She was zigzagging through the alley, bumping into walls and trash cans, and fell more than once trying to climb over the fence that Malkav and Fayrelin were easily able to roll underneath.

When they were back on the open street, Malkav unhooked a clothesline from a nearby window and handed Fayrelin the other end. They knelt on opposite sides of entrance to the alley, holding the clothesline to the ground, and then pulled it taut when Zana came stumbling through. Before she knew what was happening, Zana was doing a faceplant into the street.

"Who did that!?" she screamed. She turned around to see, but all she saw was a blanket being thrown in her face.

Angrily, she crawled out from under the blanket and resumed the chase.

"I'm reporting you both to the mermaids," she shouted. "You're both dead. Dead—you hear me!?"

"I think everybody can hear her by now," Malkav said.

Fayrelin laughed and stopped for a moment to taunt their pursuer.

"Zana kisses fish!" she said, cupping her hands over her mouth for maximum volume.

"That is a lie," Zana cried, still shuffling towards them. Her voice practically oozed with the alcohol that was on her breath. "That is a lie and a half. I do not kiss fish, nor will I ever."

"Come on," Malkav said, taking Fayrelin's hand and leading her through the center of Little Penee. Even though most of the village was asleep, some of the more curious folks got out of bed and opened their windows to see what was making all the ruckus outside. When they saw what it was, they laughed and woke up everyone they knew.

"Zana is drunk again," were the words on their lips. "Come quickly, everybody. That stupid fool—when will she ever learn?"

Before long, the whole village was awake and had heard about Zana's drunken rampage through town. It spread so quickly that a few of the men on the other side of town were waiting at their windows with a cold beer in hand when Zana passed through. They cheered on Malkav and Fayrelin and guffawed at every foul-mouthed curse that came out of Zana's lips.

The pygmies were the only ones who chose not to partake in this unintended display of public humiliation. When they heard Zana shouting from three blocks away, they got up, closed the windows of their exotic suites on the rich side of town, and pulled the curtains shut.

"Not again," they said.

The chase continued for a while longer, but Malkav and Fayrelin soon lost sight of Zana. It hadn't been their intention—for they were enjoying this chase just as much as the spectators in the balconies above—but Zana had taken a wrong turn. Her mind was so far gone that she had mistaken a poster of two harlots for Malkav and Fayrelin. It wasn't until she reached the poster and was able to rip it from the wall that she realized they were just ink scribbles on a worn piece of parchment.

"Where are you, you dumb fish?" she muttered.

She wasn't aware of how quiet it had become. There were no more mocking voices, no men pointing at her and laughing or making bets on whether she would wind up facedown or faceup in the street tonight.

In fact, there was nobody around. In her own drunkenness, Zana had inadvertently wandered into a very bad part of town.

She continued on blithely, ignoring obvious signs that this neighborhood didn't welcome her kind. Graffiti stained the crumbling, ancient stone walls. If she could read, the words "PYGMIES SUCK MUD" were staring her in the face. But her eyes were ahead, following the reach of these walls to a narrow causeway that crossed a strip of turgid water. Warning bells rang in the back of her head, but she ignored them, intent on pursuing her quarry at all costs.

She shuffled across the causeway, miraculously avoiding a stumble into the low guardwalls which would have done little to stop her from a headlong plunge into the brackish river below.

Only when the open space of the river gave way and the foreboding walls closed around her again did the bells finally become loud enough to be heard through the fog of booze. She was no longer in the easygoing residential districts with their ziggurat towers resembling cheerful, multi-tiered wedding cakes. Somehow, she had lost her way and stumbled into the waterfront district of Little Penee. Only a few wan lights flickered here and there in the deep shadows between these featureless, gray structures.

The twinkling of the false night sky could only be seen as a few bands overhead, offering no reassurance against the press of the monoliths now surrounding her. This was not a good place for anyone to be alone at night—let alone a pygmy—and definitely not a pygmy who spent so much time typifying all the reasons why pygmies were at best shunned and at worst despised by the majority of the men of Little Penee.

She pushed aside her anger of the rogues who had managed to give her the slip long enough to trace her steps through a mental map and realized she had crossed onto the narrows formed by what used to be a river neatly dividing sections of ancient Atlantis.

The Atlanteans had a name for this island, as well as a purpose for all the unusually large buildings covering it, but both of these had been lost to time. Today, the unfortunate residents of Little Penee made use of what was left for warehousing and meatpacking industries. That was its purpose. Its name, given it by those who lived here and rarely whispered outside these walls unless out of fear, was Kingsbridge. Docks in general were not known for harboring the better parts of society, but Kingsbridge was by far the worst of the warehouse districts in Little Penee. The smell alone should've given that away.

Zana stopped to look around. The drunken spirals of graffiti were spinning like spiderwebs on the wall, but their message was clear. This was somebody's turf, and she knew she shouldn't be here. Still, she had come this far. No reason to give up just yet. Besides, she told herself, no one would dare cross a pygmy and risk the wrath of the mermaids. No matter how tough these men thought they were, they all knew who really ran things.

Armed with this burst of self-confidence, she continued further into the darkness.

As she rounded a corner—one chosen completely at random—she finally encountered another living soul in the grip of these foul streets.

"Hey you," she barked. "Yeah, you—fish. You seen a couple'a fishy fish around here?"

The stranger merely continued his lackadaisical lean against a large metal trash bin, watching her without a word.

"One of 'em is a fish, like you, you see. The other is a pygmy. A backstabbing traitor of a pygmy. Might as well be a fish."

Pride never failed Zana, even at her worst. The deeper recesses of her mind thought it would be a good idea to tack on a title of at least moderate respect for this denizen of dangerous dens, but she couldn't resist insulting him with her favorite slur, even as she knew he wasn't likely someone to piss off.

Again, no response.

Zana scowled at the strange man, decided he wasn't worth the effort of pointing out how useless he was, and continued past him without further comment.

It was only then that he responded with a single word. "Pig."

Zana froze in midstep, almost toppling over as the upper half of her body finally figured out what the lower half was doing.

"What did you say?"

"You heard me," the man repeated. "Pig."

Zana wheeled around to face the stranger, but the spin didn't end when her body stopped and she found herself seeing double.

"Listen here," she said, hiccuping. "D'you...know who I am?"

She wobbled a bit and finally got her bearings, only to see her vision clear up and reveal...two men.

She shook her head and scrunched her eyes, waiting for the illusion to drop. When she opened them again, the stranger had doubled again. Now there were four of them. And when she looked closer, they didn't even look like the same person at all.

The men stepped out into the street and circled Zana, eyeballing her from head to toe.

"Ah, so it's a school of fish, is it?" Zana muttered. The alcohol seemed to give her superhuman courage. "Except none of you have probably had a day of school in your lives."

"Well, boys," one of the men sneered. "It looks like a little piggy has wandered into our slaughter yard." He seized Zana by the wrist and pulled her closer.

"Get your grubby hands offa me," Zana snapped. "I could have you all served as breakfast for the mermaids tomorrow morning."

The man's face was firm and so was his hold on Zana's wrist as he twisted her forearm around and pinned her against the wall.

"You'll be lucky to even see tomorrow," he breathed into her ear. "You might run the show at the pearl farms, but these streets belong to me and my men. This is Bruzzeli's turf."

Zana spoke into the wall. "I'm going to count to three. If you don't release me by then, I'll see to it that every last one'a you ends up in a mermaid's belly. One..."

"Maybe you didn't hear me. We don't take orders from pigs."

"Two..."

"She's drunk, boss," one of Bruzzeli's men said. He pulled a shank from under his sleeve and stepped forward. "Let's just slit her throat and be done with it."

"Seven..."

"Not yet," Bruzzeli said. He moved his arm and pressed Zana's face against the wall with the back of his elbow. "This piggy was chasing a good friend of mine and I want to know why. What did you want with Malkav?"

"Sixteen..." Zana's voice was muffled by the wall.

"She's not going to talk," the man with the shank said. "Let me do her, boss. I want to hear her squeal."

"She'll talk," Bruzzeli said. He gave Zana one final push into the wall and stepped back.

"Three!" Zana cried, swinging her arm around. She missed, but Bruzzeli decked her across the face so hard that a trail of blood and teeth followed her to the ground.

Zana only looked momentarily dazed as she tried to crawl to her feet.

"...You're...so dead..." she breathed, but Bruzzeli knocked her back down with the back of his heel.

"I changed my mind," he said, turning around and moving towards the rest of the gang, who had formed a circle around them. "You don't have to talk." He passed by the man with the shank and stood next to the biggest, meanest, and ugliest man in all of Atlantis.

"...Break her kneecaps," Bruzzeli said, patting the brute on the shoulder. "If she still doesn't talk, break her hip. If that doesn't work, break her neck and dump her body in the river. The mermaids can have her."

The brute grinned, removed his coat one sleeve at a time, and advanced towards Zana, who was dazed and sprawled out against the wall like a wounded animal with nowhere to run.

"Wait..." she groaned. She dug her fingernails into the wall and tried to stand up.

The brute stopped in his tracks.

"What are you doing?" Bruzzeli asked.

"She said to wait," the thug answered.

Bruzzeli slapped his forehead.

"You don't take orders from her, numbskull!" he snapped. "You obey me."

"Oh, yeah..." The brute bent down, grabbed Zana by the neck, and lifted her to eye-level. Her feet dangled loosely in the air and she was struggling just to breathe.

"...Wait."

This time, it was Bruzzeli who had spoken.

"'Wait'!?" the brute growled. "Wait, wait wait. All I do is wait."

"Put her down," Bruzzeli commanded. "Now."

The brute dropped Zana and then proceeded to take his anger out on a nearby trash can. Zana watched him smash it into a tin plate and shuddered to think that was almost her body. She shuddered even more when Bruzzeli snatched her by the back of the head and forced her to look into his eyes.

"I don't know what you want with Malkav, but me and the kid go back a long way," he said, looking her over like a butcher looks over a slab of meat before cutting into it. As he did, he studied the beads of alcohol and sweat dripping from Zana's brow and grinned. "He even told me you might go snooping into our business, and here you are. You're a cancer on our lives, pig. I think it would be in the best interest of everybody if you were to suddenly disappear from this city and never return."

He held out his palm and one of his men put a shank in it.

Zana's heart was throbbing. Her chest ached. She was bloody and drunk and soaked in a horrible mixture of sweat and dirt, but she was fully aware of the danger she was in. Those warning bells were deafening. Why did she come here? Why didn't she turn back when she had the chance? It was those damn fish. They made her do this.

As Bruzzeli tightened his grip on the makeshift weapon, Zana leaned her head against the wall. Would it be over quick, she wondered. Would she feel anything? Her veins were pumped so full of alcohol right now that she doubted she could feel anything.

That was good. That relaxed her a little.

Still, she would've liked to see the mermaids gobble up those fishes. Maybe they would even get eaten alive. Oh, yes. Alive was good. Seeing them flop around on a plate. Hearing their screams as they digest. That would be...the perfect ending for them.

She laughed at the idea. Two more dead fishes. Order up.

"Hey, Bruzzeli." A sudden raspy voice interrupted her thoughts. "Since when did it become customary for your boys to rough up my girl?" A pair of hands as filthy and strong as an ass came down and picked up Zana. "That's my job."

Bruzzeli grimaced at the newcomer.

"...Wanker," he said, standing up straight. "What are you doing all the way out here?"

"I was just having a good time riding my pig," the ass said, grabbing a thick handful of Zana's blonde locks and rubbing them under his nose. "We were having all sorts of fun. Then I greased her up and she got away from me. She's slippery like that."

Bruzzeli's boys snickered.

"Is that so?" Bruzzeli asked, obviously not convinced. He pointed the shank at Zana. "You with this guy, pig?"

Zana swallowed. That weapon was dangerously close to her throat.

"...Y-yes," she said. Her breath reeked of booze.

"You see?" Wanker said. He slid his hands down Zana's pants and pinched her cheeks. "Why don't you show them what you were doing to me before you ran away? You know how much I love an audience."

Zana's face became flush with red.

"I...don't really feel comfortable with that..." she said.

"Come on, pig," he said. "Show them your dance."

Zana started shaking her hips nervously, but she threw up a little in her mouth when Wanker moved his cold hands further down her pants and held on.

She continued doing this for a while, until the scowl on Bruzzeli's face disappeared and he erupted into laughter.

"Okay, okay," he said, slipping the shank into his back pocket. "I guess I had you figured wrong, pig." Even though he was clearly referring to Zana, he wasn't looking at her, like she had suddenly become a lesser creature and wasn't even worthy of making eye contact.

She didn't care. Her eyes were on the street.

"Wanker, you should learn to keep your pigs on a shorter leash," Bruzzeli said. "You don't want them wandering off where they don't belong."

"It won't happen again, boss man," Wanker said. He removed his hands from Zana's pants and smacked her on the rump. "Come on, pig... Let's get you home."

Zana turned her back, dejected, and Bruzzeli and his men watched them go.

"...What the hell were you thinking?" one of the thugs asked. "We could've whacked them both."

"Yeah, I don't like Wanker thinking he can tread on our turf any more than the pigs can," another piped in. "He needs to learn his place."

Bruzzeli folded his arms across his chest, silently, and watched Zana jump every time Wanker felt her up.

"...No," he said. "Those two deserve each other." When Zana and Wanker had reached the causeway, he chuckled to himself, turned on his heels, and started across the street. "...Time to go, boys. Nothing more to see here."

"You gonna just let them walk away like that, boss?"

"Shaddup. My table at the Surf 'n Turf is ready."

The others shrugged and followed him.

Meanwhile, after a minute of awkwardly stumbling down the street with Wanker's hand up her shirt, Zana had mustered up the courage to look over her shoulder. She did so and was relieved by what she saw.

"...They're gone," she said, moving out from under Wanker's grip. "Now, get away from me."

"I just saved your life," the pervert said. "In some cultures, that would mean you now belong to me."

"Take a culture of this," Zana said. She reared back and spit in his face.

Wanker didn't react right away. If anything, he only seemed to grin. Then he reached up and slid a slow finger across his cheek, gathering up all the spit, and rolled it into a ball. When he was finished, he opened his mouth and wiped it across his tongue, back and forth, until it was gone. He even closed his lips around his finger for extra measure.

Zana stared at him in a mixture of disgust and horror.

"You think you're the first pig to do that?" he asked. "Sooner or later, all my pigs learn how." He moved closer and reached his arms out.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I'm going to take you home" he said, groping her behind.

"You don't even know where I live."

"We're not going to your place, pig..."

Zana's back hit the wall. The dizziness returned. A sudden heaving in her stomach caused Zana to lurch forward and she vomited all over the street. But it didn't stop there. She did this four or five times before she finally collapsed.

Wanker grinned and picked her up off the ground.

"...I don't feel so well..." the pygmy said, staring up at the sky. Her head dangled in Wanker's arms like a limp cabbage. As she faded into and out of consciousness, the dim light overhead began to swell and burned her eyes.

"Don't worry," Wanker said, putting one hand under her head and the other on her rear end, squeezing them both to get a tighter grip. "You're gonna feel amazing to me."

Zana didn't have the strength to struggle as Wanker carried her away. In fact, by the time they had crossed the causeway, she had already fainted.

-------------------------

Malkav and Fayrelin had doubled back a long time ago and found themselves on the shores of Little Penee. They ran across the sand, laughing, and ducked behind a large black rock to catch their breath.

"We're so dead if Zana remembers any of this," Fayrelin said.

"She won't," Malkav said. "She's so drunk right now that she won't remember her own name in the morning." He playfully pushed Fayrelin into the sand and dropped down next to her. "We should get chased by drunken louts more often."

"Yeah, Jargon and Blackthorn aren't nearly this much fun when they're drunk," Fayrelin laughed.

Malkav smiled, although part of his face was covered by his long, dark hair.

Reaching up, Fayrelin brushed it out of the way for him.

Even though it was night, there was a warm breeze blowing in from the sea. That was one good thing about Atlantis—the waters were never cold.

"Hey, look," Malkav said. He pushed back Fayrelin's hand and pointed out to the sea. A mermaid's tail could be seen breaching the crest of a distant wave. She rose out of the water, almost in slow motion, and she looked so peaceful, so serene, as she somersaulted through the air and dove back under at full extension. Her tail was the last thing to disappear, slapping the wave so gently that not a single droplet was displaced.

She appeared again, a while later, with a companion on either side. Together, they rode the swashing waves, while their scales glittered in the artificial moonlight.

"It's amazing how much different this place can feel sometimes," Fayrelin whispered. She wasn't really sure she had spoken aloud until Malkav looked at her.

"Almost makes you forget about the real world," he said.

They looked out again. If they squinted hard enough into the distance, the side of their dome prison somewhat resembled a horizon, like the one from the surface world above. They could almost forget this place. They could almost...feel like they were home.

"Malkav," Fayrelin said. "I've been thinking a lot about what you said to me...you know, before..."

He stared at her inquisitively.

"And I'll be damned if I understand why, but...I think I've fallen in love with you, too."

"Really? What took you so long?"

Fayrelin laughed so hard that it hurt and she laid her head on his shoulder. Together, they watched the mermaids play in the water from the shelter of their black rock. As the saline air filled her nostrils, Fayrelin took a deep breath and nuzzled her cheek deeper into Malkav's arm. He really was getting stronger. She wasn't just dreaming it. And this was somehow perfect.

In some strange, foreign, unsure way, this was perfect.

An excerpt from 'On the Legends and Lore of Adelais':
 
The Royal Families of Ellewyn: The House of Sienna
 
...Of the three royal families that govern the land of Ellewyn today, the House of Sienna has the longest historical record. Though not the current ruling family, some of the most prominent figures of royalty have descended from this household, even from as far back as the Dark Ages following the destruction of the ancient Atlantean Empire. Originally designed to be the 'house of the people,' the House of Sienna has represented the women of Ellewyn and their well-being for generations. In more recent times, it has played a more active role in regional economics and governmental policy, but the family's duty to the people of Ellewyn has always come first.
 
Today, the Sienna family operates out of Haledon, a cozy hamlet in the central valleys of Ellewyn, about forty miles southeast of the capital city of Felwinter. Founded during the Dark Ages, Haledon was originally intended as a stronghold for the militia of Ellewyn. During that time, a great fortress was constructed into the hillsides surrounding the city, making use of mines and tunnels that had been dug decades before. This derelict monument to harder times still stands today, the granite and sandstone ramparts having survived centuries of weathering and war, but Haledon's purpose has changed. No longer a mausoleum of strife, the city is now known for its rich vineyards and its delicious wine, said to cure any illness with a mere sip.
 
The title of 'Countess' has traditionally been granted to the eldest member of the House of Sienna, although the actual ruling power behind this title is limited. As such, it is not uncommon for a younger lady of the household to take over the duties of the Countess, if allowed by the current ruler or by decree of the Royal Queen. An act by the Royal Queen resulting in a change of power has only been performed a handful of times in history, but there has been a strong opposition—and a general resentment—between the House of Sienna and the Royal Queen in the past. In more recent years, however, the bridge between these two households has greatly diminished, due to the tireless efforts of the current governess of the House of Sienna, Countess Gwendolyn.
 
 Gwen, as she resolutely insists on being called by friend, royal peer, and commoner alike, has exercised control over the House of Sienna for close to twenty years. In that time, she has become a living legend among her people, working closely with her cousin and close companion the Royal Queen, to reshape a deeply-stratified society, allowing all people great and small to share in the wealth and pride of arguably the most powerful country in Adelais.
 
Today, poverty and conflict are virtually unseen and no one feels the boot of class oppression falling upon them. Because of this, Gwen has become a saint among her people, and even the lowliest peasant would attest that this lofty lady of royalty seems more like a sister to her than a ruler.
 
As with all the ruling families of Ellewyn, it is customary (if not an unwritten but highly practiced law) for a woman of royalty to have one—and only one—daughter, whose duty it is to carry on her mother's legacy. The highest of expectations are now put upon the shoulders of Gwendolyn's only daughter, Rebecca, to do just that...
 
 
-------------------------
 
 
The hills surrounding Haledon were thick, green and flowing, reminiscent of an oil painting that might hang in the grandest hall of a castle. Occasional spreading trees dotted the open grasslands and farm fields, forming oases of shade amongst the sun-swept vistas. The waves of flora broke grudgingly on the stonework of the city, covering the ancient granite walls with draperies of broad, leafy ivy and blooming wisteria. Twisted, bumpy vines wrapped around the slate roofs like the long and skinny stretch of a witch's fingers, and they seemed to hold the entire town still, both in space and time.
 
Not one of these homes rose more than a few humble stories above the winding, cobblestone roads, but their lack of stature only enhanced their charm. Haledon was the oldest standing city in the realm, but it was a creation of the renaissance which had given birth to modern Ellewyn. The city itself borrowed nothing of the ruins of the Ancients, now mostly buried at sea, which had been adorned by grand spires and columns, fit for queens and gladiators. Here was modesty, simplicity, and beauty.
 
Sturdy, inviting, brick-and-mortar abodes rested quietly on the outskirts of the town, but these gave way to more elaborate manors made of stone and decorated with flowers lining the avenues of the Hightown district. A grand chateau stood as the centerpiece for this picturesque townscape, surrounded by artificial lakes, tended lawns, and the lush, sprawling vineyards for which Haledon had been so greatly cherished throughout the centuries. It was here the family of the Countess had resided for generations. Mother to daughter, the royal heritage was passed on, along with the wealth and prestige of Ellewyn's wine-making industry.
 
Beyond the winding creek and past the rumbling lumber mill, towards the back of the vineyards, where only the locusts frequented, the young Countess Rebecca and her noble friends were knee-deep in a wooden basin of sweet, sticky, squashed grapes. They pranced around in the basin, stomping and giggling and holding up their colorful skirts and dresses, which were thoroughly stained in the red juice.
 
“You were right, Rebecca,” one of the girls remarked. “I never thought making wine could be this much fun.”
 
“I told you I wasn't just tricking you into doing my chores.”
 
They laughed like children and continued mashing the grapes under their bare feet. As the sun moved across the sky like a yellow thumbprint and disappeared behind perhaps the only cloud in the sky, Rebecca stopped what she was doing and turned her head towards the grapevines. A sudden rustling had caught her attention.
 
“...Wait,” she said. “I think the old bat is coming.”
 
“I didn't hear anything.”
 
“Trust me. It's her.”
 
The girls scrambled out of the basin—all except for Rebecca, whose legs remained stiff. She gave a couple more stomps with both feet and then wrinkled her toes in the colorful liquid.
 
Moments later, an elderly, white-haired woman pushed aside the last of the grapevines that was in her way and strolled into the clearing. Her eyes were clasped tightly together and squinting, like she was constantly staring into the sun, but they immediately fell upon Rebecca and seemed to burn a hole in her skin.
 
“Good afternoon, Lady Gwendolyn,” the girls behind Rebecca chimed in unison. They were using towels to clean off their feet, but they dropped them long enough to give a polite curtsy.
 
“Do not insult my intelligence by standing there and pretending to be angels,” Gwendolyn said, shaking a finger at the girls. “As any of your mothers will tell you, I am not nearly as senile as I look.”
 
“Calm down, mother,” Rebecca said. “We have done no wrong—have we, girls? We were simply making wine for the townsfolk to drink.”
 
“Since when do grapes scream and beg for mercy, daughter of mine?”
 
Rebecca looked down at her legs, trying to hide a grin, and squeezed her toes together one more time.
 
“...I know what you are doing and you know how I feel about it,” Gwendolyn said. “These men have offered to work in our vineyard in exchange for food, shelter, and protection. This is not an alliance I take lightly, and neither should you.”
 
“Thank you for your advice, mother,” Rebecca said. Her voice was dripping with so much sarcasm that it was a wonder the basin didn't begin to overflow. “But need I remind you that you are no longer in charge of the household? The last I heard, the title of 'Countess' now belongs to me.”
 
“A leader is judged by their character, not by their title. You can call yourself whatever you want, but that doesn't mean your followers have to listen.” The old woman held out her hand. “Besides... This is something the Royal Queen and I have discussed at length, and that title is a provisional one. You are not yet ready to take on this responsibility. Until I surrender this life, you will still obey me and abide by my rules.”
 
“...Good thing you've already got one foot in the grave,” Rebecca muttered, reluctantly taking her mother's hand.
 
Gwendolyn yanked her daughter out of the basin so hard and so fast that Rebecca tripped over her own legs and landed in the dirt.
 
“Auuuu auuuuu auuuuu...” Rebecca moaned. “Ooooh, I can't... Ow, stop... Ow, ow, ow, stop...”
 
Rebecca's 'friends' began to clear away one by one until they were all gone, leaving Gwendolyn alone with her whiny daughter.
 
“I hope I don't have to tell you where my other foot is going if I ever catch you doing something like this again,” Gwendolyn said. “Now, get up. I know you're not really hurt.”
 
“I can't breathe...” Rebecca began flopping around like a fish. “Auuuuu auuuuuu... Auuuuuu...”
 
“You're such a drama countess.”
 
“I can't help it! You knocked the wind out of me.”
 
Gwendolyn sighed and helped her up. Then she grabbed a towel off the ground and handed it to her daughter.
 
“I'm too old to be cleaning up your messes,” she said. “Dry off your feet and then go inside. Your daughter is looking for you.”
 
Rebecca began scrubbing the red juice from her soles.
 
“She has toys to play with,” she said.
 
“She's nineteen. She doesn't need toys. She needs you.”
 
“Whatever. When I was nineteen, I actually left my room every now and then. She doesn't do anything but sit there and read those stupid books.” She gathered up the rest of the used towels and threw them in an empty bucket. “...I'm not even sure she's my daughter.”
 
The next thing Rebecca saw was her mother's open palm slapping her upside the face.
 
“Don't speak that way about my granddaughter,” she said. “Family is everything, Rebecca. If you can't understand that, you'll never understand what it means to be a leader.”
 
Rebecca rubbed her cheek furiously, but she didn't dare talk back. Not this time. Not when her mother had that look in her eyes.
 
“Now...” Gwendolyn said, kneeling over the basin of grape juice. “Just how many men did you put in here?”
 
A slow smile crept up Rebecca's face.
 
“...All of them.”
 
 
-------------------------
 
 
Meanwhile, at the far corner of the long and winding vineyard rows, down the stream feeding the thirsty plants, in a clearing alongside a crumbling, old flood wall... Someone else was busy being a royal bitch.
 
“Pardon me, ladies, but I have to ask you to move your picnic somewhere else. We have much work to do.”
 
A stubby, spiky-haired man stood atop a four-foot-high trellis crawling in grapevines. He was well below eye-level of the two teenage girls he addressed, but he spoke to them boldly, in an assertive voice that very few women were accustomed to hearing from a creature generally perceived to be nothing short of spineless.
 
“Pardon yourself,” the first girl said, only partially out of shock. “Do you know who we are?” She stood with her hands on the hips of her extravagantly layered and flocked gown, scrunching her nose at the miniature figure in a mixture of annoyance and disgust. The girl next to her watched the exchange indifferently, folding her arms across the front of her golden-strapped sundress and chewing on the corner of her lip.
 
Both girls were without sleeves and had their long hair pulled back to keep their shoulders exposed to the bright, summer sun. The one who had spoken had an elaborately coiffed cascade of curly, honey-brown tresses falling from high in the back of her head, while the other wore her dark mane with a pair of simple braids just off the fringe of her neck. The tips of these braided locks were looped back up and secured with bows in the shape of butterfly knots.
 
“I know precisely who you both are, m'ladies, but I am the foreman of this vineyard. I answer directly to the countess. So, unless you want to be the one to tell her why today’s shipment of grapes is short, I would suggest you pack up your things and move along.”
 
“Why today's shipment of grapes is short...” The girl in the fancy gown pondered aloud. She casually stepped closer to the trellis and towered over the foreman with the sun at her back, casting a menacing silhouette across the sky. “Is it because you lazy men found yourselves in the shadow of greatness and just couldn’t bring yourselves to continue?”
 
The foreman maintained his firm stance. As he stood there, the girl in yellow circled the trellis, hands behind her back, whisking the tail of her dress, until she was opposite her friend.
 
“I dunno, Isabella.” she said, leaning against the trellis. Her fingertips brushed the leaves around her shoulders. “He sounds serious. The countess might be upset if we were to disturb her hardworking men.”
 
Isabella clicked her tongue.
 
“Everybody around here is so serious,” she said. “This is a picnic. We should be having fun. You men can’t work all the time. You must like fun.” She slid her hands over her knees and bent down, peering into the depths of the vine. Without much searching, she spied a worker busily wrestling with a grape more than half his own size.
 
“You there!” she said, startling him. “You look like you could use a break. Why don’t you join me out here in the sun?”
 
Before he could tell her to buzz off, the dark-haired girl gave the trellis a swift bump from her hip, causing the rickety wooden structure to wobble uncontrollably. The grape finally popped free of the vine and plummeted through the brambles with the man still attached. When it hit the ground, it bounced out from under the greenery and rolled onto the vast red-and-white checkered blanket the girls had spread out for their picnic.
 
“You will?” the princess exclaimed, clapping her hands. “Oh, wonderful! What fun shall we have together?”
 
Still stunned from the fall, the worker clambered onto his knees and peered around quizzically. He knew he was back on the ground, but where was the soil? As he came shakily to his feet, he found himself staring up at a wall of teal fabrics undulating only a few inches over his head. Behind this wall of cloth was a pair of tall laced boots with pointed toes aimed directly at his small, shaking body.
 
“Why, I’d love to dance,” came a thunderous voice from above. “What a marvelous idea. And here I thought you people had cobwebs for brains.”
 
Suddenly, the worker was lost in the swirl of skirts as the girl began to pirouette around the blanket, heedless of the scrambling creature at her feet. There was no music playing, but it really didn't matter, as the girl didn't appear to know how to dance anyway.
 
The foreman was dumbstruck as he watched the worker disappear beneath the ever-expanding circle of the dress. As shock turned to rage, the piece of straw he had stuck between his teeth fell to the ground and he began to shout.
 
“La la la, wheee!” the princess sang, blocking out whatever cries were coming from the trellis. She emitted a squeal of girlish delight as she spun faster and faster. In the silken maelstrom below, the blind and dizzy worker was frantically dodging for his life as feet pounded down from the sky and great waves of gown washed over him like an upside-down sea.
 
Then, just as the girl seemed to be easing into a rhythm, there came a soft, wet, sickening pop, and her dance was brought to a halt with one last twist of her toes.
 
“Uh, oh…” She turned her gaze to the ground with one hand over her mouth. “Clumsy you. I guess you don’t know this dance as well as me.”
 
She lifted the front of her skirt and took a step back to reveal the grisly red remains of an innocent grape, lost in its prime to a mad teenager’s whimsical ballet performance. She giggled impishly as she noticed the working clinging to her heel, staring in horror at the fate that could have been his.
 
“Are you crazy, woman!?” the foreman barked from atop the trellis. “He could have been killed! That was totally reckless.” In his ire, his plump face turned a color not unlike the very grapes upon which he made his living. “I demand you take your shenanigans elsewhere. I don’t care where you go—just go, right now!”
 
Although she had been quiet during the performance, the girl in yellow finally spoke up.
 
“You hear that?” she said. “He demands it. I guess we’d better do what he says.” She flashed a foreboding smile and gestured with her eyes towards a clearing near a low stone wall, where a cluster of strange, tiny structures sat upon a green knoll.
 
“Oh, dear me, May—wherever shall we go?” Isabella asked, in what had become her usual voice of mocking innocence.
 
“He did say he doesn't care, right? I guess that means we can go wherever we want.”
 
Well, that made sense, so, on that note, the girls began gathering up the many plates and bowls that had been laid out along the side of the blanket. In their haste, the unfortunate victim of the princess’ earlier amusement was shaken loose from her boot and scooped up into the picnic basket along with everything else. She rolled up the blanket and stuffed it under her arm while her friend carried the provisions.
 
They relocated all of five feet to the knoll, where there was a quaint Lilliputian village waiting for them. No doubt this village belonged to the men who worked in this field. Dozens of wattle-and-daub homes and shops sat in a well-tended cloister formed by a perimeter of larger structures, some of which nearly reached the ankles of the approaching women, even in their arching heels.
 
“I suppose this will do,” May said. She extended her long arm over the corner of the village nearest her and dropped the basket. The largest structures were instantly smashed to splinters beneath the weight of the girls’ lunch vessel.
 
There was a rush of commotion in the village below. The ear-shattering sound had drawn the attention of men, who spilled out of the other buildings like ants in a frenzy. When they found themselves staring at an enormous wicker-hamper, ironically sitting in the very spot their dining hall used to be, they were dazed and speechless.
 
A few of them were even in tears. How would they get drunk now?
 
They had but a moment to take in the change of scenery before the hazy, blue afternoon sky was suddenly eclipsed with red-and-white tiles as the princess languidly unfurled the blanket over their heads. It floated like a gentle snowfall over the entire village, settling on rooftops and draping down into the pathways, leaving the bewildered men peering up through caverns of cotton-threaded twilight. Through it, they could scarcely make out the towering outlines of two sprightly-dressed women who had appeared in the heavens along with the mysterious falling sky.
 
Muffled sounds of confusion were quickly replaced with screams of horror and crackling tinder as the picnickers stepped lightly onto the blanket. They descended upon their newly-chosen spot with no heed for the previous occupants and plopped down with the full force of their weight, followed by a grand production of shifting and squirming to get comfortable. Every careless move elicited more terrible sounds through the blanket.
 
Isabella crossed her legs in front of her and smoothed out her voluminous dress in a wide circle. As she did, she neatly and gingerly patted down every snapping, pleading bump, until nary a ripple remained. Still, she remained unsatisfied to hear one last desperate voice calling out from the depths of her skirts. With a decisive, “Hmph!” and a final, fidgety shift of her hips, the plaint was squelched beneath her. She sighed contentedly.
 
No bugs would be ruining her picnic today.
 
May, always the less classy of the two, opted for a more efficient approach. She laid down and stretched out with her arms behind her head, casually steamrolling back and forth across her half of the blanket, using every inch of her body to reshape the doomed civilization into something more to her liking—such as a comfortable spot for a tan. A few lazy, snow-angel sweeps rewarded her with more crushing waves of devastation beneath her arms and legs, and soon the conquest was finished. Nothing stood to challenge her indomitable resting form.
                                                                                 
With the girls finally settled in, the only sounds remaining were those typical of a dreamy summer afternoon. Oh, and the foreman screaming himself hoarse atop the trellis. After a moment, the food was brought back out of the basket and spread around the girls, and the peaceful picnic resumed without a care or a mention of the ruins beneath the blanket.
 
Almost forgotten, the errant worker from before now found himself staring up at his former dance partner from within a deep, custard-filled bowl. He wiped the gelatinous goop from his face and began waving his arms frantically, hollering at the girls for any kind of assistance. His senses had obviously been shielded from the earlier cataclysm—that, or he was just stupid—as he struggled simply to keep his head above the surface. He sputtered and he cried, but to no avail. Was this the end? Would he really drown in the most delicious quicksand ever known?
 
No, Lady Luck seemed to be with him today, as one of the girls finally took a fancy to the bowl of custard on the side of the blanket.
 
Too bad Lady Luck wasn't a man or he might have stood a chance at surviving.
 
The worker could hear his boss shouting in the distance, but he was too far away to make out any words. He only knew the man was burning mad. But then, that was nothing new. His boss was always going on about something. That’s what bosses do.
 
At any rate, he was sure he could count on the foreman to save him from this sticky mess and shoo away these colossal brats who had made the work day even tougher than usual.
 
“Foreman Red!” he cried. “I’m here. I need help! Hello!”
 
May sat up and cocked an eyebrow at the suddenly very vocal confection.
 
“Hello to you as well,” she said. “Now, shut up. Food doesn‘t have anything to say worth hearing.” She reached over and covered the worker’s bowl with an unused plate, sealing him in a chilly darkness.
 
Isabella looked looked up from her half-eaten slice of watermelon.
 
“Honestly, May,” she said, “I don’t know how you can stand to eat those things. They’re squirmy and whiny and the flavor is dreadful. It's like a mouthful of bitter desperation and hard-boiled stupidity with a pinch of perversion.”
 
“It’s an acquired taste.” May grinned as she glanced over at the trellis, where she spotted the foreman shimmying down the grapevines, as if the old fool had delusions of being a hero. “And speaking of acquiring tastes...”
 
Stuffing the last bite of a sandwich in her mouth, she rose to her feet, sprinted over to the vine, and snatched up the foreman just as he reached the ground.
 
“This is unforgivable!” he shouted as she carried him back to the picnic blanket. “You will let me go immediately! When the countess hears of this—”
 
“I highly doubt she’ll be able to hear anything from you in there.”
 
“What? In wh—”
 
In a flash, the would-be tattler was tossed up in the air like a ball and snatched through her smiling lips. She swallowed him without hesitation or remorse, ending his sentence almost before it began.
 
Isabella placed a hand behind her ear and leaned forward, listening intently as May laid back down and rested her hands over her flat stomach.
 
“Why, you're right,” the princess said. “I can't hear him at all.” Then she lowered her hand. “Still, May. Yuck. There are better ways to shut a man up.”
 
“Maybe, but I've found this to be the most effective way.” She rapped her fingertips against her belly and flashed a wicked smile. “Besides, maybe you can’t hear him anymore...but I can.”
 
Isabella stuck out her tongue in disgust.
 
“…Here. If the taste is the only thing holding you back, I have just the fix.” She uncovered the custard-dipped man and handed his bowl over. “He’s well-flavored. You won’t taste him, but he’ll still get his just desserts—if you catch my drift.”
 
Isabella gasped. “…My custard!” She glared down at the squirming man warily, and he stared up at the squirming princess meekly. Neither one seemed to enjoy their current situation very much.
 
But as the man looked deeply into the princess' eyes, he saw something he didn't expect to see. Was it pity? Was it compassion? Was it...love?
 
“This is the most disgusting thing I've ever seen in my life,” she said. “I want it dead. Dead, dead, dead!”
 
“It will be dead,” May assured her. “Isabella, you can't let men get the better of you. If you do, they'll walk over you for the rest of your life.”
 
As these words passed over the man's head, hope reared its ugly head and he realized he was a fool to draw attention to himself like this. He was mired hopelessly in a sea of gooey sweetness, resting in the hands a bratty princess who was known far and wide for three things: a reckless disregard for all living things, a hopeless sense of entitlement, and an insatiable appetite for all things sugary.
 
“Well...” Isabella started. Not willing to let anyone get the better of her, she considered the prisoner in her bowl. As the worker's floundering became ever more pathetic in her eyes, her disgust tentatively gave way to a sly smirk. “I suppose you are in need of punishment for ruining my custard. And, as the one and only royal princess of Ellewyn, it is my duty to pass sentence on lowly subjects such as yourself. So be it—you are hereby ordered to provide me with a replacement for my lost dessert!”
 
She dug into the basket for a spoon, plunged it into the pudding beneath the worker, and scooped him out amidst a generous dollop of sweetness. He almost managed to toss himself over the side of the spoon, but she was quick to roll it the other way and settle him back in. As she peered down her nose at the terrified treat, his vain struggles ceased. Fear had made him cold. As he laid petrified, her resolve solidified and she opened her mouth. She took a deep breath and squeamishly passed the spoon inside, along with its hapless passenger. When she slid it back out, the spoon was empty.
 
The princess swished man and pudding around her tongue for a moment, sampling the flavor, with her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. She then placed her fingertips on her throat and made an exaggerated swallow, eyes going wide as she felt him slide beneath her collarbone into history.
 
“Justice has been served,” she said. Making a face, she tossed the remaining custard over her shoulder into the vines. “I just wish it tasted better.”
 
 The picnic continued in silence for a few more minutes. May kept eating as there was somehow a bottomless pit in that small belly of hers. Isabella picked at her food, suddenly finding it rather uninteresting compared to the tumult within. She was never at a loss for ways to make trouble, but her devious mind was finding particular inspiration from a recently acquired inner voice...pounding feebly on the walls of her stomach.
 
Her reverie was interrupted by the sound of hurried footsteps approaching. A slightly older, pale-skinned, willowy woman in noble blue attire appeared in the clearing and marched toward them.
 
“Isabella, May—what are you two doing out here?” she inquired. “This is where the workers live. You're not supposed to be here.”
 
Isabella scrunched her nose at the sight of the newcomer.
 
“Oh, look, it's Olivia,” she announced. “It's only five in the afternoon. Did you just get out of bed?”
 
“Based on her hair, she probably did,” May said. “Or maybe she was inside, reading those stupid books again. Hey, Olivia. Can you read this?” She bit her thumb and flipped Olivia the bird.
 
Olivia pushed away her mocking hand. “That's not funny.”
 
“Neither is your social life.”
 
“And neither is having a picnic in the middle of the vineyard. There are plenty of other places you could do this. In a toxic waste dump, for example.”
 
“But we're already here,” Isabella said. “You could join us, you know.” She began patting the blanket on the ground next to her—extra hard. What was left of one building became dust under her handprint.
 
“What was that?” Olivia asked.
 
“What was what?”
 
“That sound.”
 
“Sound?” Isabella leaned her ear into May's stomach again. “I'm sure you heard nothing. That's all we hear. Nothing at all.”
 
May laughed.
 
“I don't know what's so amusing,” Olivia said, “but I'm going to have to ask you two to move somewhere else. You can't be bothering the workers.”
 
“You're the second person to tell us that,” May said. “...You don't want to end up like the first.”
 
“I want her to,” Isabella muttered.
 
“...I know you two are up to something,” Olivia said. “What have you done? Did you do something to the workers?”
 
“Oh, please,” May said. “We wouldn't touch your stupid workers with a ten-foot blanket.”
 
Isabella snickered. “It's more like eight feet.”
 
“But feel free to look around. You won't find a stick of evidence anywhere in sight.”
 
“Nope,” Isabella said, bouncing up and down on the blanket. “Nowhere.”
 
“...What are you sitting on?” Olivia asked, reaching for a corner of the blanket. “What's under here?”
 
 She only had to lift it up partially to see the crumbled remains of a tiny stone foundation, now filled with debris, and realization hit her like a runaway wagon.
 
“You monsters! You couldn’t have!” She jerked hard at the blanket, almost bowling the princess over. May and Isabella could no longer contain their delight as their prank finally revealed itself. They burst into a fit of giggles as Olivia began kicking their food across the ground and rolling the blanket back to reveal the full extent of the devastation. An entire village had stood here, and now there was nothing but a field of dust and flinders stained throughout with splotches of red.
 
Olivia's face contorted with anger. These brats had always made an art of picking on anyone who couldn't fight back, but this was an absolute massacre.
 
And for what? A cheap laugh at the expense of a hundred living creatures. Her fists balled tightly as she approached the laughing idiots.
 
“How!” she spat. “How could you even think of doing something so vile? They were harmless!”
 
“Tell that to my custard,” the princess said. “You wouldn’t believe what I had to go through to get my compensation from that food-spoiling morsel.”
 
“You’ve gone too far this time!” Olivia cried and lunged for that smug face. She barely got a hold of Isabella’s neck before the laughter ceased and the situation turned ugly. In a blur, she was on her face in the dirt with May kneeling on top of her and holding her arms crossed behind her back.
 
“Get one of the men from the vines,” May said. Her voice was dead serious.
 
Isabella stared at her.
 
“But...”
 
“Do it.” May planted her knee on the back of Olivia's neck. “We have to teach Olivia some manners. We're guests here and she needs to treat us with some respect.”
 
 Isabella was never fond of being told what to do, but the prospect of torturing her cousin was more than enough reason for her to turn a blind eye to May's demands. She moved up and down the nearest trellis, searching for any man stupid enough to still be hanging around.
 
 Sure enough, there were a few workers who had decided rather unwisely to remain hidden among the leaves and wait out the visiting hellions rather than risk escaping to open ground.
 
 Isabella plucked one shaking man from the vine, and held him at arms-length as she walked back towards May.
 
“Ugh,” she said. “You watched us level your whole world and you still can’t figure out that you don't belong anywhere near us.”
 
She handed the man over to May before he could respond.
 
May took him and dangled him in front of Olivia's eyes. “You see this man?” She shook him back and forth. “This man annoys me. You annoy me, Olivia. Do you know what happens to little things that annoy me?”
 
Olivia grunted and shook her head in the dirt. Try as she might, she wasn't strong enough to shake May off.
 
May moved her knee away so that Olivia could lift her head and open her mouth.
 
“Get it away from me!” she screamed upon seeing the wriggling creature.
 
With a callous and firm expression, May stuffed the man into Olivia's mouth and used her palm as a shield to keep him there. Olivia struggled and fought back, but she was still no match for May, who was easily able to keep her pinned down to the ground and her mouth shut.
 
“Swallow! Swallow!” Isabella coaxed her.
 
“Do it,” May whispered into Olivia's ear. “Or I'll grind up an entire village of men into paste and force-feed it to you.”
 
Olivia closed her eyes and swallowed. It was a horrible feeling—one that she would never forget—and the pain in her chest was so great that she didn't even notice when May pushed off her and stood up.
 
“I hate you...” she said, but her voice was soft, shaky, and full of trepidation. “I hate you both. You're both...monsters!”
 
She ran away crying. Isabella and May laughed at her, calling her names, and their voices carried through the entire vineyard, echoing in Olivia's ears, as she ran blindly through the endless rows of grapevines. At one point, she sliced her ankle on a careless wooden post sticking out of the ground and face-planted. Broken twigs and grape leaves clung to the mats of her hair as she pulled herself up on her bruised palms.
 
“Olivia...” came a gentle voice, and a hand reached down and helped her up. “Dear, are you okay?”
 
“I am fine, gramma,” Olivia said, brushing the foliage from her hair and the tears from her eyes.
 
“You don't look okay. What's wrong?”
 
 “...They made me eat a man.” Olivia threw her face into her grandmother's comforting shoulder. “It was so gross. Why would they do that!? Why are they so mean?”
 
Gwendolyn patted her on the back.
 
“I assume you are referring to the princess and that horrible child she associates with,” she said. “It will be okay. It won't always be like this.”
 
“They've always treated me like dirt. They hate me. Everybody hates me, gramma.” She sobbed. “Even my own mother hates me. All I want is a friend.”
 
“I'll always be your friend, Olivia.” Her grandmother stepped back and smiled, putting her hands around Olivia's moist cheeks. “I know you don't hear this enough from your mother, Olivia, but I am so very proud of you. I've watched you mature into a fine young woman, which is more than I can say for Rebecca. Dai Celesta knows why good intentions tend to skip a generation.”
 
Olivia tried her hardest to return the smile.
 
“There it is. I know you can be strong.” Gwendolyn put an arm around her granddaughter and began walking her towards the old manor in the distance. Her legs were growing weaker with age, but she was still able to maintain a steady stride with the help of Olivia.
 
 “In time, this entire vineyard will be yours,” Gwendolyn continued. “And I wouldn't worry about your mother. Everything in her life has happened so fast, and you came into her life much earlier than could be expected. All things considered, she's not truly ready to lead. We can only hope the reigns of power will steady her hands a bit.”
 
“I could help her...” Olivia said quietly. “I've learned so much from you and I've read so many books on the subject. I know more about politics than she wants to believe. I could help her, if only she'd listen to my ideas...”
 
“She will. When she realizes she can't do anything alone, she'll seek out advice from those closest to her. It's only natural.” She sighed, but it was more of a breath of relief than one of disappointment. “That is why I've decided to test your mother by granting her power on a provisional basis. I hope this will give me the chance to teach her some good, while there's still some life left in these old bones. And if, Dai Celesta forbid, my dear misguided daughter isn't what this land needs....well, then, perhaps the same unique precedent that allowed your mother to ascend so young might called into play on your behalf. I've already spoken to the Royal Queen on this matter and her advisors assure me such things are not out of the realm of possibility.”
 
“I don't know that I could do that... That's more of a responsibility than I can handle.”
 
“But you will never have to face it alone. Simply understanding the level of responsibility involved makes you a good candidate for the position...” She winked at Olivia. “I know you worry about the future of Ellewyn, but I see bright times ahead. For all her troublesome ways, Princess Isabella is too young and reckless to inherit the throne, and I'm sure the Royal Queen has many years left to live. The Duchess won't easily surrender her title to May either. But as long as we can maintain at least one competent ruler at the head of the three households—and our friends in Kaligar are united under a strong, kindhearted leader—then Adelais will be shielded from the darkness that once plagued our land.” Then she chuckled, whimsically, and waved her hand as if to spread magical seeds around the vineyard floor. “Or so reads the prophecy of our ancestors.”
 
“Is it true, gramma?”
 
“That's hard to say, child. Many legends were written to scare us. Some are only partially true, and others...” She stopped momentarily and looked up. “...Well, sometimes you just have to accept that our ancestors were far wiser than we could ever hope to be. After all, we're all daughters of some grand design.”
 
Olivia followed her gaze to the sky. The afternoon was waning, but the glowing hues of evening were still an hour or two away. Olivia's eyes swept across the fields and farms and over the rooftops of Haledon as she mused over the words of her grandmother.
 
Such a promising future felt so distant, so out of reach. This wonderful little world had always been hers, despite all the dreary folks who spent so much time trying to tell her otherwise. To finally hold it in her own hand, with no one else to dash her fragile dreams with all that callousness and cruelty that seemed to sit on the shoulders of those who claimed to live in 'the real world'... Could it really be so?
 
Olivia turned to find reassurance from her grandmother, to hear more about the bright future ahead, but the wise old woman was nowhere to be found. Olivia suddenly felt very cold and alone in the dimming light of dusk.
 
Where had she gone? Why had she left her granddaughter alone in the middle of nowhere, hapless beneath these looming dark skies? The deep blue abyss bore down heavily, meeting the horizon and crashing over the land, casting stark shadows from the trees and vines that danced like haunted spirits in the gale, whipping her hair back and pelting her face with freezing droplets.
 
In a panic, she made a break for the safety of the city, but the walls seemed to retreat from her just as fast as she ran. The land was a vast carpet being swept out from under her, and the wind snatched at her body like the claws of some terrible beast, dragging her inexorably away from her home, up the great cliff face that towered next to Haledon. The blackness overhead growled and rumbled, calling out to her in a monstrous voice. Its shrieks were frightening. Flashes of lightning revealed crumbling ruins at the summit, the derelict fortress that had stood watch over Haledon since the darkest of times long forgotten. Massive fingers of steel and stone wrapped around her, and she screamed to the voices for their help, for mercy, for clarity and release. Where was Grandmother to ward off this ancient terror? Hadn't she said she would always be there?
 
The light of the future had been stolen from her. From all around, the voice of the beast beckoned and bellowed, sneering at her plight, and mocking her foolish naivety. The future was never hers to hold, it said. She would spend the rest of her life surrounded by the darkness of despair, while the monster alone would bask in the light. Her lost world had been reduced to a meager spark, a dying flame.
 
The monster held the light out for Olivia to see, but never let it get close enough for her to grasp.
 
“Get away...” she whispered. Her voice was dwarfed by the calling winds. Not even she could hear it.
 
“...YOU'RE STILL ALIVE,” the monster growled, leaning closer. It was a horrible sight to behold. The monster had skin like scales, hair as brittle as bone, and a long, twisted, bubbling scar running across the fold of her left eye. The eye was dead and cold as it glared at her, but the other was alive, darting back and forth like a crazed black fish in an underwater prison. Despite its wild movements, the eye was fixated on Olivia the entire time.
 
It wasn't until now that Olivia realized she was lying prone, trapped in a body that couldn't move. Her arms were frozen as stiff as icicles to her side and she stared at the monster numbly. She didn't feel alive. Did the monster's confirmation make it true?
 
Breathlessly, she closed her eyes, wondering if the monster would go away for good.
 
In the furthest reaches of her mind, she screamed, “GET AWAY FROM ME!” But in this dream, no words came out. She tried to yell out again. Her mouth was open. She knew the words. She knew what to say. She remembered how to speak.
 
So, why was it silent!? Why couldn't anybody hear her? Why was she alone? What was this horrible place?
 
The more she tried to scream, the more effort she put on her lungs, the more horrified she became. It was like drowning, like flailing helplessly in these dark waters, seeing the light at the surface flicker and fade and gave way to shadows, until at last...
 
Silence.
 
Her eyes shot open. The monster was still there, grinning at her. This nightmare would not end.
 
“THAT'S TOO BAD,” the monster said, its curled, scaly back now to Olivia. The flame that it carried began to shake back and forth. “You've been unconscious for so long that I was SURE YOU WERE DEAD. I was about to arrange for your funeral, but then I realized NOBODY WOULD SHOW UP. We buried you years ago.” The monster threw back its head and howled with laughter and the echoes boomed like thunder in the dark confinements of Olivia's head. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. The poor girl didn't have the strength in her arms to cover her ears from the horrific sound, so she just let them bleed and slipped further into insanity.
 
All the colors began to swirl together. Then the monster fell against the shrinking cage and stretched its neck so far through the bars that its forked tongue whisked Olivia's nose.
 
“...YOUR MOTHER wasn't kidding when she said you love that tea,” the monster hissed, studying the beads of sweat on her brow. “LOOK AT YOU. Without your precious herbs, you don't even have YOUR WILL TO LIVE.”
 
The tea. Water. Drowning. Olivia finally noticed the dryness of her lips. She hadn't had a sip of liquid in days. Her stomach ached, a most terrible kind of pain, and she suddenly began gasping for air. How long had she been here? It felt like a very long dream. Why couldn't she wake up?
 
“I decided to STOP GIVING IT TO YOU,” the monster said. Its head retracted through the bars of the cage and it reached for a strange, gray, rectangular object. “From now on, you'll be dining on bread and sewer water. You don't really DESERVE NICE THINGS.” The monster dropped the gray object to the floor, planted the heel of a boot on it, and pushed it under the bars of the cage. “...EAT UP, YOU LITTLE WHORE.”
 
Since when did monsters wear boots?
 
As Olivia continued to look on, the monster's scales melted into flesh and the nightmare began to fade. She remembered this place. Her cell. Locked away. But for how many years?
 
For the first time since she had opened them, Olivia drew her eyes away from the monster and looked around the cell. The gray object on the floor was a tray, full of lumps of moldy food, but it was too far away to reach. The distance only seemed to grow as she stared at it.
 
The monster grinned.
 
“What's the matter?” she asked. “Are you TOO WEAK to move now?”
 
Olivia's breaths were painfully slow. The gap was widening and she was shrinking further into the shadows once more.
 
“Better get it before the rats do.” The monster stood there for a while longer and seemed to take delight in Olivia's lethargic pose. “...What's wrong with you? You STUPID, LITTLE, PITIFUL thing. I'll be back in the morning with a shovel. If you aren't DEAD BY THEN, you will be when you're suffocating under SIX FEET OF DIRT.”
 
The monster turned away. Only now did her shape become human. Only in silhouette could Olivia see the monster for what she really was.
 
Soon, the flame was extinguished and the monster was gone. A sudden calmness washed over the prison.
 
Olivia let out the air she was holding in. The fear slipped from her just as easily. With what little strength she had, she moved her legs until her bare feet scraped the stone wall behind her. The gritty slabs cut into her flesh, but she was far too numb to feel pain. With a desperate grunt, she planted the flat of her feet against the wall, held them firm, and pushed off as hard as she could.
 
Her body hit the floor without grace. Tangled in a moth-chewed blanket, she pried herself up on her elbows, grimaced, and began crawling towards the tray on her hands and knees. The distance looked even farther from down here. Her muscles pleaded for her to stop. Her stomach became twisted and misshapen and she nearly collapsed, but she dug her fingernails into the stone floor and dragged herself towards the lumps of food.
 
When she reached the tray, she held her head over it for a while, trying to catch her breath. Her ratty hair dangled over her face like thick black spiderwebs and she had to peel back the strands before she could put anything in her mouth.
 
She ignored the bread and went straight for the water. Scooping up the cup in both hands, she lowered her head and took a sip of the cold, refreshing liquid. Her lips absorbed it even before her tongue could get a taste. Panting, she opened her mouth and lapped her dry tongue across surface. The taste was beyond foul and she gagged more than once, but that only made her drink faster. Soon she was ignoring her trembling hands and had her entire face plastered against the rim of the cup, guzzling down its contents until her stomach hurt.
 
When the cup was nearly empty, she tipped back her head and tapped her fingernails against the bottom of the cup, shaking out every last drop of foul water.
 
Then, shivering, she grabbed a moldy slab of bread from atop the heap and crawled over to the far wall. She slumped against the bed, wrapped herself in the blanket, and held the bread to her lips. It was hard and moist, but she nibbled at it so slowly that it would take her hours to eat the whole tiny piece. As she chewed, she stared at the bars of her cage and murmured incomprehensible warnings to the ethereal beings swimming around her.
 
All these ghosts, all these monsters, were coming for her...
 
“Get away...” she whispered. Her voice cracked and she shuddered and tried to curl into a small ball and melt into the floor. “Just leave me alone...”
 
 
-------------------------
 
 
'Twas night in Masiela at the orphanage house
Not a creature was stirring, save one blue-haired louse.
The guards were hung from the porch roof by snare,
Not seeing the ninja that was skulking up there.
 
The orphans were nestled all snug in their beds
With visions of dragon-slayers in their heads.
Amelie in her red wig, teddy in her lap,
Had just settled down for a midsummer's nap.
 
When out in the alley there arose such a clutter,
Amelie sprang from her bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window, she flew in a flash,
As Eric the Elf drew an arrow from his sash.
 
The moon on the rump of the ninja did show
The piercing wound of a tiny arrow.
When, what to Amelie's wondering eyes should appear,
But three miniature men, attacking without fear.
 
Cursing a river, her stealth and health nicked
Amelie knew whose butt was getting kicked.
More rapid than hawks the foul curse words came,
As the men blew her cover by calling her name.
 
“It's Lynne—slash her, bash her, this potty-mouthed vixen!”
“Ow, dammit! You stupid—what, you guys again!?”
“To the top of her head! She can't take us all!”
“Get off me! Get off me! I'm about to fall!”
 
They ascended her mane going straight for the eyes
Sheer pluck and bravado 'gainst superior size.
Across the rooftop the battle ensued,
Against vicious clawing, the men remained glued.
 
And then little Amelie heard on the roof
A crash and a voice that cried out, “Oof!”
As she drew in her head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney Lynne crashed to the ground.
 
She was dressed all in black, from her head to her foot
Even still, one could see she was covered with soot.
A bundle of rope she flung off her back,
Unspooling her meddling plan of attack.
 
Her eyes—how they glared! Her face, how scary!
Her hair was like weeds, the color of blueberry!
Her wicked mouth was drawn up like an Elvish bow
And Eric clinging to her chin was as white as snow.
 
The stump of a knight she held tight in her teeth,
And Vic's screams circled her head like a wreath.
She made a wicked face at her trim little belly,
That yelled when she chuckled, “Let me out, this is smelly!”
 
She spat out the knight and flicked away the elf,
And Amelie laughed at the sight, in spite of herself!
The swollen black eye and twelve cuts in her head
Gave Amelie to know she had nothing to dread.
 
“That wig doesn't fool me,” Lynne said, glaring down at the child. “I know exactly who you are. Did you really think I'd believe I was standing face-to-face with a three-foot-tall Rene Chandel?”
 
“Not like your disguise is any better. There's only one ninja with blue hair and she's not a very good ninja at all.”
 
“Cute. A little girl with a big mouth.” Lynne held the rope taut in her hands and snapped it. “Are you clever enough to figure out what I've come here for too?”
 
“You got tired of losing to people your own size, so you decided to try your hand at men and children?”
 
“...I knew I should've brought a gag.”
 
“Yeah, it would be a shame if I screamed right now and woke all the other kids. Then you'd have to deal with all of us.”
 
“And you think I wouldn't stoop to killing orphans?” Lynne smirked and moved away from the fireplace. “Nobody would care if I killed them, you know. None of you have mothers who would miss you. Well... except for you, Amelie... isn't that right?”
 
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
 
“Of course you don't.” Lynne began to tie the rope into a lasso. “...What's up with the wig anyway?”
 
Amelie stood her ground boldly.
 
“You wouldn't understand,” she said.
 
“Uh-huh...”
 
Amelie continued to watch Lynne circle her, wondering if she was supposed to be intimidated, and tried not to smile. After all, weren't hostages supposed to be scared? Maybe if her captor didn't look so ridiculous with blue hair and prints of soot all over her clothes.
 
“...Look,” Amelie said, as the ninja began cracking the rope next to her ear. “We can both agree on one thing. If you try to slide that rope over my head, I'm going to scream and put up such a fight that every kid in this room will wake up and be on your back. I know you don't want that.”
 
“I think I can handle a few brats.”
 
“Yeah, I'm sure you think you can—but why waste your energy when you don't need to?” Amelie shrugged her shoulders. “I'll be your prisoner, if that's what you want.”
 
“That's exactly what I want.”
 
“Then I'll be saving you a lot of trouble by going along willingly. But you will do something for me.”
 
“Oh, ho, ho... And what's that?”
 
“You will leave those men alone. And the one that you ate... You'll let him go. Now.” Amelie shook her head. “Really, that's just disgusting. You're gross.”
 
“...Is that all?” Lynne snarled. “I let the men live and you'll come along quietly?”
 
“I said I'd go with you if you let the men live. I said nothing about being quiet.” Amelie rubbed her small chin for a while and looked around the room. Her eyes finally landed on the trail of soot-prints Lynne had dragged in by using the chimney instead of the door. “Okay, I'll tell you what... You clean up the mess you made, and I'll not only come with you, but I'll be as quiet as a mouse. Scout's honor.”
 
Lynne thought it over for a moment. Sure, the little girl's request was ridiculous, but it was simple and it definitely sounded a lot better than having to contend with a room full of angry, sleep-deprived, hyperactive children beating on her with stuffed animals and wooden swords.
 
Besides... When the brat wasn't looking, she would simply scoop the men into a pouch and carry them out the door with her. She could dispose of them later. Maybe in a pot of chili. Amelie would be none the wiser and the three miniature 'heroes' would be none the more alive. It was the perfect deal.
 
The ninja commended herself on being such a great, evil villain. If she had a handlebar mustache, she would twirl it.
 
But she would just have to settle for the mustache of soot she already had.
 
Lynne agreed to those terms and went straight to work
She scrubbed the floors like an old maid, then turned with a jerk.
And laying her finger aside of her nose,
And snorting deeply, out her stomach the dwarf rose!
 
Lynne sprang out the door, to Amelie gave a whistle,
And away they flew like the down of a thistle.
But the whole town heard Lynne exclaim, 'ere she dove out of sight
“I hate men and children with all of my might!”

 It didn't take the orphans of Masiela long to realize something was amiss. They awoke in the middle of the night to a loud, boastful cry from outside and they sat up and looked around the darkened room to see the crumpled, folded-back sheets drooping over the side of Amelie's bed. The only occupant on the mattress now was a lonely, one-eyed teddy bear with its stuffing sticking out of its stomach like a surgeon who forgot the stitches.
 
After a thorough search of the premises, the children began talking and they gathered their day clothes and hurried to the palace to report their friend's disappearance to their tribal leader. When they arrived at the palace, they explained the situation to the centurions, and were quickly admitted to Erika's private chambers, where they discovered the princess had already heard about the incident...from the most unlikely of heroes.
 
“...And that's why Lynne is a bitch,” Vic finished saying, just as Eleanor Tearwind of the centurions hurried the last child into the bedroom. “We're still not sure what the rhyming was about...but there you have it.”
 
Eric, who was standing on the end table next to his two companions, nodded furiously.
 
“Amelie was clever enough to cut us free from Lynne's pouch before they fled the city,” he said. “We watched them run into the jungle. I eventually lost them in the trees, but it looked like Lynne was dragging Amelie north, towards the Crossroads. That's probably where you want to direct your search.”
 
“Thank the stars for your keen Elven eyesight,” Erika said. She turned to the armored centurion standing in the doorway. “Eleanor, find Odessa and have her send a search party north of the city. I don't know what's going on, but I'm officially declaring Lynne and her Blades wanted criminals until we get this straightened out.”
 
Eleanor nodded.
 
“Make it clear that I want Lynne brought back alive, but Amelie's safety is our top priority. No one is to act unless they can be sure no harm will come to Amelie.”
 
“I will inform the captain at once.” The centurion duly saluted and left.
 
Erika shook her head and finally took notice of the group of ragtag, weary-eyed children in her room.
 
“I'm sorry to put you children through this,” she said.
 
“Why would someone do this...?” one of them asked. “Amelie never hurt anybody.”
 
Erika was at a loss for words. Fortunately, she never had to give an answer, as they were suddenly interrupted by Fallon, who appeared at the door in a white bathrobe. She was still adjusting the knot around her waist as she wandered into the room.
 
“What's going on?” she asked. “I heard the commotion from my room. Is everything okay?”
 
“I would say not,” Erika said. “It seems Lynne Hawkeye, the leader of the Blades, broke into the orphanage house in the middle of the night and kidnapped one of the girls.”
 
“...What?”
 
“She took Amelie,” one of the orphans said, tugging at Fallon's robe. “The mean lady took her into the jungle and won't give her back.”
 
The waistband slipped from Fallon's fingers and the knot quickly came undone.
 
“You'll find her, won't you, Lady Fallon?” another child asked. “You'll find Amelie and bring her back?”
 
There wasn't a moment of hesitation on the courier's part.
 
“...I'll get my rapier.”
 
“No, don't be silly,” Erika said. “We have an entire army for this, and you are a guest here.”
 
“Then I will go out and search for her. One more body can't hurt.”
 
“It's a dangerous country... I can't ask you to do that.”
 
“You don't have to. I can't sit by idly if somebody is bullying an innocent child.” Fallon knelt down in front of the orphans and gave them a comforting smile. “Don't worry, girls. Amelie is tough. I've seen her fight. If she hasn't already freed herself and beaten up her captor, I'll do everything in my power to seek her out and bring her back here safely.”
 
“Be careful, Lady Fallon...” one of the girls said. Then she handed Fallon a shaggy, sticky-haired, miserable-looking teddy bear. “This is Amelie's. She doesn't go anywhere without it.”
 
“Then I'll make sure she gets it.” Fallon stood up, glanced briefly at a disapproving Erika, and started for the door. “I'll be back soon, I promise. Please don't worry about me.”
 
“If you see Lynne, make sure to finish kicking her ass,” Cain shouted. “We would've finished her off already, but we hadda take it easy...with kids watching and all... You know how it is.”
 
Erika's arms were wrapped tightly across her chest, but she stood with a nervous awkwardness, chewing on her lower lip and tapping her foot against the marble floor. Finally, she heaved a sigh, threw her arms down, and rushed out the door.
 
“Fallon, wait!” she called out. Her voice and footsteps echoed across the grand hallway. “We need to talk.”
 
The courier stopped and turned on her heels just as she had reached the stairs leading to the main floor.
 
“What is it?” she asked.
 
Erika slowed down and approached her with a mixture of caution and reluctance, like a shy child who broke a vase and doesn't want to admit her guilt. Still, there was a sudden emergence of conviction in her face when she raised her cheekbones and looked Fallon in the eyes.
 
“...You make it very hard to stay mad at you,” the princess said, after taking a moment to prepare her speech. “When I received that last letter from Isabella, I felt betrayed...like you had been changing Isabella's words on paper for years now...and I lashed out at you unfairly. I accused you of defending a monster, and yet you didn't hesitate for a moment to help one of my people in her time of need. That kind of selfless act leaves me at a loss for words.”
 
Fallon shook her head.
 
“All of your concerns were well-founded and of good intent,” she assured Erika. “I do not blame you anything. Your position requires the making of some very difficult decisions. As hard as it may be to swallow sometimes, not all of those decisions can be good.”
 
“I just don't understand how you can stand by someone whose every decision is for her own benefit...and at the expense of everybody else.”
 
“It's not like that. Isabella is not nearly the monster you think she is.”
 
Fallon could tell by Erika's dubious expression that she still wasn't convinced.
 
“...You talk about the sacred bond between sisters of blood all the time, Erika. I spent most of my early childhood as an orphan, so I don't know much about family ties, but I do know what it's like to be alone in this world. After I first met Isabella, she became like a sister to me. She's my best friend and I honestly believe she's a good person. In fact, this may come as a surprise to you, but I believe Isabella has the power to save this world. If the end is coming, I can assure you it will not be because of Isabella's doing.”
 
“You must be joking...”
 
“I am not. But this is not the time to discuss such matters. Amelie's safety is more important than our political squabbles.” She flashed a warm smile that was eventually, albeit reluctantly, returned. “If you would spare another moment, Erika, I could use some direction to guide my search. Did anybody see where Lynne was taking Amelie?”
 
“Well, one of my man servants spotted Lynne heading north into the jungle. I can't be certain, but she might be taking Amelie towards the Crossroads. That's where criminals who don't want to be found go.”
 
“Yes, I've heard of the place.”
 
“Then you know how dangerous it is. At least allow Odessa to accompany you...”
 
“We both know that won't work. Lynne knows your centurions. If she recognizes them, she might panic and hurt Amelie.”
 
“Yes... Yes, I know. Okay.” Erika put a hand to her forehead as if she was feeling faint. “I just don't like the idea of sending you into danger without any assistance. You must realize I have a personal responsibility to ensure the safety of ambassadors while they're in my country. Besides that, you're my dear friend, and I couldn't bear to see you hurt.”
 
“Then I'll be extra cautious. But you needn't worry. I have contacts outside of Masiela who can help me... Ones who Lynne won't be directly familiar with.”
 
Erika nodded.
 
“Then I suppose I shouldn't keep you...” she said.
 
“I won't be long.”
 
“...I can't thank you enough for doing this, Fallon. After the way I treated you earlier... Isabella is right to keep you to herself. You always make me remember the good in people.” Erika lowered her eyes. Her face was looking rather pale now. “I suppose the world would be a better place if we could be all more like you...”
 
 
-------------------------
 
 
Captain Vlanis was the meanest, cruelest, most vile warden in all the land. She had a belly like a pig and, when she walked, her footsteps would thunder and the keys on her massive keyring would jingle against her thigh like an extra lump of fat. She marched heavily down the hallway of the dark, damp, dismal dungeon, a shovel thrown casually over her humped shoulder, and swinging a half-eaten chicken leg in her balled fist. Thick yellow juice dribbled from her chin as she took another bite and wrestled with the keyring like a sumo wrestler trying to unwrap a candy bar. Finally, she found the key was looking for, shoved it into the creaky old lock, and threw open the door with her shoulder.
 
Inside, a bunch of dreary faces stared up at her.
 
“GOOD MORNING, SCUM OF THE EARTH,” she bellowed. She walked down the rows of the cells, banging the metal end of her shovel against each and every bar. When she was finished with her head count, she walked to the center of the room and sighed happily. Then she sank her teeth into the chicken leg and ripped off an extra large hunk of meat for herself, chewing it thoughtfully. “...Good news. I've decided not to torture all of you today.”
 
Some of them murmured a cheer. Most of them were too weary to even glance in her direction. One of them tried to reach for her keyring, but she moved out of the way.
 
“I'm feeling generous,” she continued. “I always get this way when I get to set one of my prisoners 'free.'”
 
Their ears parked up.
 
“Not any of you!” She cackled as they moaned. “Don't worry. I'll be back tonight so you can fight over my leftovers. For now... fight over this.” She tossed the bare chicken bone between the bars of two cells and laughed as half a dozen scraggy prisoners dove for it.
 
Then she left them alone. There was only one stop left to make on her patrol. She could barely contain herself. She hurried to the far end of the dungeon, sweating profusely, and hobbled down the chipped, granite stairs two at a time. She passed through a tunnel where a couple of lonely guards saluted her and tried to strike up a friendly conversation, but she pushed through them without another thought.
 
This was it, she told herself. This was the day she would finally get to bury Olivia.
 
When she reached the iron door with the lion's head, her hands were trembling so much that she could scarcely fit the key into the slot. When she finally did, she turned the key slowly, trying to savor the moment, and slowly opened the door to a familiar darkness. The stench of anguish and loneliness washed over her and she reached for a torch off the wall and stepped inside.
 
It was unusually quiet inside. She had become accustomed to the sobs, the horrible scratching of fingernails that had been chewed down to the nubs, the frantic whispers of a madwoman within...but there was nothing today. There was only the crackling of the torch flame as she moved closer to the cell and saw the former countess facedown on the floor in a puddle of water and blood.
 
“No, no, no,” Vlanis muttered under her breath. She fumbled for her keys, realized she had left them in the door, and hurried back to get them. She threw down her shovel and quickly unlocked the cell.
 
“Don't you be dead just yet,” she said, splashing through a pool of sewer water as she stumbled towards the prone body. “I want to kill you myself.” She knelt down and put a hand on the girl's shoulder. Olivia's clothes were torn and splattered in blood, like a painting whose canvas had been chewed apart and doused in turpentine, and her flesh was cold to the touch.
 
But as Vlanis began to turn the body around, Olivia's eyes shot open, and she reached for something just out of Vlanis' sight. There was only a brief moment of realization in the old warden's face before it was struck hard by a wooden bed post. A sea of splinters tore away at the stitches of her scarred eye.
 
Vlanis fell back screaming, her spine rattled against the floor, and soon Olivia was on top of her, beating her again and again over the head with the blunt post. After seven or eight whacks, Vlanis' face was plastered in blood and her nose was as twisted and broken as her heart. Even her one good eye could see nothing but red.
 
Gasping, Olivia let the bed post fall to the floor and looked around. Her eyes hadn't yet adjusted to the darkness. The flame from Vlanis' torch had landed in the puddle and was down to embers now, but she seized it in her grip and crawled—first on her hands and knees, and then finally on her feet—out of the cell and slammed the door. She twisted the key that was still in the lock and yanked it out. The mere force of doing so nearly knocked her to the floor.
 
“What the hell!?” Vlanis howled. She spit out a mouthful of blood and a couple of teeth that had rotted years ago. As she tried to stand, a torrent of blood washed down the side of her face.
 
Olivia hurled the keyring into the corner of the room and stood with one hand on the bars of the cell.
 
“O-out...” she whispered. The language seemed so foreign now. She had to speak again just to remember how to do it. “Which way is out...?”
 
Vlanis continued to whine about her flesh wound and to flop around like a fish.
 
“You cut me!” she screamed. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
 
“I SAID I WANT OUT!” Olivia's voice cracked and it wasn't until now that Vlanis noticed how truly scary her eyes had become.
 
She immediately stopped rolling around and glared up at the countess.
 
“...Forget it,” the warden mumbled, taking a moment to wipe the back of her grubby hand across her mouth. “You won't make it. The guards will be all over you the minute you step foot out of this room.”
 
“You're lying. There are no guards.”
 
“Not down here, but you'll have to pass them if you want to reach the surface. But what difference does it make? Where are you going to go? You can barely walk.” Vlanis stood, plucked a few splinters from her eye, and wrung the bars of the cell in her burly grip. Her gashed face was still bleeding. “Open the door and I'll see to it that you get your tea back.”
 
“I don't want any more of your poisoned herbs. You won't control my mind again.”
 
“...Huh? What are you talking about, you crazy bat?”
 
“Just tell me how to get out of here without being seen.”
 
“You can't. When you reach the main floor, my guards will see you and they'll drag you back here. Or maybe they'll gut you like a pig. Who knows? The only thing that should matter to you is that you have no chance of escaping from this dungeon.”
 
“And I suppose you thought I had no chance of escaping from you as well.”
 
Vlanis gave her a smug look.
 
“...I could kill you if you don't help me,” Olivia said.
 
“Ha! You won't kill me. You can't even kill a man.”
 
“You haven't exactly been the greatest hostess to me.” Olivia's teeth glistened through the threads of her dangling hair, but her mouth was so coiled that it was impossible to tell if she was grinning or scowling. “Believe me, I'd like nothing more right now than to see you dead...”
 
“...You really are crazy, you know.”
 
“Yes, somebody should really keep me locked up.”
 
Vlanis grimaced, but she eventually nodded and gave in, knowing she wasn't going to get any mercy from the former countess after all those years of torture.
 
“...I'll tell you,” she whispered, “but you have to promise to let me out of here.”
 
“I'll think about it.”
 
“...Fine.” Vlanis stepped away from the bars. “...Go to the end of the hallway and you'll find two doors. The one on the left leads to the main floor. The one on the right leads to an underground tunnel that will take you outside the city walls. We use it as a secret passage to shuttle prisoners back and forth when we don't want to risk bringing them through Haledon.”
 
“Yes, I've heard of it before.”
 
“If you take that door, you'll be back at the surface in no time.”
 
“The door on the right.”
 
“Right.”
 
“Okay...”
 
“What about me?”
 
Olivia turned around. “You can go rot in hell where you belong.”
 
“Olivia! OLIVIA! OLIIIIIIIIVIA!”
 
Vlanis' screams were muffled when Olivia slipped through the doorway and pulled it shut, but they still echoed in her mind.
 
For a moment, she just stood there. The waning embers of the torch provided just enough light to see, but this was all new. No longer was she was staring at the gray rocks and iron bars that had imprisoned her for three long years. The rocks surrounding her now were warmer. They were thick blocks of sandstone, glowing a reddish-yellow hue in the torchlight, and were adorned with undecipherable scrawlings and the framework for sconces that no longer existed. Even the rats that lived down here seemed friendly and merely watched as Olivia took her first step down the corridor. Only when she came closer did they scurry away and find a safer distance from which to observe.
 
As she staggered down the hallway, running her hand along the wall for balance and support, she eventually came upon two massive oak doors, side by side, true to the warden's word. She tucked the torch under her arm and immediately went for the door on the left. She threw it open without hesitation and held her breath...but only a winding cavern awaited her. The gloomy darkness and the trickling waters from its walls suggested it went on for some ways before ever reaching the surface.
 
“...Thanks, Vlanis,” she whispered as she moved in and let the door slowly shut behind her.
 
 
-------------------------
 
 
The ninja known as Lynne Hawkeye stood at the window and scowled at the full moon that seemed to be mocking her, so high and mighty in the sky.
 
“No doubt you're the one who released those men,” she hissed, looking down at the pouch in her hands. She had her fist shoved all the way through it and could see her fingers wriggling through the tear in the other side. “That's the second time those bastards have gotten away from me, you know... And now, thanks to you, I can't even show my face in Masiela anymore. Those men probably conjured up a grand story to the royal pain in the ass about how I so viciously abducted you and carried you away into the night like a criminal.”
 
“As I recall, I came with you willingly,” came a jeering voice from across the room. “And we had a deal. You promised you would let those men go if I came with you. You got what you deserved for trying to deceive me.”
 
Lynne closed the curtains in an angry swoop and glared at the prisoner on the bed. It had taken her almost ten minutes to bind Amelie's legs and arms behind her back. Lynne had bruises and scratches on her face from where she had been kicked and bitten.
 
“I hate children...” the ninja muttered. “Why don't you go to sleep already? Isn't it past your bedtime?”
 
“Yeah, but I didn't get my bedtime story yet.”
 
“I don't do stories.”
 
“That's okay,” Amelie said. “I got one for you.”
 
“Is that so?”
 
“Yup.” Amelie squirmed around in her bindings until she was able to sit at the foot of the bed and swing her feet over the side.
 
“...Once upon a time,” she began, “there was a terrible, terrible ninja who thought she could get away with kidnapping a little girl from her bed. 'This girl's just an orphan,' the ninja told herself. 'Nobody's going to miss an orphan.' But what the ninja didn't know is that the girl wasn't really an orphan. She had a mother. A mother who could kick that ninja's ass so hard that her butt would soon match the color of her hair. And, because the ninja was so terrible at everything she did, it didn't take the little girl's mother long to track her down to a shack in the middle of the jungle.” Amelie's voice lowered to a whisper and a wicked smirk glittered from her lips in the candlelight. “...You are dead. When my mother finds you, she's going to chop off your head and feed it to the gators.”
 
Lynne's face turned red—a direct clash with her long, cerulean locks—and she dove across the room, landed on the bed, pinned Amelie down to the mattress.
 
“You think I don't know who your mother is and what she's capable of!?” the ninja snapped. She spit in the girl's face and stood up, folding her arms across her chest and tried to make herself look bigger or stronger or more threatening or something. Whatever it was, Amelie wasn't buying it. “...I know all about your mother. We studied together under the Sisterhood of the Blue Rose.”
 
“The Blue Rose? Is that why you dyed your hair blue?” Amelie asked. “It looks really ugly.”
 
“Oh, you think my hair is bad?” Lynne leaned forward and ripped the wig from Amelie's scalp. She held it up at arms-length. “At least I don't go around all day wearing the hair of a dirty tramp.”
 
“Hey, give that back! That's mine.”
 
Lynne flung the red-colored wig into an empty corner of the room and pushed Amelie back down on the bed when she tried to get up.
 
“What's wrong with you, kid?” she asked. “Why do you want to be like Rene Chandel anyway?”
 
“Because she eats idiots like you for breakfast.”
 
“Is that so?”
 
“Yeah, it is. Sometimes she doesn't even chew.”
 
Lynne turned away to hide a smile. “You're in for a surprise.”
 
“What do you mean?”
 
“...Oh, nothing. It's just...” Lynne's heart jumped for joy. She finally had the chance to ruin a child's dream and destroy a childhood hero. Her day was complete. “Rene Chandel...is the one who hired me to kidnap you!”
 
“...What?”
 
“Yeah, that's right,” Lynne cackled. “Your precious 'hero' came to me a couple of nights ago, looking for your mother. That redheaded buffoon couldn't do anything on her own, so she asked the best bounty hunter in the land to track your mother down.”
 
“Why would she want to do that?”
 
“Who cares? I don't get paid to ask questions. But if I had to guess, I would say she probably wants to slit your mother's throat. That seems to be a common theme among bandits these days.” Lynne smirked. She obviously enjoyed this too much. “I imagine she'll want to slit your throat as well. We can't leave any witnesses, after all.”
 
Amelie's face finally began to weaken.
 
“...You're lying,” she said. “Rene Chandel wouldn't do that. She only hurts bad people.”
 
“...We'll see. Get some sleep, kid. It won't be long before your mother comes looking for us...and walks right into my trap.”

Wanker was already awake when the first rays of artificial sun shone through his window. Wiping a hand through his long, disheveled hair, he rolled out of bed and shuffled over to the bathroom while casually pulling up his trousers. The cabinet mirror was already broken, so he didn't even need to open it to reach for the comb that was inside. He tapped it against the sink a few times and looked in the mirror. From here, he had the perfect view of the pygmy who still lay unconscious on the bed.
 
“Only a pig could sleep through all that,” he said, hawking out a huge wad of spit in the sink. He dipped the comb in it and checked his hair again before passing the comb through it. As he did, the body on the bed began to stir.
 
Wanker lowered his eyes and pretended not to notice.
 
“... Ugh...” Zana mumbled. “My head...” She tried to open her eyes, but the light from the sun burned, even if the windows were mostly boarded up. Burying her head in the pillow, she opened one eye—no more than a slit—and waited for the room to come into focus. It was so cold and there was so much graffiti on the walls that she could have sworn she was outside, if not for the unsightly furnishing that adorned this rathole. The wooden beams that held the ceiling in place were obviously shirking their duties, for there were patches in the roof that had caved in, and nobody had bothered to clean up the debris. A steady mist of dust glistened in the morning sun.
 
“I think I like you better like this,” came a deep, raspy voice from over her shoulder. “You're finally quiet. Last night, you wouldn't shut up.”
 
The presence of another person made Zana jump—for she had thought she was alone—and she quickly rolled over in bed to see a shirtless man hunched over the sink, watching her through the mirror.
 
“I woulda been flattered if you were talkin' about me,” Wanker said calmly, returning his attention to his much needed grooming. “But all you wanted to talk about was 'Malkav this' and 'Fayrelin that.' Quite an odd fetish you have, pig.”
 
Zana's eyes widened. Now accustomed to the light—and hearing those names again—her thoughts became clear and she began to recall the events that had transpired the night before. She remembered rowing all the way to Little Penee to punish Malkav. That fish had given her the slip—and Fayrelin had helped him. That traitor. She would have to pay. They would both pay.
 
Nobody would make a fool out of Zana.
 
“You might wanna put some clothes on,” Wanker said as Zana squirmed out of the sheets.
 
The pygmy huffed, snatched the top sheet from the bed, and wrapped it around her body.
 
“I'm reporting you to the mermaids,” she snapped. “You stupid, ugly, good-for-nothing...fish!”
 
Chuckling, Wanker slipped the comb back in the cabinet and turned around.
 
“Are we back to this again? Last time we did this, you said you were going to gut me yourself.”
 
“...Shut up.”
 
“Oh, surely I didn't offend—”
 
“I said, 'Shut up!'” Zana's eyes flickered for a moment and then she slumped back against the wall and shuddered. “...I told you to never bring that up again.”
 
“Threatened me at knife-point, actually. While we were still in bed.” Wanker advanced towards her. “I never forgot that.”
 
“It was a mistake... I never meant to...”
 
He took her hand—the one she was using to keep the sheet pinned tightly against her chest—and gently pried her fingers apart, one by one.
 
“It certainly was a mistake,” he whispered into her ear. He nibbled at her skin, but once the last of her fingers had fallen away from the sheet, he stuffed his forearm into her neck and threw her against the wall. “Now, how many times do I have to remind you, pig? You can't touch me. You blow the whistle on me and I'll blow one on you.”
 
The fire in Zana's eyes appeared again and she scowled at the vile miscreant while he forced his arm deeper into her throat.
 
“You're lucky to still be alive,” she gasped.
 
“Me? Well, that's an odd thing to say. As I recall, you were the drunk who wandered into Kingsbridge and tried to pick a fight with Bruzzeli on his own turf.”
 
“I had my reasons to be here.”
 
“I'm sure you did, and I'm sure they weren't to see me.” He loosened his grip.
 
“Not exactly...”
 
“And yet, here you are. The pig and the wiener—just like old times.” He bit her ear again, drawing a little bit of blood this time, and then slapped her on the butt. “If it's any consolation, I'm glad Bruzzeli didn't fuck you up. That man needs to be taken down a notch. He needs to learn not to invade what's mine.”
 
“I don't give a shit about Bruzzeli,” Zana said, rubbing her neck. “I could have him knocked off at any time.”
 
“Then why don't you?” Wanker raised an eyebrow and smirked. “...I hope it's not for the same reason you won't call the mermaids on me.”
 
“No! No, of course not.” Zana gagged at the thought. “...I just have other things on my mind.”
 
“Like what?”
 
“None of your fuckin' business. You going to cook me breakfast now?”
 
The corner of Wanker's lip twitched for a moment and he held up a stiff chin before walking out of the room. When he came back, he held an apple in one hand and a rather large knife in the other.
 
“You owe me, you know,” he said. “Bruzzeli and his men woulda killed you.”
 
“I think I already gave you what you wanted.”
 
Wanker moved towards her and lifted the knife.
 
“Sorry, darling—but you're not that good.”
 
“What if I said it wouldn't interest you?”
 
“I would have to know what it is first.”
 
Zana nodded, her back against the wall, and looked out the window.
 
“It may be nothing,” she said. “But I suspect there's something going on between Fayrelin and one of those pirate fish. They're always disappearing into dark corners and whispering things to each other when they think nobody is around.”
 
“Uh-huh...”
 
“I finally caught them in the act and chased them here. I would've had them too if Bruzzeli and his goons hadn't shown up.”
 
“You think the pirates are on Bruzzeli's payroll?”
 
“I don't know what to think... But something big is going down. I'm sure of it.”
 
“I see...” Wanker took the knife and began peeling the apple. While he did so, he kept both of his eyes on Zana, studying her every movement, as if she'd spring for the window the moment she was given the chance. “...Do you want Bruzzeli dead?”
 
Zana was quiet.
 
“What about the pirates? Malkav, Jargon, that fat fuck...” He snapped off a chunk of apple and held the knife at arms-length, offering it to the pygmy. “No, wait... What about Fayrelin?”
 
“You lay a hand on Fayrelin and I'll kill you myself.” She reached for the apple chunk. A few beads of juice dribbled down the blade of the knife as she slid her thumb and index finger around it and pulled it towards her lips. “You know that.”
 
Wanker's eyes were fixated on the apple slice as it entered her mouth. He calmly tossed the rest of the apple on the end table next to the bed and raised the knife to Fayrelin's cheek, stroking it back and forth with the delicacy of a surgeon.
 
“Yes... I suppose the brutal assassination of a pig would send the rest of your kind in a man-killing frenzy.” He pressed his nose against Zana's nose and continued to caress her skin with the blade. “Just like the untimely death of a certain criminal kingpin would have his men putting a target on my head the size of Dai Celeata's teat.”
 
“We wouldn't want that...”
 
“Mm...” Wanker sucked on Zana's lips. “But the pirates... You kill one of them and nobody blinks an eye.”
 
“...Don't go making this a bloodbath,” she said, pushing the large man away. “Find out what they're up to first. I want to know who else is involved.”
 
 
-------------------------
          
 
When Duchess May rode into Oyster's Eye on the back of a monstrous-sized wolf, rats and men alike scurried under the woodwork. They would wait there in the darkness, silent and breathless, and poke their heads out only after she had passed and was some distance away, but they did not dare step foot out again. Too many of their friends had fallen victim to the belly of that beast.
 
The wolf was pretty bad too.
 
As they rounded the corner to the shipyard, May yawned and looked around. This city had certainly seen better days. Once a small village on the Tethys Sea, Oyster's Eye had become a bustling harbor for ships and traders, but it was still poor and rundown. Even the women who worked here looked gray and weathered and desolate, like the old stone buildings.
 
“Duchess!” one of the shipyard workers called out. “The duchess is here!”
 
May steered her mount over to the docks and stroked the wolf's fur as a burly woman in red garbs and a light blue bandana came over.
 
“Duchess May,” the woman said, extending her hand.
 
Sensing her master was in danger, the wolf snarled and snapped her fangs, and the woman quickly retreated her hand.
 
May ignored them both and slid off the back of the wolf.
 
“...We weren't expecting you today,” the woman said, cautiously stepping back. She had to move quickly to get away from the wolf and catch up to May, who was already walking down to the pier. “You usually don't make an appearance for shipments this small.”
 
“Do you not want me here?” the duchess inquired.
 
“N-no. Of course not. I mean, yes. Yes, we—”
 
May stepped onto the pier and began marching past the docked ships with her hands behind her back.
 
“These knots are terrible,” she said. “I'm surprised all your ships don't sink to the bottom of the sea.”
 
“I'm sorry, duchess.” The woman snapped her fingers at another worker and began waving her hand frantically. “We'll get it fixed right away.”
 
“And these sails are horrendous. Get those patches repaired and do something about the shoddy craftsmanship. These are the Queen's ships you represent.”
 
“Yes, ma'am.”
 
“And tell your workers to start lifting with their legs. I'll be damned before I let another smart-ass get away with six months of paid leave due to a sore back.”
 
“Of course.”
 
“You there!” May shouted to one of the workers who was unloading a ship. “Bring that crate over here.”
 
“It isn't really necessary to inspect a shipment this small,” the bandana woman tried to argue. “We can just send you a copy of the inventory tomorrow.”
 
May waited for the crate to be brought over and then grabbed a crowbar and knelt down.
 
“There's a bigger shipment coming in a few days,” the bandana woman said. “The biggest one this year, I'm told.”
 
The top of the crate broke off easily. Inside, there were hundreds of pearls of many sizes and colors, but May dug through them with her bare hands as if she was searching something.
 
“...Get me another one,” she said. When the worker didn't immediately move, she tightened her grip on the crowbar and raised it over her head. “Now.”
 
“...Do it,” the bandana woman commanded.
 
The worker nodded furiously and backpedaled towards the ship.
 
Sighing heavily, May slammed the top of the crate back down and took a seat on it.
 
“Dammit...” she muttered.
 
The bandana woman cocked her head.
 
“What exactly are you looking for...?” she asked.
 
Neither of them were looking down at the time, or they might have seen a sharply-dressed man climb up through a knothole in the pier, adjust his tie, and wave to his friends down below. Five more men—all in suits and expensive haircuts—clambered onto the dock and fixed their attire before zipping under the duchess' feet and taking shelter behind the crate.
 
“Almost too easy,” the first said. “Like stealing candy from a babe.”
 
“Isn't that 'candy from a baby?” the portly second man asked.
 
“Why would you steal candy from a baby?” the third man asked. “What kind of monster are you?”
 
“Would you all shut up?” the first man snapped. “Women might be stupid, but they have ears too.”
 
“Let's just get what we came for,” a fourth man said. “I don't like being out in the open like this. I feel exposed and...naked.”
 
A fifth man turned awkwardly towards him.
 
“...Yeah, none of us want to see you naked,” he said.
 
“Just help me out here, you imbeciles,” the first man interjected. He searched around the side of crate for a minute, rapping it on occasion with his knuckles, and then pointed to a nail that was marked with a small red 'X'. With their help, they were able to pry out the nail, and they laid it quietly on its side while the first man reached into the hole in the crate that had been left behind.
 
After a couple of grunts—because whatever was in there was buried deep—he managed to pull out an old beer bottle. He glanced up for a moment to make sure the duchess' back was still turned and then smashed the bottle against the side of the crate. A crumbled piece of paper fell to his feet.
 
Grinning, he tossed the rest of the bottle into the sea, and reached for the paper.
 
“Is it from Bruzzeli?” the second man asked.

“No, it's from the Princess of Kaligar,” he said. Then he slapped the portly man with the paper before he began to unfold it. “Of course it's from Bruzzeli, you dumb ass.”
 
“Oh...”
 
“That would be cool if the Princess of Kaligar wrote to us, though,” the third man said.
 
“...Well, boys, it looks like the boss man is finally getting out,” the first man said. “He says he'll be here with the next shipment.”
 
“It'll be good to have Bruzzeli back,” the fifth man said.
 
The first man chuckled and watched the duchess dig through another crate in futility. When she didn't find what she looking for, she threw her hands up and demanded another crate be brought forth.
 
“And nobody suspects anything,” he said, crumpling up the note and eating it. The rest of the man looked at each other and smirked, and then they leaned back on the crate and watched May.
 
The sixth man, however, did not seem to share in their enthusiasm.
 
“Let's just get out of here,” he said. “It's only a matter of time before she finds out what we're up to.”
 
“Somebody shut that kid up,” the first man said.
 
In actuality, the sixth man was probably closer to a boy. In both age and appearance, he was younger than the rest, with more hair and less wrinkles, and his suit was wrinkled and disheveled, as if it was tailored for somebody two sizes taller. Although he had firm features and a swagger in his step, his voice was meek and cracked when he talked, even though he was probably a decade or more past puberty.
 
“I just think we should be more careful,” the kid admitted. “She's already caught us snooping around the docks once, and she obviously knows we're up to something.”
 
“She won't find anything,” the portly second man said. “She doesn't even know where to look.”
 
“Yeah, so chill out,” the first man said. He grabbed the kid by the shoulder and threw him back against the crate. “Stick with us and you might live to be our age. Hell, you might even live to be the ripe old age of that father of yours. How old is he now?”
 
“...He's never told me.”
 
The first man rolled a cigar and lit it.
 
“You can ask him when he gets out,” he said, blowing out the match. “That's why you joined us, isn't it? To see your old man again.”
 
“Yeah...” The kid crossed his arms over his chest and looked out over the cursed sea. “Yeah.”
 
“You'll see him again, kid. Don't worry.” The man bit down on the cigar and blew a puff of smoke through the gaping hole in his teeth.

Two ninjas sat on the rooftop of the highest building in the Crossroads, sipping tea. There was a sudden eclipse from the sun that made them look up, and then faces were smashed in and cut apart by the very cups from which they drank.
 
“Maybe you can help me,” Kamilla hissed, standing over them. One of the ninjas went for her weapon and Kamilla threw her off the roof. Then she grabbed the other ninja by the collar and lifted her up. “I'm looking for Lynne. Have you seen her?”
 
“Hilla tat sitsch,” the ninja gasped. She frantically pointed towards the tavern. “Hilla tat sitsch!”
 
“Thanks.” Kamilla broke her neck.
 
A ninja on the ground had come over to inspect the crash she had just heard. When another body hit the ground next to her, she spun around and drew her blade. She circled around the building and almost made it the door before Kamilla reached out the window, seized her wrist, and forced her own sword through her chest. The ninja's lungs were full of blood before she could call out for help.
 
Kamilla stepped on her on the way out the window and marched straight towards the tavern, her arms at her side, her long skirt wafting in the daytime breeze, and her katana still at home in its hilt at her side.
 
Two ninjas came out of the doorway to greet her with their nun-chucks, but she did one of them in with a swift kick to the gut, and broke the other one's legs with an iron rod that was resting against a nearby building.
 
A third ninja came running out of the doorway, but she didn't get far, as the iron rod was thrown a distance of thirty feet into her neck, knocking her to the dirt.
 
Kamilla stopped in the middle of the courtyard leading to the tavern and raised her head to the top floor.
 
“LYNNE!” she shouted. Beads of sweat trickled down her hair as she watched the open windows, waiting for an answer. Behind her, in an abandoned building that stood seven stories tall, a shadowy figure slowly moved up the crumbling steps and knelt below the window before drawing a bow and a single arrow.
 
At around the same time, the blue-haired ninja appeared at one of the tavern windows.
 
“You're looking good these days, Kam,” the ninja called down. “How come you never stop by to say 'hi'?”
 
“...I always knew you were a lowlife, but I never thought you'd stoop to kidnapping children,” Kamilla said. “Give me my daughter back and I'll end your life quickly.”
 
“Don't you mean you'll let me live?”
 
Kamilla scowled and her fingers graced the hilt of her katana.
 
“Come now,” Lynne said. She leaned forward out the window and her eyes seemed to look elsewhere for a moment. “You wouldn't kill me. You won't even draw your blade. You're Kamilla, the Sword Mistress of Honor. Isn't that the ridiculous name you gave yourself?”
 
“I don't give myself names, 'Hawkeye.'”
 
“Then what am I supposed to leave on the tombstone when we bury you?”
 
A bowstring was snapped and an arrow whizzed through the air, aimed straight for Kamilla's head. A quick sidestep on her part was all that kept her skull from getting pierced in half.
 
“I don't think you'll ever get that pleasure,” Kamilla said, calmly stepping over the arrow that had landed at her feet. “Now, get me my daughter.” The ninja behind her began to quickly reload her bow, but Kamilla broke into a sprint towards the tavern and Lynne's eyes shot open.
 
“Get her!” she screamed, disappearing from view.
 
Suddenly, a ninja rose from every window in the tavern, holding a nocked bow. A volley of arrows rained down around Kamilla, but she dodged them all by rolling across the ground. By the time the second wave of arrows came down, she had already smashed through the front door of the tavern and broken a chair over the back of another ninja.
 
Down the stairs rushed a torrent of black-garbed ninjas and they quickly surrounded Kamilla.
 
“I'll kill every last one of you until I find my daughter,” she whispered, and then she unsheathed her katana. Her breaths were shaky now, but she held the blade steady in her hand.
 
“Well, well, well...” Lynne laughed as she sauntered down the stairs. “Mark this as the day Kamilla finally draws her weapon. I am impressed.”
 
“Not as impressed as you're about to be.”
 
“Do you really think you can take on all my ninjas?” Lynne remained a safe distance away while more ninjas flooded into the room. They came from the door, from the stairs, from the windows, from under the tables, from behind the counter, and even from behind the pictures on the wall. Before long, there were at least fifty long-haired, heavily-armed assassins forming a circle around one suddenly small-looking Kamilla.
 
“...I'll do what I have to, for the sake of my daughter.”
 
And Kamilla dove at them and got beat down so bad that Lynne couldn't even watch. Whether it was because she actually felt sorry for her old friend—or because she was too busy laughing—nobody was quite certain. But within a minute, blood was pouring uncontrollably from Kamilla's nose, and she was on the floor, her blade at her side, struggling to get back up.
 
She didn't even seem to notice that her katana was broken.
 
“...That's enough,” Lynne said, and then she repeated it in a language the ninjas could understand. “Leave us now.”
 
The ninjas bowed their heads and slipped back into the shadows.
 
When only Kamilla was left—a sad sack of a human being on the floor—Lynne walked over and carefully and maliciously stepped on the back of Kamilla's hand with her boot. She gradually began to apply more and more pressure to it as Kamilla moaned and cried out in agony.
 
“That was for me,” Lynne whispered into her ear after kneeling down. “I've always been better than you, Kam. Without me, you never would have survived with the Sisterhood of the Blue Rose.”
 
Kamilla tried to speak, but the only thing to come out of her lips was more blood.
 
Lynne decided to keep her from drowning in her own blood by grabbing her by the back of the hair and lifting her head off the floor.
 
“I could've had you killed,” she said. “But I didn't. Do you know why?”
 
The only answer she got was a half-attempted scowl and then Kamilla's eyes rolled to the back of her head.
 
“...I was hoping you could tell me,” Lynne said, dragging her over to the counter. “A nosy redhead came around the other day looking for you. Didn't take a liking to her at first, but she hired me to track you down. Now I want to know why.” She cleared off the bottles and dirty glasses in one fell swoop of her arm and then hoisted Kamilla onto the countertop. “Do you know anything about this? I mean, I could understand if she wanted you dead, but she made it pretty clear she wants you alive.”
 
Kamilla coughed and a steady stream of blood followed.
 
“...I suppose this qualifies as you still being alive,” Lynne said, grabbing a rag from behind the counter and wiping off her own hands before cleaning the blood from Kamilla's face. “You're lucky I want to know what this is all about, or I just might be tempted to kill you both. In fact...” She eyed the knives that were hanging on the wall behind the counter. “...Ridding the world of two notorious criminals isn't such a bad idea...”
 
 
-------------------------


Olivia's eyes were empty of color as she studied the lifeless body on the ground. The sun was setting, just over the western hills of the vineyards, but she imagined the flesh was still warm. There was a simmering glow to it.

Kneeling down, Olivia slowly reached her pale fingers towards the corpse.
 
What had happened? She had escaped the dungeon. She had limped through that pitch black tunnel, crawled through the sewers beneath the city on her hands and knees... But now here she laid, an arms-reach from the sewer grate, body curled on the ground like a shriveled grape, staring up at her ghost. There was a fear in her eyes that made her shudder and draw her hand away.

Three years of starvation, of isolation, of that poisoned tea running through her veins... It had taken its toll on her health.

She moved back. There was a sudden darkness to the world now. Even with the sun casting its warm glow on the planet, the color began to bleed away, beginning with the horizon and creeping towards her like a terrible fog. The gray sky overhead moaned, an ominous thunder, and the clouds began to twist into the faces of so many tormented souls that she had to look away to keep from screaming.

“OLIVIA...” they shrieked. “OLIVIA... OLIVIIIIIIA...”

“Stop it...” she whispered, clutching her chest and facing the stone wall. She shuddered and began talking herself in murmurs, trying to forget the chants, trying to push back the horrible cries for just one more moment...

“Olivia...”

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” Olivia lashed out at the voices, who sounded so close now that she had no choice but to turn around and face them. What she saw caused all her fears to melt away and she stood breathless in her spiritual vessel, staring at the ghostly image of her grandmother, surrounded by a thin ethereal light.

“Hello, Olivia,” Gwendolyn said, smiling, and her body radiated in color. She stepped forward from the shadows and the howls from above began to disperse into the wind and become mere background noise to the aura she spread over Olivia's body and spirit.

Olivia remained frozen, even as her spiritual form began to gain color and her eyes began to emit a white light, much like the light that was in her grandmother's eyes.

“They will not hurt you,” Gwendolyn said, nodding to the sky, and her words were strangely soothing. She wore a long robe of the green and gold threads, wrapped tightly around her body, and she carried a walking staff made of gray oak that she leaned on as she spoke. “They are your ancestors. They have no desire to see you here so soon.”

“W-what...is this place?” Olivia asked. She looked around, but a purple dome of light sealed her into this small area. There was only enough room for her, her grandmother, and her...corpse. Her eyes fell to the grass again. The color had returned, but not to her body. “Am I really...dead?”

Gwendolyn laid her staff against Olivia's chest.

“You are on the verge of death,” she answered, closing her eyes. The orb atop the staff began to shimmer like the full moon, breathing life into the body below, and then she opened her eyes again. “But today isn't the day you join us.”

“I don't understand...”

“Adelais has changed since your mother locked you in that dreadful place. The fate of this world now dangles by a thread. I fear I'm partially to blame... Despite my best intentions when I served the Old Queen, the prophecy we have been warned about for so long is nearly fulfilled. Three of the four households that bind Ellewyn and Kaligar have fallen to faces of evil, and I fear it isn't long for the fourth.”
 
 “The prophecy of our ancestors? My mother...is part of that?”

Sadness filled Gwendolyn's eyes as she lowered her staff and turned to Olivia.

“Yes. I saw it coming, but I could not stop it... A mother can only restrain her daughter for so long.” She shook her head, obviously disheartened by the way events had played out in her own lifetime. “The same could be said for the Old Queen... With Isabella's premature ascent to the throne, Ellewyn has become as dark and corrupt as the lands of the Dark Lady herself. If Princess Erika falls...then all hope is lost.”

“What am I supposed to do? Kill my mother? I...”

“No. No, no, dear Olivia...” Her grandmother reached out and touched Olivia's cheek, smiling. “Rebecca will pay for her misdeeds, but you mustn't give into the darkness or nothing will change.”

“What then? I can't let her destroy Haledon... This is our home.”

 “This is not the home we once knew. I've been watching your mother and Isabella tear this land apart for their own selfish end... Their power has spread too far for any one person to stop.” She moved closer. “Listen to me, Olivia. I want you to flee this land. Go to Kaligar... Find Erika... Warn her of the danger this land faces, and ensure nothing happens to her... Without her, Adelais has no future.”
 
“I can't get to Kaligar in this state! Look at me. I just died.”

“Nonsense, dear. I already told you. There are still some things your old grandma has a say in... Now, it's time to remember that song I used to sing to you. You do remember the one, don't you?”

“Yes...” The herbs had warped Olivia's mind, but there were some things she would never forget. “Of course I remember.”

Gwendolyn smiled, seemingly at ease, even as the color of her skin dissolved.

“My ethereal strength is fading,” she said, releasing Olivia. “I cannot stay any longer. Go to the courtyard behind the manor and face the garden. Listen to the words of the song... It will lead you to me...”

“Wait!” Olivia cried, rushing forward. “Gramma, I—” She reached out in a panic, but the ghostly image of grandmother continued to drift backwards, and the aura over her head suddenly collapsed. In a flash of purple light, she was blinded, and then the world went dark.
 

-------------------------
 
 
“How could you let this happen!?” Rebecca shouted, forgetting there were a number of maids in the manor who could have easily overheard their conversation. “You incompetent oaf. Olivia was to never leave that cell!”
 
Vlanis took the lashing like a true pro. It had been about two hours now since her guards had wandered to the very basement of the dungeon in search of the missing warden and found her in a cell that had supposedly been vacant for decades. Those morons had actually believed she had locked herself up because she was drunk and didn't want to take it out on the prisoners...

“One of my guards must have slipped her the key,” Vlanis said. She was getting good at lying. “When I find out who did it, you can bet heads will roll.”
 
“...Ugh, this is unbelievable.” Rebecca kicked the door of the living chamber shut and tugged on her hair as she began to pace in circles. “Her mind should be completely lost by now. She shouldn't even be able to move. How did she plan an escape? How?”
 
“What do you mean?”
 
“You idiot—did you really think Olivia was always this crazy? I've been giving her that tea for years. The herbs are what keep her delusional and out of my life.”
 
“Oh...uh...right.” That's what Olivia had been blabbing about before... The old hag must have forgotten to tell her about that.
 
“Her scrawny little body must be adapting to the drug faster than I anticipated. I'll need to increase the dosage next time.” Rebecca fell on the couch and buried her head in her hands. “But what are we going to do in the meantime...? We can't have her running around Ellewyn, showing her face to everyone. Most of them were at her funeral three years ago. They're bound to suspect something is wrong when they see a ghost.”
 
Okay, think quick, Vlanis. She's calmed down. If you can cheer her up, maybe you'll get back in her good graces, and she won't feed you to the wolves.

“Uh...well...Olivia's physical appearance has changed a lot,” she said. “Poor girl's mostly all bone now and her hair is practically down to her knees. I doubt anybody would recognize her.”

Rebecca's fingernails dug into her flesh as she looked up.
 
“You were supposed to be taking care of her!” she snapped. “What the hell have I been paying you for!?”
 
Vlanis winced. That was dumb.
 
“...I can't believe you would put my daughter's life at risk like that. I ought to hang you right now.” Rebecca brushed back her hair and took a deep breath, holding it for as long as she could. When she finally exhaled, she leaned back and spread her palms on the couch cushions. “...But I won't because you're going to find Olivia and you're going to bring her to me. After all, a good warden knows how to clean up her messes. Isn't that right?”
 
“Of course.” Disrespectful hag. Hadn't she served this family proudly for years? “Where should I start looking?”

Rebecca reached for a small portrait of Olivia she had on the end table.
 
“Well... It's not like Olivia has any friends to run to, so I doubt she'll leave the city. After all, I'm the only person who ever cared about her.” Then a sudden darkness came over her eyes and she set the portrait aside. “And that damn Kadaj...”
 
That name again! That's all Olivia ever spoke of. Who in the blazes is Kadaj?

“Who's—”
 
“It's of no concern to you,” the countess spoke quickly, rising to her feet. “I will dispose of this 'fantasy' of hers right now. I knew it was a mistake to keep him alive for this long.”

Him. Kadaj was a man. Why wasn't she surprised?
 
“Right,” Vlanis said. It's too bad Kadaj had to die, or she would've loved to torture him in front of Olivia. “So, uh... You think she's coming here then?”
 
“She has nowhere else to go, you fat twit. This is her home. She'll come for me or she'll come for Kadaj, and you'll catch her, and we'll be rid of this problem once and for all. Then we'll discuss how you should be punished. Are we understood?”
 
“Completely.” Her pelt would look good on the wall.
 
“Good. Now, go outside and keep watch for her.” Rebecca pointed to the door and waited until the warden had opened it before speaking again. “I've never given you an assignment more important than this one... You fail me this time, captain, and I'll have you thrown back in that cell and leave you there to rot. I promise you that.”

Vlanis scowled, as her back was to the countess, and closed the door quietly. As she started down the hallway, metal armor clanging against the hard floor, the scar over her left eye opened, and something warm trickled down the side of her face. She ignored it, even as a splash of blood appeared on her gauntlet, and grabbed the hilt of her sword.

She was glad Rebecca never specified the condition Olivia had to be in when she was returned to the manor.

Buried in the graves of the forgotten
Tangled in the vines of this woven dream
Once I thought I heard your name through the grapevines
And I found the secrets you laid to rest.

Oh, my love
When we’re entwined together, you better
Reap what you sow and know what you harvest.

I’m the one whose eyes are kissed by the sun
Reach out for me and take my hand
Trust not the ground under your feet
For it will take you away, quick as a breath,
And lead you into another eternal rest.

Oh, my dear
When we’re entwined together, you better
Reap what you sow and know what you harvest.

The hands of fate would keep us apart
But we never have to let go if we keep climbing
Tied to the sun and moon, freefalling in the sky
Take a look at this ring of life
If you put a finger to my lips, I promise I’ll never lie.

Oh, my child
When we’re entwined together, you better
Reap what you sow and know what you harvest.

Dream by day, fly by night,
Follow the silence and it will be all right.
If you listen to the grapevines,
Don’t forget to close your ears
And remember my mistake
Only the dead can outrun their fears.

Oh, oh, oh…
Quando ci uniamo insieme, dovreste
Raccolga che cosa seminate e conosca che cosa raccogliete…
 
 
– A family poem, passed down by the House of Sienna

-------------------------
          
 
“What did she mean by 'Listen to the words of the song'...?” Olivia mumbled to herself. She stood in the courtyard, leaning against the old garden trellis and reciting the poem her grandmother had taught her over and over. The lyrics were comforting—and certainly a welcome reprieve from the terrible nightmares she had become accustomed to—but the actual words had no meaning.

“Buried in the graves of the forgotten, tangled in the vines of the woven dream,” she repeated once more. “Once I heard your name through the grapevines, and I found the secrets you laid to rest.” She looked around. There was an eerie silence out here. Although it seemed like a lifetime ago, she remembered standing here before, when the vineyards were bustling with the activity of men. They used to work here, harvesting the grapes that made that delicious Haledonian wine. Now, the vineyards were empty, and the once lush vines were stained brown and slightly withered as they wafted in the cool evening breeze. Was winter coming early this year?

Olivia shook her head. She had to focus. Her mind and senses were clear, but she was still delirious. She could barely stand. Begrudgingly, she pushed herself away from the trellis, faced the garden, and tried to remember the next verse.

“I can't believe it,” came a loud and sudden voice that caused Olivia to jump.

Looking over her shoulder, she saw Vlanis, the ugly, scar-faced warden, shuffling down the garden steps two at a time. She had the look in her face of a cat who had just cornered a flightless bird.

“There are only two reasons you'd still be here,” the warden said when she reached the bottom step. “Either you're too weak to walk...or you're crazy.” She moved closer to Olivia and cackled when the former countess took a feeble step backwards, only to stumble into the trellis and nearly fall over. “I have my money on both.”

“Get away from me...” Olivia whispered weakly.

“What's that?” Vlanis took another step closer and put a hand over her ear. “Did you just give me an order? You must have been living underground, little girl, because I don't take orders from you anymore.”

Olivia tried to speak again, but her mouth was dry. She hadn't had anything to drink since...that last cup of tea...

“...You should've fled the city while you had the chance,” the warden said. “What did you think? That your mommy was going to take you back into her open arms?”

Open arms. Olivia turned back towards the garden and, squinting in the setting sun, she could see five statues. These were statues of her ancestors—each a honored member of the Sienna family and each facing a different direction with a distinct pose. Some of them had arms at the side and some of them had arms pointing in one direction. They had been standing there all along, so quietly, so unobtrusively, for all these years... Could there be something more to them?

The next verse suddenly made sense. I'm the one whose eyes are kissed by the sun... Reach out for me and take my hand...

No statue was facing the sun now, but only one of them was looking in the opposite direction—towards Olivia, towards where the sun would rise. The statue featured a woman in the kneeling position, with an outstretched palm and a hand over her brow, gazing up into the heavens. The old stone was weathered and chipped in places, but Olivia recognized the woman as her great-great grandmother.

“It's not polite to turn your back on someone when they're talking to you,” Vlanis bellowed. She reached out an arm for Olivia, but Olivia quickly ducked away.

“You're not taking me back to that cell, Vlanis.”

“Take you back?” Vlanis laughed and her round belly rumbled and shook like a bowl of pudding. “Your mother doesn't want you in that cell. She wants you dead.”

“...You're lying.”

“I would not lie to you. The order to end your life came directly from her lips.”
 
Olivia moved back, towards the statues in the garden.

“My mother is a terrible person,” she said. “But she is no murderer. She's the only reason you kept me alive.”
 
“I kept you alive because I wanted to see you suffer,” Vlanis said, matching Olivia step in step. “If not for you, I would be servicing the queen now. Instead, I'm stuck in this shithole town, forced to be your babysitter. That ends today. I've enjoyed every minute of pain in your life, but I am honored to be the one to finally end it. Your mother deserves so much better.”

Olivia knew she was close to the statue when the last rays of sun disappeared from her neck and a shadow was cast over her body.

“My mother will get what she deserves in due time. And so will you, Vlanis. I will not be taken in.”

Olivia reached out and squeezed the statue's hand. But try as she might, no amount of pushing or pulling or twisting or turning would cause the statue to move. It remained there, stiff as a rock, staring up at the sky with that same blank expression. Her heart sank.

Vlanis noticed Olivia's hand on the statue and summoned up another bellow of laughter.

“Your ancestors can't save you, little bird,” the warden said, sticking a fist into Olivia's gut. “They're dead, and so are you.”

Olivia crumbled to one knee, just like the statue, and put a hand over her face to shield from Vlanis' next attack. But this one came from below, as Vlanis lifted her leg and threw her knee into Olivia's chin.

Olivia's head buckled back and smashed into the stone base of the statue. Bleeding out one ear, she crawled towards the back of the statue while Vlanis planted another heel into her spine and threw her to the ground.

“I think I'll start with your eyes,” the warden said, drawing her blade. “I'll give you a nice little scar to match the one you gave me.”

By the time she had finished speaking, Olivia had circled around the statue. Vlanis smirked and followed the trail of blood—very slowly, so that she could savor the moment—all the way back to the front of the statue, where Olivia was pulling herself by the statue's outstretched hand.

“She's made of stone,” Vlanis said. “For the last time, she's not going to help you.”

The warden reared back her hand and slapped Olivia across the face, but not before Olivia could grab onto the statue's other arm. As she fell, so did the arm, and a low rumbling could be heard.

This time, it wasn't from Vlanis' belly.

“What the...!?” Vlanis exclaimed as the statue moved to the side, revealing a passageway underneath. An old, rickety set of stairs led down into total darkness. “How did you...?”

She never got the chance to finish her sentence. Olivia grabbed her by the ankles and sank her teeth into the soft flesh of the warden's leg.

Vlanis yelped. “You bitch!”

She tried to retaliate, but Olivia had already managed to slip into the narrow passageway. Her feet were the only thing still visible. Vlanis dove into the opening headfirst and grab them, but her belly was too big to fit through. Grunting, she wriggled and squirmed, but it was only after she was able to suck in her gut that she could squeeze through. Even then, she had to crawl down the steps on her chubby hands and knees, as the walls never allowed someone of her girth to move much.

Already at the bottom of the stairs, Olivia stood up, weakly, and stared into the empty darkness. It frightened her to be back underground like this. Even though there were no torches to guide the way down here, she could see those steel bars again. Those suffocating walls. Those nightmares. Those horrible monsters in the shadows.

“I'm going to kill you...” Vlanis panted. “I'm so going to kill you...”

Olivia closed her eyes—for leaving them open was of no use down here—and mouthed the next words of the poem. Trust not the ground under your feet... For it will take you away, quick as a breath... And lead you into another eternal rest.

The ground creaked and her eyes shot open. She quickly withdrew her foot.

Listening closely, she could hear the sound of rushing water—seemingly miles below her. If the ground creaked, she was likely standing on some kind of wooden bridge, and one wrong step could send her plummeting to her death.

Behind her, Vlanis' groans were getting louder. It was only a matter of time before she reached the bottom of the stairs.

Olivia stretched out her arms. The walls were so close together that her elbows easily grazed the rocks on either side at the same time. There was no way she would be able to slip past Vlanis.

She would have to go forward.

Holding her breath, she raised her right leg and slid her foot forward, very slowly applying pressure to the floor below. With each ounce of increasing pressure, the floor began to creak more and more. Before the full weight of her leg had been applied, a loud snap was heard and the floor beneath her foot vanished. She quickly retracted her leg, but that only caused the floor beneath her left foot to moan and creak and begin to give way. Still holding her breath, she stood there in the darkness, one leg frozen in the air, clutching desperately to the rocks on the wall.

Turning around now wasn't even an option because a single pivot of her foot would cause the ground to open up beneath her.

“Oh, Olivia—come out and play,” Vlanis' voice boomed, echoing through the cavern's walls.

Olivia finally exhaled. Even her slow breaths caused the floorboards to quiver. She could actually feel the cracks beginning to form, like stepping across thin ice in the wintertime.

“...Don't come any closer...” she whispered, loud enough for Vlanis to hear her but not loud enough to cause the floor to break away. She hoped.

The sound of Vlanis' thundering footsteps suggested she had no intention of heeding Olivia's warning.

“I don't know how you knew about this place, but it doesn't matter. You will die here.”

“We'll both die here if you take another step forward.”
“Oh? And why is that?”

As if to answer her, the sound of splintering wood filled the cavern, followed by a piercing scream, and the entire bridge collapsed. It fell as one unit, being shredded apart by the jagged rocks on the side, until it was so twisted and jumbled that pieces of wood began to rain into the wild torrent below.

High above all of this, Olivia had managed to wedge her ankles into the rocks and hung there,  suspended between the walls on outstretched arms and legs, listening to the water and rocks rip apart the floor that was once beneath her feet. When she was done gasping for air, she leaned forward and began to blindly feel her way from handhold to handhold in the darkness. Her arms were shaky, but the rocks were rigid and dry, and there were enough open spaces that she could simply stop and remain in suspension while the vertigo passed.

She tried not to think what would happen to her body if she let go.

Ten, twenty, maybe thirty minutes later, she had reached solid ground again. She stepped on it warily, though, and was a little startled when it actually felt firm. She threw herself upon it and laid there for a while, listening to the sound of the river beneath the earth roar.

“Good-bye, Vlanis...” she whispered, and leaned her head against the rocks.

The rest of the poem. She had to recite it from the beginning, but she knew it all by heart. When she reached the next part, she breathed a sigh of relief. The hands of fate would keep us apart... But we never have to let go if we keep climbing.

Climbing. That would be easy.

Sure enough, after walking forward for a bit, she came across another set of stairs. It was still pitch black, she was able to climb them on her hands and knees without incident. When she reached the top, she felt around with her hand and was able to locate a handle, which she used to hoist the large stone over her head out of the way.

It was nighttime on the surface world, but the moon provided enough light to see. Clutching her side—which now pained her—she reached up and pulled herself out of the hole in the ground. She didn't know exactly where she was, but she recognized the rows upon rows of grapevines. She was obviously somewhere in the vineyard. Deep in the vineyard.

She could see the manor in the distance and figured she was about five hundred yards away. This part of the vineyard hadn't been used in decades, but there was a clear opening where she now stood.

“Well, what's next?”

Tied to the sun and moon, freefalling in the sky... Take a look at this ring of life... If you put a finger to my lips, I promise I'll never lie.

She looked around. The sun had set and the moon was visible just overheard. Fireflies dipped and bobbed through the ancient tangled vines, and the chirping of crickets gave a soothing melody to the otherwise soundless night.

But there was one odd thing. One very strange, out-of-the-place thing. In the center of the clearing, there was an oak tree. That's not to say oak trees were all that uncommon, for there were plenty on the outer rim of the vineyard, but this one had hundreds of carvings into its massive trunk. All around the tree, there were letters and symbols and drawings, of people and animals and everything in between, all permanently etched into the bark.

She circled the tree at least half a dozen times, staring at all the elaborate carvings—most that were more detailed and vivid than an oil painting—and wondered who made them. They were like nothing she had ever seen before. She had spent days wandering these vineyards before, but never wandered this far or came across something quite as beautiful as this.

“This must be the ring of life...” she mumbled beneath her breath. “It has pictures of every creature, real or mythical, live or extinct, that is said to exist in Adelais.” She circled the tree one more time. “But whose lips am I supposed to paying attention to?”

She started putting her index finger to each of the creature's lips, maybe expecting something magical to happen. But nothing did. Still, each drawing was drawn upright, so that her finger was always pointing upward. She followed her finger up, into the knotted branches and shadowed leaves, and hung her head.

“Oh, please don't tell me I have to climb up there... I'm not a monkey, gramma.”

Sighing, she grabbed onto the branches—which were fortunately low enough that she could hoist herself up—and began scaling the tree, one branch at a time. Drops of blood trickled from her ear, but she shrugged it off and continued climbing, until she had reached where the trunk turned into a dizzying array of thick branches and sprouting leaves.

“Dream by day, fly by night...” she whispered, recalling the next part of the song. “Follow the silence and it will be all right.”

Well, it was all silent up here. There were plenty of nests in the branches—some with sleeping birds and others abandoned—but she imagined it was quite lively during the daytime. Perhaps there was a branch without birds?

No, that would be silly. How could a song older than her possibly know which branch no birds would decide to call home?

Maybe she really was going crazy. After all, she had just had a conversation with her dead grandmother a few hours ago. Maybe she was still experiencing the effects of that tea. Maybe she was still back in that cage, with that monster... Maybe this was all a dream.

But then she looked down—at the trunk of the tree—and realized something she hadn't seen. For all the carvings in the bark, there wasn't a single hole for chipmunks or owls or anything of the sort. That was certainly strange, for creatures like that were just as likely to live in an oak tree as robins and sparrows. She curled her fist into a ball and knocked on the side of the tree. It sounded hollow, but there was something unusual about it. It rang. Like metal. Like it had metal casing around it.

She climbed up further into the climb and brushed away all the sticks and twigs until she found what she was looking for: a round opening. Somehow, somebody had managed to put an iron door that led into the trunk of the tree. She turned the handle and the door opened easily, effortlessly, even after years of never being opened.

There was nothing but silence and more darkness inside the iron tube.

Olivia didn't know what to think as she lifted her legs over the opening and slid through. She expected to hit the bottom where the ground was at—some twenty feet below. She also expected to be able to use her hands to slowly climb down. Neither of those were the case, as the iron walls were too slippery to grip onto—and the tube turned into a slide and twisted its way deeper and deeper underground. She was too weak to scream, but she allowed herself to get swept further into the darkness, wishing like hell this wouldn't lead her into a pit of boiling lava or worse.

Instead, it spat her out into a small underground chamber. She landed on a bale of hay and picked herself up, covered in broken straw.

In front of her, there was a small altar with two pillars on either side—each blazing with torches of eternal flame. Black cloth with purple stripes and the House of Sienna insignia on the front adorned the altar, draping over the edges and onto the sandstone floor. And on this cloth sat a long, narrow chest with gold trimmings. The chest was closed, but the key was already inserted into the lock, and it sat there, waiting to be opened.

“...If you listen to the grapevines, don't forget to close your ears...” Olivia recited the final verse of the song. “And remember my mistake, only the dead can outrun their fears...”

She stepped over to the altar. What could be in that chest? Perhaps it was a trap. That pathway underground certainly was. Why couldn't this be as well?

No. Her grandmother wouldn't lead her into a trap.

Unless that wasn't really her grandmother. Maybe that was a monster in disguise.

She stepped off the altar.

“...No,” she told herself. “No, I can do this.”

So she moved towards the chest and put her hand on the key, turning it ever so slowly until it clicked into place. She waited for something to happen, but nothing ever did.

Using both hands, she pried open the lid. As soon as she did, there was some terrible shrieking, and waves of headless spirits with black tails came flying out, circling Olivia and the torches until they filled the chamber. Soon the flames were swallowed up and there was nothing but darkness and that ear-piercing shrieking that kept growing louder and louder until anyone with a weaker mind would have been driven to insanity.

But for Olivia, she had already crossed the deepest reaches of insanity, and she looked on into the chest until the being inside began to glow. At first, it looked like a small, shrunken skull, whose eyes burned in a purple flame. The dual flame would grow for a moment, showing every intricate ridge of the skull in fine detail, and then return to a mere cinder. It did this at the rate of a steady heartbeat, but the flame grew larger with each drawing pulse, until the entire skull seemed to catch fire. Purple flames turned to purple light and began to form the outline of what was inside. The skull was mounted on some sort of handle that wrapped around and formed the perfect place for a hand to grip. Above the skull, the purple light began to travel across a slender, ebony blade, glittering and shining even in the darkness in a purple vapor.

For Olivia, there was no sound in the room as she reached for the skull. Even as the shrieking of the spirits grew to unbearable levels, she calmly wrapped her fingers around the handle one by one and drew the blade from its resting place. No sooner had she done so did the shrieking stop, the flames ignited again, and the echoes faded away into the cackling torchlight, leaving behind no trace, save for the purple and black vapor still being emitted from the now visible epee.

Olivia turned the blade over and ran her finger down the side. She was amazed at how comfortably it felt—like it was made for her—and she gave it a couple of practice thrusts before she remembered how much her side ached and she nearly dropped it back into the chest.

Groaning, she searched around in the chest and found a belt from which she could sheathe the blade, as well as a small leather poach with a handful of gold. She tied the belt around her waist, hung the pouch from the belt, and slid the blade carefully into its sheathe. The moment her fingers left the hilt, the purple and black vapor disappeared, and she quietly closed the chest.

“This would be a lot more helpful if I could remember how to use a sword,” she thought to herself.

Now that the room was lit up again, she could see a door on the other side of the altar. She walked around and opened the door. This one took a bit of forcing, but eventually she was able to push it open—only to be welcomed by a familiar darkness. She considered taking one of the torches with her, but simply touching the hilt at her side caused the blade to light up again and provided enough light to see.

“Yeah, I'm definitely keeping this thing with me,” she muttered to herself as she stepped into the darkness. After some walking, she recognized she was back in the cavern from before, and eventually stumbled across the staircase that led to the oak tree. Choosing to climb this one instead of risking the path of the non-existent bridge again, she headed for the surface, glad to finally be out in the open once more.

“Well, friend...” she said, looking at the epee at her side and then at the manor in the distance. The candles were lit in the top window, so she knew her mother was still awake. “I don't suppose we'll ever return to this place.”

“Oh, can't you stay awhile?”

“Huh?”

Olivia turned around, only to be decked in the face by something hard. She was immediately driven into the dirt and tumbled at least ten feet backwards before she finally stopped. The aching in her side grew even more intense and she struggled to stand.

It wouldn't have mattered, though, because a very angry, very bloody, very sweaty Vlanis now towered over her. When the bridge had collapsed, her body had gotten snagged on the rocks—preventing her from plummeting to her death, but not before ripping open her clothes and skin. The scar on her face had completely ruptured and she was now oozing blood everywhere.

“I think I'll carry you back down there and throw you off the edge,” Vlanis said, picking up Olivia as easily as a twig. “I know how much you love being left alone in the dark.”

It was then that Vlanis first noticed the sword dangling from Olivia's side. The very sight of it caught her off-guard and she dropped Olivia and stepped back.

“W-where...” she uttered. “Where did you get that sword...?”

Olivia crawled to her feet and numbly grabbed the hilt of the epee. The purple and black vapor returned.

“I'll never tell you...” she said.

“You don't know what you have there. That sword belongs to your mother.” She extended her hand. “Give it to me now.”
 
“Take it from me then.”
 
“Don't be a fool!”

Olivia had no idea why there was so much fear in the warden's voice, but she used it to her advantage by aiming the epee at Vlanis. Suddenly, the vapor began to engulf Olivia's entire body, and her eyes turned white. Renewed strength began to fuel her body and some kind of strange force began to take over.

“LEAVE OUR FAMILY ALONE,” Olivia shouted, and her voice wasn't her own, but many voices, all crying out in unison. She was thrown forward, thrusting the epee, and it was all Vlanis could do to get her own sword up in time to counter the attack. Back and forth, their metal blades clashed, with each blow causing Vlanis to stumble further and further back towards the massive oak tree.

“I've served your family well for generations!” Vlanis cried, but soon Olivia was too much for her. She missed a parry and the epee was driven straight into the flesh of her right thigh. She missed a second time and the blade sliced into her left cheek. Finally, with her back against the tree, she raised her hands over her head, ready to crack Olivia's head open with the hilt of her sword, but the epee found its way into her gut.

Her sword fell. Blood began to pour from the open wound as Olivia slowly withdrew her blade and the color returned to her eyes.

“How did you...?” Vlanis gasped, fighting the blood in her lungs to get off just a few more words. She slumped to the ground, with a frozen expression of shock on her face, and leaned against the trunk of the oak tree. “I served your family well. I deserve better than this. You don't...deserve that sword...”

With her one eye still bleeding, the warden turned her head to the side and her body went limp.
 
Olivia stood over her, out of breath, and stared wide-eyed at the mythical weapon in her hand. It wasn't until now that she could move her fingers. She did so immediately and the epee dropped to the ground next to Vlanis. The metal clang echoed in her ears.
 
 
-------------------------


Twilight had fallen over the Crossroads. The tavern was unusually quiet this night, with only a single table taken—lit by a single wax candle—and no other bar patrons to be found. Even the barkeeper was missing from the scene when Rene Chandel entered through the front door, wrapped in the same brown cloak from before. This time, she had no reason to keep her head concealed, and so her hood was down and her hair flowed down her shoulders like red streamers.
 
Way over in the corner of the tavern, seated at her usual table, was the blue-haired ninja known as Lynne 'Hawkeye'. She had her back to the door, but she was clearly seated with somebody whose face was blocked by her body. She didn't get up, or even look around, when Rene entered the room. Instead, she continued shuffling a deck of cards mindlessly in one hand while she sipped a bottle of ale in the other.

Given the excessive number of empty bottles on the table, she had been drinking here for a while.

It wasn't until Rene moved closer that the face of the person seated with Lynne became visible. Even then, the face was partly hidden by a gag over the mouth, but there was no mistaking Kamilla. She looked just like she did on all the wanted posters. Now, though, she was tied to the chair and her wrists were bound behind her back, preventing her from moving at all. Still, she was trying desperately to say something, and her eyes were moving wildly from side to side.

Rene was the first to speak.

“...This wasn't exactly what I had in mind,” she said.

“You said you wanted to talk to Kamilla.” Lynne put down the bottle and pointed a slender finger across the table. “There she is. Say your piece.”

“It would be a lot easier without this on.” Rene reached over and removed the gag.

Once her mouth was free, Kamilla blurted out, “It's a trap! Get out of here!”

Lynne laughed and stood up.

“I wouldn't bother,” she said, helping a surprisingly calm Rene into the nearest chair. “One of my ninjas has a bead on you right now. One wrong move and you get a poisoned dart right into your neck. And even if you somehow avoid that, I have ninjas posted all around this city, waiting to pick you off if you try to escape. I'm surprised you didn't see any on your way in. Oh, wait. We're ninjas. Of course you didn't see any.” She grinned. “You know what they say, Red. Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice... you're fuckin' dead.”

“We had a deal, Lynne.”

“Yeah, but then I decided to play my own cards.” She picked up the deck of cards in front of her and began dealing them out across the table. “I've been known to do that on occasion, you know.”

“She kidnapped my daughter,” Kamilla said. “I can't believe you would let her do that, Rene. I thought you were one of the good ones.”

Rene looked at her. “Believe me when I say I had no idea you even had a daughter.”

“Would that have made a difference? I can't believe I even considered trusting you.”

“No honor among thieves, huh?” Lynne chuckled and looked at her cards. “Still, I'm dying to know what led to this whole charade. Kam looking for Rene, Rene looking for Kam... And poor ol' me caught somewhere in between. What's a law-abiding ninja to do?”

“I'm not telling you anything,” Kamilla said.

“That's really too bad. I mean, what would little Amelie say if she knew her mommy was keeping secrets? I wonder if Amelie has any secrets. Do you think I should ask her?”

“Don't you lay a hand on my daughter,” Kamilla growled.

“How about a blade? Is a blade okay?” Lynne studied her cards intently. “I think I just might do that if I don't start hearing what all of this is about. What would drive a rogue who has always been known to work alone to seek out a 'legend' like Rene Chandel? Surely it must be something big.”

“...You might as well tell us,” Rene said. “She has the upper hand here.”

“Oh, don't think of it like that!” Lynne said, putting down two cards and drawing two more. “We're all friends here, aren't we? I mean, pretend for a moment that you aren't tied to a chair and that I don't have skilled ninjas ready to pounce on you if you try anything funny. Can't we just put all our secrets on the table? I'll start. I have a yeast infection on my left foot. Okay, your turn.”

Kamilla glared at her, but she knew she didn't have much of a choice. For Amelie's sake, she would have to tell the truth.

“...I wanted your help with a special contract,” she said, looking towards Rene. “Like everyone else, I've heard of your feats, and I thought you might be willing to help. The cause is right up your alley and this is more than a one-person job.”

“Who's the contract for?” Rene asked.

“I'm not at the liberty to say. But it's for a high-ranking political person who is of interest to my employer.”

“Princess Erika?” Lynne guessed. “No way. You've been her little pet for so long. This has to be somebody bigger... Who is bigger than Princess Erika? Besides in the chest area, I mean.” She pondered it for a moment. “Somebody from Ellewyn, perhaps? Countess Rebecca? Duchess May? One of the Paladins? Wow, there's just no end to the people I hate.”

“...It's the queen, isn't it?” Rene asked. “Erika hired you to take out Isabella.”

Kamilla's face said it all.

“Queen Isabella...” Lynne whistled. “That's some heavy stuff. You two bumbling fools wouldn't stand a chance. Have you ever seen her castle? I was invited there once. Something you two wouldn't understand. You see, when you don't always have a bounty on your head, you get invited to places. Very rich places. And unlike you, I don't go in there and think about what I want to steal. But anyway...” She looked at Kamilla's cards, tucked three away, and gave her three more. “When I was in Felwinter, I got to see the castle up close. That place is a fortress, and it's only better now that the Paladins have beefed up their security. You two would set off so many alarms that you probably wouldn't even make it across the courtyard without being seen. I mean, think about it. I trapped you both and I'm only one person. Those Paladins would eat you alive.”

“The cause is worth the risk,” Kamilla said. “As long as Isabella is in charge, Kaligar is in danger. The woman threatens our homeland with her selfish attitude and her apathy towards the war. If she remains on the throne, Kaligar will be run over by Sorena's forces and all that we love will be destroyed. What kind of future is that?”

Lynne raised an eyebrow.

“Are you asking for my help?” she inquired.

“I'm asking you to show a little bit of compassion for the people of our land. Should they suffer while Isabella sits in her ivory tower, oblivious to the problems of this world? Even you, Lynne, in all your self-righteousness, should understand...”

“Interesting cards we have been dealt here...” Lynne murmured as she waited for Rene to lay down her cards. She never did. “On one hand, you are committing a serious crime on a country that has been our ally for generations. On the other hand, I can't show my face in Masiela again without some hotheaded centurion trying to take it off because I kidnapped your brat of a child. But if I could take my place at your side, and do as Erika asked, perhaps I would receive a pardon...”

“...No offense, but I don't need you mucking things up,” Kamilla said. “That's why I wanted Rene.”

Rene smirked.

“Perhaps you've forgotten, but I've captured both you AND the infamous Rene Chandel,” Lynne said, leaning forward on the table. “And need I remind you that I have an entire army awaiting my every command? Can either of you say the same? Oh, of course not. Because you're forced to work alone. That's the life of a two-bit thief.” She spat in Kamilla's face and returned to her cards. “Just think about it... Three soldiers of fortune, brought together by a common enemy... This could be a story for the ages. Bards would sing about us for years to come.”

Then she laid out her cards. Three sixes.
 
 “Let's see them...” she said, flipping over Kamilla's cards. Nothing.

“...You know...” Lynne said, rocking back in her chair. “I'm not exactly sure you bring much to the table, Kam. After all, you've stabbed me in the back before.”
 
 “I couldn't care less about the contract right now,” Kamilla said. “I just want my daughter back.”

“And that worries me,” Lynne said. “I mean, here Rene and I are, risking our lives because we have nothing to lose... But what about you? You have a little whiny brat at home. What happens if somebody puts a sword to her throat and forces you to do something?”

“You mean like you're doing right now?”

“Exactly. Amelie is a threat to our little band of mercenaries. And you know what has to happen to threats?” She grinned. “They have to be eliminated.”

“I'll kill you if you hurt my daughter!” Kamilla screamed, wriggling around her chair. She thrashed around in her chair and finally managed to get onto her feet.

“Oh, dear... I do think that is a threat.” Lynne stood up and grabbed her katana from the table. Then, jumping onto the table, she thrust the blade into Kamilla's chest.
 
 “What are you doing?” Rene sprang to her feet, but Lynne quickly turned the blade on her and caught her just under the chin. The metal gleamed against her skin as she stood with a hand on her rapier.

Bleeding out, Kamilla could only stare at them in horror as she collapsed to the floor.

“...You didn't have to kill her,” Rene said.

“She would've ratted us out. You don't know her like I do.”

“You want to point your blade somewhere else now?”

“I'm not sure,” Lynne jumped off the table, stepping off Kamilla's body, and kept the bloody katana to Rene's throat as she circled the table back to her seat. “After all, I know more about Kamilla than I know about you. All I know about you is that you've tried to poison me before.”

“That poison was a placebo.”

“The ones in my ninja's darts aren't, I assure you.” Lynne lowered her katana and sat down. “Let's see your hand.”

“A straight,” Rene said, turning over her cards.

Lynne chuckled and rocked back in her chair.

“Not that hand,” she said, interlacing her fingers in her lap. “The hand that shows me you're worthwhile in bringing along. After all, I have more than enough muscle to kidnap a bratty princess. I already did it with Amelie.”

“That's your goal then? To take Kamilla's bounty in order to gain favor with Erika?”

“Sure. Once Isabella is out of the picture, Erika will have no choice but to welcome me home. Hell, she might even give me Kamilla's old job, seeing as how the position just opened up.”

The corner of Rene's lip lifted as she settled into her chair.

“Sure is a tall order for somebody you seem to have no respect for...” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“It's quite clear you and Erika haven't seen eye to eye for a while now. What makes you think she's suddenly going to warm up to you just because you offed some royal brat?” Lynne started to say something, but Rene continued. “This is supposed to be a private contract. There is no paper trail, no evidence to link it a kidnapping or an assassination back to Erika... It has to be. If Kamilla were to fail, Erika couldn't risk the contract being traced back to her.”

“So?”

“So, why would she come out in the open if you announce you're the one who succeeded in removing Isabella from the throne? More than likely, she'll play the innocent card and have you sentenced for crimes against Ellewyn. In the end, she gets what she wants, her hands remain clean, and you take the fall for what seemed like an impossible mission. Does that really sound like something you want?”

The legs of Lynne's chairs hit the floor and she twirled a lock of blue hair.

“Not when you put it that way,” she said.

“I have a different proposition for you,” the redhead continued. “Of course, it will require you not putting your sword through my chest or a dart in my neck, but I think I know how we can clear your name of any wrongdoing...and, at the same time, remove somebody from power who has done a lot more wrong to you than Queen Isabella.”

“...Erika?”

“Precisely.”

Lynne's grin reached from ear to ear.

“Do tell,” she said.

“We plant evidence that Erika secretly hired Kamilla to assassinate Isabella. It will require some creative manipulation on our part, but Erika will have a hard time denying any of it since we're not really framing her, but rather exposing her.”

“And then she'll be the one to go to jail for the crimes she has committed...”

“And you can be the hero who stopped Kamilla by kidnapping her daughter and forcing her to come after you.”

“Yes!” Lynne jumped up. “Yes, I love it. I finally get the recognition that I deserve.”

“Yes... And you'll never again have to worry about Erika getting in your way.”

“It almost seems too good to be true.” Lynne wiped her brow. She couldn't believe it. She was so excited she was actually perspiring. “...But what do you get out of all of this?”

Rene shrugged.

“Hopefully you won't kill me,” she said.

“Only if you try to put a knife in my back.”

They both laughed.

“No, but really,” Lynne said, suddenly becoming serious. “You even attempt to pull something over on me and I'll gut you just like I did to Kam. Believe me.”

“Uh-huh.”

Lynne grinned, took a final swig of ale, and picked up her katana.

“Come on,” she said. “I have Kam's daughter locked up in that old farmhouse down the road. Let's pay her a visit.”

Rene followed her out the door, but took one moment to look back at Kamilla's body, cold on the floor.

“Right,” she said, pulling up her hood.
 
 
-------------------------


Rebecca stood at the window of her bedroom, dressed in a long black bed robe, and stared out over the endless rows of vineyards below. She must have been standing there for an hour, looking at nothing, until she at last shuddered and closed the curtains. The candles inside the room flickered and made her skin glow as she moved towards the bed. The floorboards creaked even after she had stopped and caused her to turn her attention towards the door.

“I thought I shut you already,” she muttered to herself, and walked across the room.

When she shut the door and turned back around, her heart jumped, for there was her daughter, standing amidst the candlelight, with a blank expression on her face and white in her eyes.

“Olivia...” Rebecca gasped.

“Hello, mother.”

“How did you get in here? I mean...” She moved closer, but nervously and with some trepidation. “Olivia, it's so good to see you again. I...”

“Enough with the lies. If you wanted to see me, you would have came. I sat in darkness for three whole years without so much as a single visit.”

“I couldn't bear to see you that way. All twisted and torn up inside. You were lost inside your own madness.” She reached a hand up and touched Olivia's cheek. “And now... You look so cold and tired, my dear. You are not well. Why don't you rest for a while? I will have the servants bring you some of that tea you love so much.”

“I am not drinking your poison, nor am I staying around long enough for your goons to lock me again. By morning, I will be far away from this place, and you will not see me again.”

“Do not speak of such things, Olivia! You cannot go anywhere in this condition. Stay with me. We'll make you better.”

“I will be fine. I do quite well on my own...” Olivia turned towards the window. “There's an old oak tree with carvings on it. You can see it from the window. Go there in the morning and you'll find Vlanis' body. I didn't have the strength to carry it back.”
 
Rebecca looked horrified. “You...you murdered her!?”
 
“I took her life, if that's what you mean. But only because she was trying to take mine...by what she claims were your orders.”
 
“What!? Olivia, you know I would never do such a thing!”
 
“I know, mother.” Olivia stood silently for a minute. Her eyes were barely visible through the drooping spiderwebs of her hair. “...Before you left me to rot in that cell, you took something that was dear to me. I want him back.”
 
“Is this about your imaginary friend again? Olivia, I—”
 
“Kadaj is not imaginary, mother.” There was an eerie calmness to her voice. “He is real. I have seen him, I have felt him, and I know he exists. Do not play games with me.”
 
“Well, you will not find him here, Olivia. He was...disposed of...along with all your other childhood memories.”
 
“You never were a good liar.”
 
“You are free to look around the manor as long as you'd like.” Rebecca stepped back and spread her arms as if to welcome Olivia to look anywhere she pleased. “This is, after all, your home.”
 
“You hid him away then.”

Rebecca shook her head. “If...if I had an imaginary friend, I would thank the person who finally got rid of such a creature for me. I can only imagine the kind of embarrassment one would feel, being a full-grown adult—and a beautiful one at that—and still talking to shadows and little monsters under her bed...”
 
“What did you do with him, mother?”
 
“As I said, all your childish toys and games are gone. Now is time to be a grown-up lady.”
 
“...My tiara then. Where is my tiara?”
 
“Your tiara?”
 
“What did you do with it?”
 
“Why, I gave it to Queen Isabella as a charity piece for the next fencing tournament. What does that matter?”
 
“I want it back.”

“I'm sorry, my dear. I had to give it away.” She took her daughter's hand and held it tight. “But stay with me for the night. We will go retrieve your tiara in the morning and talk about all the wonderful things that have transpired since you've been away.”

“You are dead to me, mother,” Olivia said, withdrawing her hand. “What you have done is unforgivable. Who locks her daughter in a prison, feeds her poison, and never comes to see her?”
 
“You're speaking madness,” Rebecca said. Then she gasped. “Are...are you going to kill me...just like you killed Vlanis? Is this what it has come to? Dai Celesta, forgive me for raising my daughter to be a murderer...”
 
 Olivia moved towards the door.
 
“Do not follow me,” she said, opening it. “And pray we do not meet again, for I have a difficult time restraining myself even now.”
 
 “Olivia... Even after all you have done, I still love you.”

“Good-bye, mother.”

Rebecca stood alone in the darkness as all of the candles blew out when the door slammed shut.

 
-------------------------


 Amelie wriggled around in her bindings. Flames were blazing all around her, but she had managed to inch her way into the corner of the room, and was trying desperately to free herself. A beam from above crashed down and the flames were soon over her head.

“Help!” she screamed, for what felt like the fiftieth time, even though she knew it was no use. There was nobody around for miles. The fire soon engulfed the whole house and smoke filled her eyes. Coughing, she ran her palms across the floorboards until she found a nail that hadn't quite been pounded in all the way, and she began rubbing the bindings of her wrists against it. Only her hands and legs were tied up. If she could free her hands, then maybe...

The ceiling above crashed down, nearly on top of her, and she began working the bindings faster. The threads stretched and broke little by little.

Outside, the heavy beating of a horse's hooves filled the night. They became louder and louder as Fallon rode up the hill towards the burning farmhouse. The red ribbons in her hair fluttered out behind her as she rounded the house on horseback, calling out Amelie's name.

“I'm in here!” Amelie screamed, and she screamed even louder as the fire suddenly cackled and flames shot up all around her. With a final push, the ropes around her wrists finally snapped in half, and she quickly wrestled with the bindings on her legs while the fire raged on.

“I'm coming, Amelie,” Fallon said, leaping off the horse. The entire porch was engulfed in flames, so she grabbed a blanket that was thrown over the horse's back and began wrapping it around her hand while she moved towards the window on the side of the house and smashed it open.

By now, Amelie had freed herself from the rest of her bindings, and tried to stand up. The ceiling had almost completely caved in on her, so she had to keep her head low, and she shielded herself from the red inferno as she tried to find a way out.

“I can't see anything!” she shouted.

“Just keep talking. I'll find you.”

Fallon worked her way through the maze of fallen beams and blazing furniture, climbing over and sliding under whenever necessary, while following the sound of Amelie's voice to the back of the farmhouse.

“Amelie, I see you. I need you to come closer to me.”

“I can't. I...”

A loud pop was heard and a beam crashed down in front of Fallon. She kicked it out of the way with her heel and jumped over it, rolling under another beam, and reached Amelie just as the bed and dresser from the upper floor crashed down around them.

“Come on,” Fallon said, squeezing Amelie's hand. She led the girl through the burning wreckage and back to the window.

“Wait,” Amelie said. She crawled over to the corner, despite falling debris around her, and grabbed something out of the jumbled mess below.

Fallon didn't have time to stop her, but again wrapped the blanket around her hand and cleared out the rest of the shattered glass from the windowpane. By the time Amelie had returned, the glass was gone, and she hoisted Amelie through the opening before climbing through herself.

Still coughing, they moved a safe distance away into the grass before circling around the farmhouse to where Fallon's horse was waiting for them.

“It was Lynne,” was the first thing out of Amelie's lips when they fell to the grass to catch their breaths. “She grabbed me and took me here and then tried to burn the place down.”

Fallon panted.

“She said something about wanting to lead my mom into a trap. We have to stop her!”

Amelie was already on her feet before Fallon could stop her.

“...Amelie...” Fallon said. “Is Kamilla your mother?”

Amelie stopped in her tracks and turned around.

“Yes... How did you know?”

There was a look of concern on Fallon's face. She cupped her face in her hands and inhaled slowly, and then gestured for Amelie to have a seat next to her. Behind her, the farmhouse continued to blaze, with the flames reaching high into the night.

“I found your mother an hour ago at a tavern in the Crossroads.” Her voice trailed off. “Amelie...”

“She's dead, isn't she?”

“I'm sorry, Amelie. Lynne got to her before I could...”

But Amelie had already taken off running—tearing down that hill towards the Crossroads—and dropped whatever it was in her hands.

Fallon lowered her head and hugged her knees to her chest. After a minute, she stood up and walked over to the object that Amelie had dropped. The thing that had been so important that she would risk going back into the fire to retrieve it.

Fallon knelt down and picked it up. It was charred and scuffed by the fire, but the red hair was still quite recognizable. She stared at the wig for a minute, turning it over in her hands, and then tucked it into her pouch. With a deep, silent sigh, she grabbed the reins of her horse and started after Amelie.

With their heads high and spirits low, the dark-colored mares pulling the Circus caravan followed the winding and weathered path towards Felwinter, trudging through patches of dried snow and fallen pine needles as they rounded yet another bow in the road. Even in the late summer, it was colder here, on the outskirts of the Enchanted Forest, and a nippy breeze blew down from the mountains to the north, causing the wagon canvases to flap and shiver.

The first light of dawn was stretching across the land, like one long shadow, and thousands of beads of dew glittered off the blue-green grass. Inside the wagon at the head of the caravan, Sophia had awoken abruptly once again, and laid there on her back for another five minutes before sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of her cot in frustration.

Her eyes were weary and bloodshot, and they looked noticeably darker than usual, even with all the black makeup she wore across her face.

Jesse looked up at her from where he was standing on her bedside table.

“Was it that nightmare again?” he asked. From the fixated expression on his face, he had been watching her for a while.

“Fuck me,” she said quietly. “Every night. I can't even close my eyes without seeing that girl.”

“Maybe you should talk to Michelle about this dream. I know you don't want to, but she's an Enchanter. She's good with dream interp—”

“No.”

The answer was harsh and sent the cramped little compartment into a long silence. They bounced along rhythmically in the wagon, with threads of morning light glittering through the holes in the walls.

“...I don't need her help with anything.” Sophia put her hands on her knees and stood up. She wasn't dressed in her usual Circus attire—the dark leather garb she had become she famous for—but her face was still plastered in white makeup, with carefully drawn black stripes down her eyes and lips. After an aching stretch, she moved towards the closet and began to sort through a colorful array of costumes for anything that was black.

Jesse turned his head to follow. “This isn't healthy, you know. I don't remember the last time you had a good night's sleep. Don't you think there is something strange about a repeated dream of a mysterious girl killing us all?”

“We're members of a freak show, if you haven't noticed. Everything is strange with us.”

“Yeah, but who do you think it is? Do you recognize the girl's face?”

“No.”

“Is it...Alyssa?”

Sophia slammed the closet door. “I don't want to hear that name again!”

“Sorry. I thought you were over that.” He paused, but continued to press her. “...We haven't seen her in over two years now. Don't you wonder what she is up to?”

“I haven't given her a thought since the day she decided the Circus life wasn't for her.”

The angry, flustered way in which she began to get dressed suggested she was lying.

“I haven't given her much thought either,” Jesse said, keeping the honesty in the room at an all-time low. “I just know how upset she makes you. It wouldn't surprise me if your dreams are about her. If you talk to Michelle—”

“Maybe Michelle is the girl in my dreams! Did you ever think about that?” Sophia threw on her pants and wrapped a leather belt around her waist. Her top never came down all the way, so the lower part of her stomach was exposed, and the silver-studded piercing in her belly button swung back and forth as she struggled to tighten the belt. “She already ruins my life during the day. Maybe she found a way to enter my dreams and ruin them at night, too.”

“I don't think Michelle would abuse her powers that way.”

“Oh, of course not. I mean, it's totally not Michelle's fault we're stuck in this fantasy world, running from the law, and trying not to get killed by—”

Suddenly, the wagon stopped moving and the horses began to buck and clap their hooves against the dirt road. From up above, they heard the muffled voices of Russell and Wallace calling out something, but they couldn't tell what it was.

“Sounds like trouble,” Jesse said.

Sophia sat on the cot and fumbled with her boots. “You go check it out. I'll be right there.”

“Right.” Jesse slid down the bed post and then whistled to Roy and Mack, who were playing cards on the other side of the room.

“Where's Jeff?” Jesse asked as they headed towards the man-sized hole in the wagon door.

The clown crawled out from under Sophia's worn leggings and waved to the rest of the guys.

“Right here!” he said.

“What were you...?”

“I dunno.”

“...Okay then.”

Once outside the wagon, the men were able to hear what Russell and Wallace were saying. Neil was up there too, manning the controls that allowed the men to steer the horses.

“There's a body in the middle of the road,” Russell said. “Female. Looks bad.”

“Can we go around her?” Jeff asked.

Jesse, Mack, and Roy took turns slapping him upside the head as they grabbed onto the front wagon wheel and climbed down.

Sure enough, as they rounded the front of the wagon, being sure to stay clear of the horses' hooves, they saw a woman sprawled out across the road, blocking their way. She was dressed in rags, but those parts of her skin that were visible were covered in dried blood. She had long hair that was frayed and drooping, like a willow tree in its final years, and her body was as thin and pale as a skeleton. Still, judging by the lines on her face and her cheekbones, she couldn't have been older than thirty years of age.

The men on the ground went to investigate while Russell and Wallace watched from above.

“Is she dead?” Jeff asked, even before they had reached the body. “I've never seen a real live dead person before.”

“That makes no sense, you idiot,” Mack said.

“You make no sense!”

“Would you two show some respect?” Jesse snapped. “What if she really is dead?”

“Then I don't think she'll mind us talking about her,” Jeff replied. “Duh, Jesse. And they think I'm the dumb one.”

By the time they reached the woman, she had been motionless for almost two minutes, and had given no sign of breathing.

“What do you think got her?” Jeff asked. “Lions? Tigers? Bears? Oh, my—maybe the same creature that got Bob and Guy!”

Roy studied her wounds up close, running his hand along the torn seams in her shirt, and then removed his hat. “...I think she's dead, gents.”

“Looks like she hasn't eaten in days.”

“That's good for us, right?”

Before anyone could answer him, the woman's eyes shot open, Jeff peed his pants, and the four of them were scooped up in the woman's hand as she rose to her feet.

“No!” Jeff cried. “I'm afraid of heights!”

“...You're a high-dive jumper,” Mack said. “How can you be afraid of heights?”

The woman held up her fist to her face.

“I don't want to hurt you,” she whispered. It was hard to tell if she was speaking in hushed tones because she was in actual pain or because she was trying to disguise her voice. Either way, her face would have been impossible to make out behind all that blood, which blanketed her skin like war paint. “But I will. It does not pain me to take a life.”

“You're the one who took Bob and Guy, aren't you?” Jesse asked coolly. “You won't get away with this.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“She has the boys!” Russell shouted from atop the wagon. “Sophia, Michelle—we need you!”

The wagon door busted open and Sophia jumped out.

“Get the fuck away from them,” she said. She had her lute in one hand and raised it over her hand as she ran towards the woman.

The woman took a shaky step backwards and almost fell.

“I'll kill them!” she cried. She squeezed her fingers and Sophia seemed to slow down. “I'll kill them. Don't think I won't.”

“What makes you think I care about them?” Sophia asked, calling her bluff. “They're just men. We can always buy more.”

The woman stumbled over her next words, unsure of what to say.

“What do you mean, 'We can always buy more'!?” Jeff blurted out. “We're a Circus act! We work together. It took years of training to get us to perform at the level we are today. And isn't Jesse your lover?”

“...Dammit, Jeff,” Mack said, pinching the space between his eyes. “Every time...”

“What?”

The woman tightened her grip and pinned the men to her chest.

“Back off or I'll kill them,” she said. “And then you'll have to get a whole new act put together.”

Grunting out a response, Sophia lowered her guitar just as Michelle climbed out of the other wagon and joined them.

“Pardon Sophia's rude behavior,” Michelle said, extending a friendly hand forward. The woman didn't buy the bait and keep her fingers locked around the men. “We are members of the Circus, a traveling band of adventurers who are simply looking to entertain and inspire. I am Mischievelle and this is Sophia Van Helen. We have no desire to do ill harm towards you, and I'm sure you feel the same unto us.”

“I've already told your men I won't hurt them, so long as you do what I ask.”

Michelle smiled.

“It does not take a mind-reader to figure out what you want,” she said. “Bandages for those wounds are a must. Your feet are bloody and swollen. If you don't see a doctor soon, you may never walk again.”

“I don't need a doctor.”

“Now, you are just being stubborn. You and Sophia will get along fine. If you would just follow me...” Michelle tried to put an arm around the woman, but the woman sidestepped her and again shook her fist.

“Medical supplies...” she whispered. “Just give me what you have.”

“You need more than that. Let us help you.” Michelle locked eyes with the woman and waved her hand over the woman's face. “You don't want to hurt us. You want us to help you.”

“What are you doing?” The woman stared at her blankly and then slapped her arm away. “Stop that.”

“...That's strange,” the gypsy muttered. “That usually works.”

 “Okay, we tried it your way, Michelle,” Sophia said. Grabbing the neck of her lute, she turned it around and twisted one of the knobs, causing a knife to shoot out the bottom side. Before the woman could react, the blade had nicked the base of her nose. “Now, we try my way.”

The woman gulped.

Sophia's arm remained steady. “Let them go or I'll spill the rest of your blood on the ground.”

“You do and I'll land on these men so I crush them all,” the woman said boldly.

“You do and I'll tear out your organs one by one, stick them in a grinder, and make you drink them.”

“You do and I'll—”

“Enough from both of you!” Michelle said. “You two fight like children.” She turned to Sophia. “...Sophia, she's made it clear she doesn't want to hurt us. She just wants some of our supplies.”

“And your money,” the woman replied quickly.

“And our money.”

“And...” The woman's tongue licked the corner of her lips. “A horse.”

“Now you're pushing it.”

The woman squeezed her hand and Jeff's head nearly popped off.

“I'll get you a full medical kit and two hundred in gold coins,” Michelle answered, trying to calm her down. “Two hundred is more than enough to get you wherever you are going. Anymore and we'll be broke. I'll also give you one of the smaller horses in the back. They're not as strong as the others, but they're fast and they don't eat much. I imagine that's what you're looking for. Do we have a deal?”

The woman nodded. “...Fine. But hurry.”

Michelle went to fetch the supplies while Sophia lowered her weapon.

“If I do find out you're the one who took Bob and Guy, I'll make you pay,” she whispered. “These people are my family. They may be nothing to you, but they mean everything to me. You don't mean spit.”

“I know more about family than you know. I just want my supplies and I'll be on my way.” The woman apologized to the men in her hand again. “This is nothing personal.”

“No problem,” Roy said, giving her a thumbs up. “I kinda like it.”

The woman smiled, but only for an instant, as Michelle was quick to return. She carried with her a carefully folded wool blanket, two sacks full of coins, a three days' supply of bread and vegetables, and a small crate full of gauze bandages, healing potions, and herbs.

“These are our emergency provisions,” she said. “Anything more and we wouldn't have enough supplies for ourselves. I hope you understand.”

“Tie them to the horse and bring her here.”

Michelle nodded and untied one of the small black mares in the back of the caravan. She laid the blankets behind the saddle, strapped the supplies in place, and calmly led the steed to where the woman was waiting.

“She's all yours,” Michelle said, moving back. “Is there anything else?”

The woman grabbed the reins of the horse with her free hand.

“...I want one of your costumes,” she said.

“What?”

“A costume. I need new clothes to wear.” Her eyes went from Michelle to Sophia. “But I want them in my size.”

“Fuck you,” Sophia said. “You aren't getting anything.”

“I wonder if men can fly.” She raised her hand. “Should we find out?”

“Why do you want a costume? We have normal clothes.”

“Bring me a costume. Now.”

“...Fine,” Sophia hissed, storming back to the wagon. “I hope you like black.”

The woman waited patiently for her return. When she did, they made the exchange—the four men for the Circus outfit—and the woman mounted the horse. The pain in her side must have been great, though, because she nearly fell.

Michelle helped her back on and the woman thanked her before clicking her heels together at the horse's side and galloping off, bouncing loosely in her saddle as they crossed through the meadow and eventually disappeared over the hillside.

When she was at last gone, Sophia stuffed three of the men—all except Jesse, who she placed on her shoulder—into Michelle's palm.

“It's good to know we can always count on you when we're being robbed, Michelle,” she said sarcastically. “Now, hear this! 'When threatened with the lives of others, Michelle will give away everything we own.' I'm surprised you didn't offer her one of our wagons.”

Michelle's eyes were on the hillside.

“There was something off about her,” she said. “Did you see that wild look in her eyes? Like a savage. And she was immune to my powers. If her ambush wasn't so carefully planned out, I'd say she was crazy.”

“You're the one who's crazy for giving her all of our stuff. 'Emergency provisions,' my ass. That was everything we own!”

“Not everything. We still have each other.”

“Can it, Michelle. Now, we'll have to find the nearest town and restock. Unless you gave away our map too.”

“...We did a good thing here today. We helped somebody who was really in distress. Isn't that what the Circus code is all about?”

But Sophia's eyebrows were slanted.

“We're vigilantes—not clerics, Michelle,” she said. “If you want to mend broken spirits and give false hope to people, why don't you join the church and leave the ass-kicking to the professionals?”

 
-------------------------


It was nighttime in the pearl farms again, and the day workers had left on the tiny wooden ships bound for Little Penee, while the pirates were forced to stay behind and inspect the inventory once more. It had become almost routine for them. Harvest pearls by day, inspect by night. There was very little time between working shifts, so the scarce amount of sleep they could squeeze in left them weary, sluggish and bloody-eyed. Their muscles were stiff. Their arms were like candy. They talked mostly in murmurs, like drones in a factory, and yet they remained hopeful that this would all be behind them soon enough.

“What's the first thing you're going to do when you get out of here, cap'n?” Blackthorn asked, rolling yet another pearl into a cargo box for shipping. It wasn't the first time he had asked this question, but the fatigue made them all delirious.

“Gonna build me a new ship,” Jargon said. He had an open bottle of rum tucked under his arm, making the work more difficult than it needed to be. “Even better than the old one. And I ain't going to make any bets with a snake-tongued wench like Fayrelin again.” When the next pearl was loaded, the captain wiped the long hair from his brow, and took a hardy swig of ale.

“Now you're talkin'. No more deals with those rotten pygmies. This is a man's crew!”

“Hear, hear!” Jargon passed him the bottle.

Exthame, the best of the bunch, remained at his post, sober and hard at work.

“I wish you guys wouldn't say bad things about Fay behind her back,” he said. “After all, she was kind enough to keep us aboard the ship after she won it from you. She could've thrown us all overboard.”

“Aye, but a man should not be serving a pygmy. These mermaids got it all wrong.”

“That they do, cap'n,” Blackthorn agreed.

Exthame shook his head, but said no more.

It was quiet for a while. Then, there came a three note whistle of attention, and in walked Bruzzeli, strutting about like he owned the place. He had a wrench in his hand and he swung it loosely, banging it against his thigh.

“Good evening, gentleman,” he said. His gaze went from Jargon to Blackthorn to Exthame to Coop. He looked over his shoulder and then raised his left eyebrow when he saw there was nobody else in the room. “I'm looking for Malkav. You guys seen 'im?”

“Got a lot of people coming in here and looking for Malkav,” Coop said, hiding his face in a clipboard. “Don't mean we know where he's at.”

Bruzzeli chuckled. “That's funny, old man, because I was under the impression that you were all assigned to night duty. Ain't that right? All part of the plan.”

“I don't know of this 'plan' of which you speak. I'm just here to count pearls and mind my own.”

Bruzzeli spit on the floor and wiped it in with his boot.

“Don't tell me we're really taking this saggy sack of bones with us,” he said. “I'm surprised he hasn't ratted us out yet.”

Coop's eyes remained on the clipboard and his expression steadfast. “Like I said, I'm only here to mind my own. Your business is none of mine.” He pushed his eyeglasses along the ridge of his nose and returned to inventorying.

“Leave him alone,” Jargon said. “Ol' Coop has just as much right to be a part of this crew as the rest of us.”

“Yeah, except he's not taking any risks. We are.” His swung his body back towards Coop. “You hear that, old man? What do you bring to the table?”

“That's enough,” Exthame said. “We already told you we don't know where Malkav is. He left here early with Adam.”

“What could he be up to?”

“We don't know.”

“Well, don't you think it's a little strange he would leave with the big one and not tell you guys where he's going?” He leaned back on a crate and folded his arms across his chest. It was obvious he had been drinking, but, then again, who in this room hadn't? “Maybe this kid has some plans of his own. You ever think about that?”

“You have some real trust issues you need to work on, Bruzzeli.”

“Yeah, maybe. Maybe.” He spat again. “But just in case you're purposely trying to keep me in the dark, let me remind you I'm the only one with the outside resources to make this escape possible. Without me, you're as dead when you reach the surface as you would be in here.”

“So you've told us. Many times.”

“Well, make it many times and one! We're all in this together. Blood brothers, you know.”

“Why don't you make yourself useful and keep watch while we take a nap?” Jargon murmured. “These twenty-two hour work days are killing me.”

“I don't think so. I only came here to find Malkav. When you see him, tell him I got word from topside. We're on.” He started to walk away, but then stopped, hovering about in the doorway for a moment, and took a firm grip on the wrench handle. “Hey, old man.” He stepped over to Coop and knocked the clipboard from his hand.

Coop ignored him—and the pain in his back—as he knelt down to pick it up.

“Let me tell you something,” Bruzzeli said, towering over him. “I know you're probably thinking, 'If I turn them in, maybe the mermaids will take pity on a wrinkled old fart like me.' You probably think you got nothing to lose by ratting us out. Maybe so, but I would hate to see something happen to your son.”

“My son...?” Coop's voice trailed off and he stood back up slowly, leaving the clipboard where it had fallen.

“Yeah, your precious little boy. You think you can hide secrets from us? Don't you know I have eyes and ears everywhere?” He sneered when he saw a twitch in Coop's mustache whiskers. It wasn't much of a reaction, but it was enough. “Don't worry. My boys are taking real good care of him. Turns out he got mixed up with the wrong crowd when you went and got locked up here. My boys did him a favor, and now he owes them.”

Coop leaned into him. “Don't you hurt my son.” There was still power in his aging voice.

“Relax. Nobody's gonna get hurt. Just like nobody's gonna rat us out. Right?”

“I already told you. I'm not a snitch.”

“See to it that you aren't, or your boy just might end up as fish food. Like father, like son, eh?” Sliding the wrench into his back pocket, Bruzzeli turned to leave, with Coop staring at him until he was long out of sight. The twitch returned to his mustache and he stepped over the clipboard, only to fall back on a crate, clutching his chest.

“You okay, old man?” Jargon asked.

“I just...” Coop wheezed. “I just need to sit down for a minute.” He fell to the cement floor, gasping, and watched the ceiling lights sway back and forth. “...I haven't thought about my son for years. I thought he was dead.”

 
-------------------------


The woman rode through the meadows for what felt like hours, bouncing on the saddle of the black mare as she faded in and out of consciousness. The sun was a dizzying blur overhead. She stared at it, squinting, until her eyes rolled to the back of her head and and she leaned down on the horse's neck.

With the last of her strength, she steered the horse to a small cave, hidden amongst the brush and foliage, and rolled off. She didn't even tie the horse up as she grabbed what she could from behind the horse's saddle and stumbled towards the cave entrance, where a familiar spirit was waiting for her.

“I never thought I would approve of my granddaughter becoming a highway robber,” the spirit said. “Still, these are desperate times...”

The woman pushed past her, clawing at the rocks on the wall, and finally collapsed to her knees inside the cave. The stolen belongings in her arms spilled across the floor. She landed next to them, cheek against the cold earth, and exhaled slowly.

The spirit followed her into the cave and knelt down. “My dear Olivia, you look terrible. It is a good thing you would never let your poor old grandmother see you like this.”

With a ghostly hand, the spirit touched the back of Olivia's head and helped her to sit up. Then, the spirit's hand glowed, a bright blue ethereal flame, and the color slowly returned to the girl's face.

“I can't do that again,” Olivia said. “Did you see them? Those men had done me no wrong... And I was going to hurt them. I was as bad as Isabella or May.”

“I hardly think you warrant being compared to the likes of them.” Gwendolyn smiled. “I know my granddaughter well. I've watched over you every day, even after my death, and I dare say you are kindest soul in the world. If you look into your heart, I'm sure you know you were never going to hurt anybody. You simply had to make it seem real.”

“But Vlanis. I killed...” Olivia clutched her side and winched in pain. “I didn't mean...”

“Vlanis was a wicked woman. In her youth, she showed a great deal of promise, but she soon became bitter and resentful of the Sienna family name. She was thirsty for power. I tried to tell your mother about her, but I guess my warnings fell on deaf ears... At least we were able to keep Vlanis from becoming a Paladin. That organization has already become corrupted enough in darkness.”

“But what was that? That sword...” Olivia stared at the glowing epee on the floor. She had kept it wrapped in one of the blankets, but it must have come undone when she dropped everything. Now, it watched her, glowing in various shades of purple.

“That epee has been in our family for generations,” Gwendolyn said. “My grandmother passed it down to my mother, who passed it down to me.”

“But I found it buried in the vineyard. Why didn't you give it to my mother?”

“I think we both know the answer to that question, Olivia.” She motioned towards the blade. “Every time a member of the Sienna family dies, the epee becomes stronger. Within that sword, you hold the power of your greatest ancestors.”

“Then they helped me kill Vlanis...”

“She would've killed you—and many more innocent souls—if she had lived. Believe me, you did all of Adelais a great favor by ridding the world of her.”

“I'm not a murderer…” Ignoring the throbbing pain in her side, Olivia crawled towards her belongings and gathered them into a small pile. Next to her was a large, flat rock that would serve as a table.

She reached for the epee and laid it down on the rock so gently that it might as well have been made of glass. Then, hugging her knees into her chest, she stared at it for a long time. The purple flame was gone, but the eyes of the skull remained fixated on her, and it made her shudder. Eventually, she grabbed the blanket and threw it over top of the rock.

“It's okay to use the weapon sparingly,” Gwendolyn said, sitting next to her. “Many of our ancestors were great warriors. These days, our words serve us better in battle, but it is good to fight when you must.”

“Would I have killed those merchants if I had pointed the sword at them?”

“No. Not if you didn't intend to. The epee simply gives you the power to do what must be done in the current situation.”

Olivia nodded numbly and her eyes returned to the pile on the floor. Reaching down, she picked up a sack of gold in each hand and plopped them on the rock. They were heavier than she remembered. Untying them carefully, she dumped out the gold pieces and began to count. Between what she had here, the treasure she had found in the altar beneath the vineyard, and the trinkets she had stolen from her mother's dresser—she had made close to five hundred gold coins. Maybe seven hundred when she got her mother's jewelry appraised.

“It's not much,” Olivia said, and it certainly wasn't for one of the richest women in all of Ellewyn. “But it's too late to go back to Haledon, and I'm not robbing another caravan. I don't know what I would've done if those women hadn't had men with them. Strange that they were one of the few who actually seem to care about such creatures...”

“Not all women are as callous as your mother, Olivia.”

“I know...” She grabbed a handful of gold coins and began to stuff them back into the bags. “This will have to do. I can survive for a year on this if I live hand-to-mouth.”

“In Kaligar, it will be better if you keep a low profile. Having very little money is one way to do that.”

Next, Olivia began to stack the food on the rock. She nibbled at an apple, but her stomach ached and she still tasted blood, so she saved the rest for later.

“Those merchants were very kind to give me so much,” she said, staring at the week's worth of food in front of her.

“You can eat after we take care of those wounds. Come on.”

Olivia climbed onto the rock, put the medical kit in her lap, and opened it up. She wasn't sure what to do next, but her grandmother walked her through the process of bandaging her own wounds, and she was a quick learner. Before long, she was stripped down to her undergarments, and the bandages had been applied. She found a small hand mirror at the bottom of the kit, so she used that to wipe the dried blood from her skin, using a damp rag from a pool of cave water.

“You're beginning to look like your old self,” Gwendolyn said.

Olivia finished cleansing her face and put down the rag. “Yes, I am...” Holding onto the wall for support, she stood up. Her legs were still shaky, but she was able to lean forward and wedge the mirror between two rocks. Then, stepping back so that she was in full view of her reflection, she folded over a corner of the blanket and reached for the epee.

She studied it for a while, turning the metal blade over in her palm, and then gazed into her reflection. Holding her breath, she grabbed a lock of her long, beautiful, curly hair, and yanked it firmly. Then she raised the epee and chopped it off.

The first one was the hardest. She grabbed another fistful of hair and raised the epee again. Snip by snip, her black tresses fell to the cave floor, creating a small pile at her feet that continued to grow until she barely recognized herself.

When she was done, her bangs were gone and her hair was so short that the back of her neck was completely exposed.

“...You didn't have to do that,” Gwendolyn said. “The people of Kaligar don't keep tabs on what the royal members of Ellewyn look like.”

“I'm not going to Kaligar.” Olivia bent down. The only item left on the floor was the costume, which she began to slip into.

“What?” For a ghost, Gwendolyn turned noticeably pale. “Killing Isabella is not the answer. This land needs a queen more than you know.”

“I have no intention of killing Isabella. Why would you even suggest that?” When she was finished getting dressed, Olivia admired herself in the mirror. The costume was black fabric with gold lining down the arms and leggings, like something a matador would wear. The shoulderpads fit comfortably, but there was still a gap of skin between them and the bottom of her hair. This would take some time to get used to. She patted the jagged ends of her hair and turned around. “After all, we've seen how successful that plot has been for everybody else.”

“What's your plan then?”

Olivia reached the last item of the costume—a black face mask—and slipped it over her eyes.

 
-------------------------


Meanwhile, back at the pearl farms, Malkav, Adam, and Fayrelin had run into trouble. What kind of trouble, you ask?

Mermaid trouble, of course.

Selena and Nerin were back, swatting Adam back and forth with their tails like a volleyball, while Malkav and Fayrelin yelled at them from the shoreline.

“I'm so glad we decided to ditch night school for this,” Selena said.

“Get me down from here!” Adam screamed.

Nerin power-slapped him with her tail, sending him spiraling in the other direction. “Yeah. And this time, there's no patrol to stop us. Everybody is too busy getting ready for the opera.”

“Opera is sooo boring. I'm not even going. Are you?”

“I dunno. My mom is making me.”

“You have no right to do this!” Fayrelin was saying. “Do you have any clue who I work for? I'm a pygmy, and you are interfering with official business for Zana.”

“We're sorry—what did you say?” Selena asked. “We can't hear you. It must be all this water in our ears.”

Fayrelin opened her mouth to speak, but Selena's tail slapped Adam—and then the surface of the water—causing a huge wave to soak her from head to toe.

Both of the mermaids pointed and laughed at the dripping wet pygmy.

“Loser,” Nerin said, making an 'L' with her thumb and forefinger as she batted Adam back towards her friend. “You bipedals are so gullible.”

Fayrelin brushed the hair from her eyes. “Of all the worthless characters to get a second cameo...”

“Forget them,” Malkav said. “We've found where we can enter the aqueducts from. Let's just figure out a way to rescue Adam and get out of here.”

“So, this is interesting,” Selena said. “We have noodle arms...” She pointed to Malkav. “Spaghetti sauce...” She pointed to Fayrelin's auburn hair. “And a meatball.” She took another whack at Adam and laughed. “It's like we have an entire pasta dinner!”

“Uh, girls...” Adam's face turned green as he continued to somersault through the air. “I think I'm getting seasick.”

“Shut up, meatball.”

“So, who gets to eat whom?” Nerin asked. “There are three of them and only two of us.”

Selena pondered the question. “Hm, you're right. That's not very fair. It's like they're forcing us to fight amongst ourselves.”

“Well, surely I should get the extra one, seeing as how it's my birthday next week.”

“Ah, but it was my birthday last week.”

“That's true. How come all mermaids are Pisces?”

“I dunno, but I wouldn't be a good friend if I ate two and only left one for you. What do you say we split the meatball in half?”

“I would like that very much.”

“Okay. High five!”

They tail-slapped each other in midair, smashing Adam between their colorful glittering gills, and he fell into the water between them, gasping for air. Without stopping to think, he swam to the shore, where Malkav and Fayrelin helped him to his feet.

“We're going to eat you now,” Selena said. “And don't try that whole 'running away' thing because it's so cliché. In case you didn't know, mermaids are actually very capable on land.”

“Now would be a great time to come up with one of those plans of yours,” Fayrelin whispered into Malkav's ear.

“I'm working on it.”

“Working on it!?”

He pushed Adam and Fayrelin behind him. “You two make a run for the pygmy tower. I'll hold them off.”

“That's your plan?”

“Go!” he shouted, and he gave them a push forward. They went stumbling up the beach while the mermaids laughed at them.

“Look at the meatball try to run!” Nerin giggled.

“That's my friend you're talking about,” Malkav said. He spread his legs and took a firm stance in the sand, glaring up at the mermaids and their long, silky hair.

“No...that's our dinner we're talking about,” Selena said, and the mermaids laughed again. “I've seen sea slugs that were harder to catch. How long have you fish been here anyway? It's a wonder you haven't been eaten yet.”

“It's hardly a wonder,” Malkav said. “If you girls want them so badly, you'll have to get through me first.”

Selena and Nerin tried to compose themselves, but the sight of a man trying to stop them only brought another round of giggles to their lips.

“Would you like noodle arms, best friend of mine?” Selena asked.

Nerin nodded and her tail twitched excitedly. “It would be my pleasure.” Then, slapping her palms down on either side of Malkav, she threw her body forward and opened her mouth. Malkav didn't have a chance to move. Her teeth snapped down around him and she rose back to her full height, with her cheeks puffed out.

“How was he?” Selena asked.

Nerin crossed her eyes and gagged. Scrunching her face, she opened her mouth, stuck out her tongue, and a ton of sand poured out. The man was nowhere to be found.

The mermaids turned back to the beach. Nerin's handprints were still in the sand, but there was a divot in between where Malkav had been standing. Had he escaped into the hole?

Suddenly, there was a rumbling, and Malkav burst from the sand a few feet away, clutching the Scarab of Earth in his hand. It burned with a green glow, and so did the color of his eyes.

“Get him!”

Selena disappeared into the water. For a moment, the water was still. Then she sprung up, uncoiling her body the air, and dove straight for Malkav. A growing shadow was cast over his body as she came down.

She wasn't wasting any time trying to eat him. She was just going to land on him and crush him flat.

Malkav plunged his fist into the ground. The scarab glowed even brighter, and then he ripped out his hand and a torrent of sand came with it. Selena's body was pelted with a million tiny grains and she was thrown through the air, landing on the beach on her side and flopping around like a fish out of water.

“He got sand in my eyes!” she cried, rubbing at them furiously.

“He got sand in my mouth,” Nerin said. She spit out another mouthful of sand. “Uck.”

“He is so dead.”

But for a dead man, Malkav sure could run. He took off in the opposite direction as Adam and Fayrelin—who, by now, had almost reached the pygmy tower—and it wasn't long before the mermaids were chasing him. They had both taken to the water, but there wasn't enough space between the shoreline and the high vertical seawall next to him to feel safe, so he kept on running.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, realizing they were gaining on him. The seawall continued on for what looked like a mile at his height. But the mermaids would be upon him any second, and he couldn't take on them both. Not at the same time. Not without the element of surprise. Not a chance.

He wondered what he would taste like with tartar sauce. He hoped they would choke.

Running out of steam, Malkav was just about to turn around and face them when an arm extended down from the wall. Not looking up to see if it was Adam or Fayrelin, he grabbed onto the hand, planted his feet on the side of the seawall, and began to climb. Just as he reached the top, the full weight of Nerin and Selena's bodies crashed into the seawall. He flew forward, just missing their desperate swipes at his legs.

His rescuer pulled him to his feet and they took off through the alleyway, finally stopping to catch their breaths when the angry cries from the mermaids turned to vicious taunts and then finally to vows of revenge.

“Pretty gutsy thing you did there,” the rescuer said, and now Malkav realized it was neither Adam nor Fayrelin who had saved him. “Not every man will go toe-to-toe with a mermaid like that. Figuratively speakin', o' course.”

“Wanker...” Malkav quickly pocketed the scarab that was in his hand. “What are you doing here?”

“Savin' your hide—what does it look like?”

“I didn't need rescued.”

“I'm sure you were just lulling them into a false sense of security. I'm just doing my part to help out. No need to thank me.” Wanker dusted the sand from Malkav's clothes and grinned. “What was up with that sand attack? Impressive stuff. Not everyone can do that.”

“You still didn't tell me what you're doing here.”

“...You got a lot of powerful enemies, you know that?”

“Yeah. I'm aware.”

Wanker jerked his thumb back towards the wall. “Well, Zana sent those mermaids after you.”

“What? Why would she do that?”

“Uh, 'cause she's a lowdown, two-faced, backstabbin' barnacle who would sell her own mother for a stiff drink?”

“Good point.”

“Yeah, she suspected you and the redheaded pig were up to something. Tried to sweet-talk me into bein' her snitch. Ya know, look into things for her where a pig can't get close. 'Course, Zana's kind of sweet-talk could strip paint from a stone wall. But once I made her see I wasn't for sale to the likes of her, I guess she decided to quit wasting her threats on me and put 'em directly on the source of her ire.” He looked at Malkav sideways and raised a single eyebrow at him.

“Guess so.” Malkav brushed him aside. “Anyway, thanks for your help. I can take it from here.”

Wanker watched him leave. “What were you doing anyway? You and that pig—what were you doing? Malkav? ...Hey, Malkav. I'm talkin' to you. Get back here!”

But Malkav kept on walking.

“Malkav!”

When he was gone, Wanker kicked over the trash can next to him, cursed, and stormed back down the alleyway.

Selena and Nerin were waiting for him, their forearms stretched over the side of the seawall.

“I thought we gave them a good scare,” Nerin said. “Did you see the expression on their faces? I thought the meatball was going to pee his pants.”

Wanker looked up at the mermaids. “It wasn't good enough. He still doesn't trust me.”

“Well, that's not our fault,” Selena said. “We did our part.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Look. You better pay up, fish.”

“I said I'm good for my word, and I am.”

“Whatever.” Selena flicked her tail. “Come on, Nerin. Let's get out of here before I eat this fish just for the fun of it.”

“You'd probably get some kind of disease from him,” Nerin giggled, and she stuck her tongue out at Wanker. “See ya later, fish. Try not to get eaten by somebody prettier than us.”

The mermaids dove back into the water, but not without first smashing through the wall with their tails and laughing as the stone crumbled to the earth.

As they bounced happily through the water, Wanker stepped into the hole left in the wall and scowled at them. “That's right. Just keep swimmin'. I'll find out what those two are up to on my own...”

Zuckergewurz. A tiny village inside the Enchanted Forest, so small that it hardly made a speck on most maps. From atop the roof of the wooden chapel in the center of the town, one could faintly make out the bell tower of Castle Felwinter through the mist and clouds in the distance. Not that the residents of this quaint village cared about such things. The world outside Zuckergewurz was as mysterious as the air behind those lofty, slow-moving clouds, and just as far away. There were no roads leading here. No dusty trails for wandering travelers to stumble across. No mercenaries looking get rich. No noble couriers riding in from the grassy meadows, heralding messages from the queen.

And so, when the Circus rode into town one fine morning, it was quite the hullabaloo.

“What's wrong with these people?” Sophia brought the horses to a halt. She and Michelle had to abandon the wagons at the edge of town, for so many of the townspeople had gathered around to admire their caravan that they couldn't pass through.

“Hey, idiots!” Sophia snapped. “You want to move out of the way before you get trampled like men?”

“Show some manners,” Michelle said, taking her hand and leading her through the crowd like a child. They tried to get through unnoticed, but their strange and colorful garments attracted so much attention that they were soon engulfed by another wave of curious onlookers, asking them a volley of questions, like who they were, where they had come from, what they were doing here, and what was inside the wagons. In fact, there were so many questions flying at them at once that Michelle and Sophia never had time to answer or even to breathe the fresh mountain air all around them.

“Would you all kindly SHUT THE FUCK UP?” Sophia screamed. “We're just here for supplies. Geez, people.”

“What kind of supplies?”

“Are you witches?”

“Where did you get those clothes?”

“Can we have some clothes too?”

“So help me, I'll kill you all...” Sophia muttered.

But before she could decide on the best method of murder, an elderly woman with gray hair tied up in a bun came to her and began to wave her hands at the crowd.

“Now, now,” she said. “Give these fine travelers some room to breathe. After all, this isn't a circus.”

The villagers seemed to listen to her and Sophia seemed slightly less likely to become a homicidal maniac.

“I'm the mayor of this small village,” the woman said, extending a warm hand in the direction of Sophia. “On behalf of all of us, welcome to Zuckergewurz.”

Sophia ignored the gesture, so Michelle took the woman's hand instead.

“Pleased to meet you. I'm Michelle, this is Sophia, and…well, this is somewhat embarrassing, but we actually are the Circus.”

The mayor gasped. “Oh, dear me! Of course you are. Those clothes, that wagon, that girl with the makeup all over her body... I should've known.” She put a hand to her lips while Sophia glared at her. “But the Circus? Here in Zuckergewurz? This is most wonderful. Ella will be so happy to meet you!”

“Unless 'Ella' is the town shopkeeper, we have no interest in meeting her or anybody else in this backwater town,” Sophia said. “Look, we got robbed when we were on the highway. The dirty thief made off with most of our stuff and one of our horses. We just need to stock up and we'll be on our way.”

“Robbed? Oh, no! Are you hurt? Are you injured? Should we get you to a cleric? Medic! Oh, medic!”

“Stop that.” Sophia slapped the mayor's hand out of the air. “We're fine. See? Look at me. No blood. Just makeup.” She reached deep into her back pocket and pulled out a leather handbook. “I put together a list of all the things we'll be needing. If you could just—”

“You need food and rest! Yes, food and rest. I can tell.”

“No, we don’t. We—”

But the mayor hurried them over to the marketplace and began to stuff their arms full of the biggest and freshest and most vibrant fruits and vegetables they had ever seen. There were strawberries the sizes of apples, grape bunches as big as watermelons, and carrots longer than their arms.

When their arms were full, she kept piling on more fruits.

“Eat up, eat up,” she encouraged them.

“Are you insane?” Sophia asked, dumping the food into a nearby barrel. “We can't afford this. We got robbed. R-o-b-b-e-d. We barely have enough money to buy what's on the list.”

“Money?” The mayor looked confused. “You mean, like coins and gold…? We don't use money in Zuckergewurz.”

“...Huh?”

“Money is a sin. Here in Zuckergewurz, we share everything. We provide for each other, and our individual talents are our payments.”

Sophia's jaw dropped.

The mayor smiled, patting her hand compassionately, and began introducing her to some of the friendly faces in town.

“You see Helga over there?” she asked, pointing to a heavy-set woman who stopped plowing the soil of her garden to greet the travelers. “She grows the best crops in the land. In fact, she grew almost all of the crops that you will find in Zuckergewurz. And Titania? She's the town blacksmith. She forges the tools that Helga uses to grow crops. And here is Olga, our humble seamstress. She can't make heads or tails of gardening or blacksmithing, but she can hem a dress fit for a queen with her eyes closed.”

“It's true,” Olga giggled. “I don’t know how to do anything else!”

They came full circle and returned to the barrel where Sophia had dumped her fruit.

“Do you understand now?” the mayor asked, plucking the fruit out of the barrel one by one. “In Zuckergewurz, we have no need for money. We benefit each other by doing what we do best. Passion for our craft and love for each other is the only currency we need.”

Sophia’s eye twitched.

“…Are you okay?”

“…I would just like to thank you for this fuckin’ waste of time,” Sophia said. “We'll be going now.”

“But you didn't get what you came for!”

“Hold on, Sophia,” Michelle said. Checking her pockets, she opened her coinpurse and turned to the mayor. “We are but simple travelers. But we have more than enough gold from our last show to pay for the supplies we need. Surely you will take it if we have nothing else to offer.”

“You are the Circus, are you not?”

Michelle nodded.

“Then that is all the payment you need! Although we know little of the world outside of Zuckergewurz, your feats are almost as famous as Rene Chandel. For all the good you have done for the citizens of Ellewyn, you are more than welcome to everything Zuckergewurz has to offer. Let us help you.”

“That would be most generous of you.”

“It would be our pleasure, fair Enchantress. All I ask is that you speak to Ella before you go. She is your biggest fan, after all. Much of what we have learned about your deeds comes straight from her and the books she reads.”

“Of course. We would love to meet our biggest fan. Wouldn't we, Sophia?”

But Sophia was gone. They saw her tearing through the crowd towards the caravan, rage and irritation in her step, and Michelle could only shake her head, embarrassed, and follow.

Meanwhile, inside the wagon at the head of the caravan, the men were all gathered around a small young woman in a white and blue dress. She was down on her knees and holding some of them in her hands with her back to the door, so she didn't see Sophia come barging in.

“Get your hands off of them!”

The girl’s back sprung up, causing her to drop the men, and she threw herself against the back wall and shook like a cornered mouse.

“I'm sorry!” she said. “I'm so terribly sorry. I...I've just never seen men before.” She turned away from Sophia’s furious eyes. “They look just like they do in the pop-up books.”

“Except they're not cardboard cut-outs! They're people, just like you and me!”

“Y-yes, I know...”

“You could've killed them!”

“Chill out, Sophia,” Jesse said. He dusted off his jacket. “She wasn't hurting us. We have a better chance of dying from listening to Jeff talk.”

“That's right,” Jeff said, proudly. “I'm more dangerous than a woman. You heard it from this guy.”

By now, the mayor and Michelle had reached the wagon, and the mayor climbed inside and put her hands on the shoulders of trembling girl.

“Everybody,” she said. “This is my daughter, Ella.”

“It's truly an honor to meet you all,” Ella said, clasping her fingers in her lap. “I hope you are not mad. When I saw your wagon pull up, I just had to see what was inside...to see if the stories were true. Now that I am here, I must admit. It was everything I imagined it would be.”

“...Fuckin' fantastic,” Sophia said, stepping out of the wagon.

Ella watched her leave, and her lips turned into a frown and her brown doe eyes touched the floor.

“…I feel I spend more time apologizing for Sophia than anything,” Michelle said. She put a hand under the girl’s chin. “Ella, please ignore her. It's an honor to meet you as well.”

“T-thank you. You're as pretty as the books say you are, Mischievelle.”

Michelle smiled. “Well, I can tell we're going to get along just fine.”

“Great!” the mayor said, clapping her hands. “Well, now that introductions are over, what do you say we get you your supplies? Ella can help you gather everything you need.”

“You would do that for us, Ella?”

“Of course!” the girl said. “Please, follow me.”

Everybody followed her out of the wagon.

 
-------------------------


Later that evening, the villagers of Zuckergewurz held a great outdoor picnic, to which the members of the Circus were the guests of honor. Tables were arranged in a large circle around the town square, and mountains of food rose as high as the roofs around them. Many of the villagers were cooks, and they were constantly bringing out new trays of the most delicious foods the Circus had ever seen. There were wheels of cheeses as plump as cows, breads of every variety lined across the table like one long train, and even an entire miniature village made of gingerbread. At the center of the circle, a small stage was set up, and three beautiful dames in green and gold garments played a merry tune on their lutes while the villagers talked and laughed and exchanged stories they had heard from the various members of the Circus earlier that day.

The only person in the village not gathered around the town square was Sophia, who had taken a tray to the edge of town and plopped herself down on a rock next to the caravan, with her back to everybody, and ate her meal in the direction of the sunset.

Back at the town square, Michelle and Ella sat across from each other, while all the men from the Circus—Jesse, Mack, Jeff, Roy, Neil, Russell, and even Wallace—were seated in front of Ella, basking in the glory of being the center of attention for once.

“Yeah, it's a dangerous life being a daredevil,” Jesse was saying, as he adjusted the collar of his leather jacket and leaned nonchalantly against the rim of Ella’s plate. “I've been a human cannonball, a human wrecking ball... Once, I was even a human gumball.”

“A human gumball?” Ella echoed.

“It's not as exciting as it sounds.”

“It sounds amazing. Everything you do does. It must be wonderful to be a part of the Circus.”

“Well, I don't mean to brag. We each bring something to the table, just like the women of this town.”

“What do you do?” Ella asked Roy, who was cleaning his frog with a wet rag.

“Why, I'm a regular ol' cowboy, ma'am,” he said. “Hopalong Roy Froggers' the name, but you can just call me Roy. All my friends do.”

“Does your frog have a name, too?”

“That she does, ma’am. I call her Silveria.”

“I thought you frog was a boy,” Mack said.

“That's still up for debate!”

“Well, she's very cute,” Ella said, stroking the frog's back with her pinky finger. “She doesn't bite, does she?”

“That's nothing,” Jeff said. “Look what I can do.”

His voice came from above. Somehow, he had managed to climb his way to the top of Ella’s head. He stood there for a moment, as if reconsidering his decision, and then jumped forward, putting his arms out in front of him, and dove headfirst into the glass Ella was about to pick up. Which was empty.

He smashed his head on the bottom of the glass.

“Ow...”

Ella gasped and quickly turned the glass over, dumping him onto the table. “Are you okay!?”

“Tah-duh!” Jeff stood up, raised his arms over his head, and grinned from ear to ear before he fell over backwards.

Mack elbowed Jesse. “Better look out. Jeff is getting as good as you at doing stupid things.”

“I don’t think it’s stupid at all,” Ella said. “I think he’s very brave.”

Jeff stuck out his tongue at the rest of the guys.

Up until now, Russell and Wallace had kept to themselves, talking either to each other or not at all. As Ella picked up a pitcher of water and began to fill up her glass, she looked at them and smiled.

“What can you do?” she asked sweetly.

She wasn't really directing the question to either of them, but Wallace looked at Russell with a sly smile and he stood up.

“You want some mashed potatoes?” he asked.

“Well, I do. But they're all the way across the table...” She tapped the shoulder of the woman next to her. “Excuse me. Could you pass the—”

Wallace roared and rushed towards the bowl of mashed potatoes. His feet thundered against the wooden table. When he was a few feet away, he jumped and body-slammed the spoon that was sticking out from the bowl. A huge glob of mashed potatoes flew through the air and landed squarely on Ella's plate, perfectly wedged between the ear of corn and the buttered biscuit.

Wallace landed on his feet and punched the falling spoon handle, sending it back into the bowl as he had found it.

Ella was all claps and giggles. “That was wonderful!”

“Show off,” Russell muttered as Wallace joined back up with him and sat down.

Ella smiled, as could be expected, and turned her attention to Russell. “What about you? Do you have any special talents?”

“Why, I'm the Ringmaster of the Circus,” the bearded man declared. “That is special in and of itself.”

“Oh, yes. I imagine it is.”

 “Not only that, but I handle all of the group's finances. I guess you could say I'm really good at counting gold.”

“But money is useless here in Zuckergewurz. What good is a power like that?”

“Well, it doesn't always have to be for gold. For example...” Russell took a quick look at the ear of corn Ella was eating. “Four hundred and sixty-two.”

“What?”

“There are four hundred and sixty-two kernels left on your corn.”

Ella held the cob at arms-length. “That's amazing!”

“That's a gift, sweetheart.”

Ella laughed and began nibbling at her corn while Russell continued to correctly name the exact number of kernels left after each bite.

“I always knew that sex was corny, but did you ever think that corn could be so sexy?” Jeff asked Mack.

“...If you're going to make a pop culture reference, at least make it about a movie people have seen, you moron,” Mack said.

“Can I eat your corn?” Jeff shouted up at Ella.

Ella reached across the table and set a full ear of corn in front of the men.

“You can have all you want,” she said. “Helga grows the best corn, doesn't she?”

Each of the men walked up to the cob and began tearing off kernels and setting them aside until they had made a small pile. Then they gathered around Ella's plate and began to eat.

“I notice there's no meat on your plate,” Neil said. “Is that because you don't eat men?”

All the villagers at the table gasped, and Ella dropped her ear of corn in shock.

“Who would do such a thing?” she asked, horrified.

“I dunno,” Neil said, shrugging. “Lots of women.”

“That is horrible! Why would anyone eat a living creature?”

“Well, they're usually dead first,” Mack admitted. “...Usually.”

“Surely you’ve heard of women eating men,” Michelle said, cocking her head to the side. “Zuckergewurz can’t be that far removed from all the problems of our society.”

“Just gingerbread men,” Ella said sweetly, holding a tiny gingerbread man to her cheek and smiling innocently.

“I’m surprised. A lot of good men are killed every day due to the malicious acts of women. Maybe it’s better not to be aware of all the evil that goes on in this world…”

“I wouldn’t know…” Ella said, lowering her head. “I've lived in Zuckergewurz for as long as I can remember. My mother has taken very good care of me, but I've always dreamed of seeing the world beyond the Enchanted Forest. I imagine it’s filled with such wonders.”

“You've never left the forest?”

“Oh, no. I've never traveled more than a few miles from this place. The furthest I’ve gone is to the edge of the creek behind that mountain. But I have learned a lot from the books I've read. When I hear about the stories of the Circus, of the grand things you've done...it makes me want to see the world, to know what’s out there.”

“Well, we try to inspire.”

“I wish I could come with you.”

Michelle put down her napkin. “All you have to do is ask.”

“Oh, I could never ask such a thing! I would only get in your way.”

“Nonsense. If your mother would allow it, I'm sure nobody here would object to having another woman around. As you can see, there are only two of us to protect all these men. It’s not an easy task. In fact, that's part of the reason we're here now... We're searching for two of our companions. They've gone missing, and we think they might have been kidnapped by one of the members of the royal family.”

“Oh, no. That’s not good…”

“But I see a pure heart in you, Ella of Zuckergewurz. It would be good for the Circus morale to have somebody like you among us.”

“But would Sophia not object?”

“It would be good for her too. I'm sure Sophia would—”

A dark shadow was cast over their bodies as Sophia came up from behind, blotting out the last rays of the sun as she leaned across the table towards Michelle.

“What would I say, Michelle?” she asked, a bit loudly. “Please, enlighten us with your wisdom, O' Great Fortune Teller. Tell everybody my innermost thoughts, since you can obviously read me so well.”

The other villagers began to stare.

“Sophia, please don't do this in front of everybody...”

“It's okay,” Ella said quietly. “It was a silly idea of mine. I didn't mean to bring it up.”

“Well, you did,” Sophia said. “You brought it up for a reason, Little Miss Sunshine.”

“My reasons are childish. I’m sorry.”

“You live in a town where everybody knows everybody else and gets anything wonderfully. Everybody loves you, cares about you, and treats you like a princess. Why in the hell would you want to give all that up to travel with a bunch of Circus freaks who spend most of their time on the road, running from the law!?”

“…Because I want to see the world.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Ella’s eyes began to water, Sophia pivoted on her heels and stormed away, and Michelle’s fingers curled into fists.

“…Excuse me for a second,” Michelle said, rising to her feet.

But Ella stood up and shook her head. “This is my fault. I will talk to her.”

Michelle dropped down into her seat. “If you feel you’re up to it… Just know she doesn’t speak for the rest of us.”

Fidgeting with her dress, Ella walked over to Sophia, who was leaning against the side of the bakery with one hand in her pocket and other against the brick wall. They were out of earshot range from the villagers now, and Ella waited until they had all turned away before she made a move.

“…I didn’t mean to upset you,” she said quietly. “You really are my favorite member of the Circus. I’ve always seen you as an idol…”

“You and a million other starry-eyed girls. Aren’t you a little old to be having heroes anyway?”

“I’m no older than you.”

“Whatever.” Sophia slid her shoulder across the wall, moving further away from the town square, and then turned around. “What’s wrong with you anyway?”

“What?”

“You really want to leave this place? It’s like this town was made for you.”

“I love it here… But I want nothing more than to travel the world.”

“Why not just leave then?”

“I wouldn’t know where to go! Or how to act. Or who to be…”

Sophia stared her up and down. “Yeah, you would get eaten alive out there. Look at you. All prim and rigid and fragile. Are you made of glass or something?”

Ella blinked.

“You said you’ve read all about us, right?”

“Oh, yes! I—”

“Then you know we devote our time to saving people from the greatest threats Adelais has to offer.”

“Yes. From evils unseen, from the darkest of depths, it is the Code of the Circus to help those in need.”

Sophia grabbed Ella’s shoulder with an iron grip and spun her around to face the cheery-faced villagers of Zuckergewurz, lost in their food and songs of merriment. The sun had set and still there was a glow of warmth around the town square as the villagers rose from their seats, interlocked their hands, and danced in a circle around a blazing fire. Confetti as tiny, vivid, and plentiful as cupcake sprinkles rained down from the sky, and the villagers sang louder and danced faster.

“I have never encountered an evil like this before,” Sophia whispered into her ear. “This town is an abomination. Anybody with the common sense to want to be rescued from here deserves our help.”

Ella’s eyes grew three sizes bigger that day.

“Do you truly mean it?” she asked.

“Do I look like I'm fuckin' joking?”

“Um...”

Sophia shoved three fingers in her face. “Three rules. One, you do not touch my guitar.”

“Right.”

“Two, you do not wake me up before noon.”

“Right.”

“Three, you don’t act all cheery when you’re around me. Can you do that?”

Ella tried to slant her eyebrows and stick out her lower lip to look moody, but she only succeeded in making herself look even more ridiculously sweet.

“…Ugh.” Sophia released her shoulder. “We’ll work on it.”

“Thank you,” Ella said. “Thank you ever so much. I promise not to be a very great burden to you on your journeys.”

Sophia flashed a quick, almost indiscernible smile as she nodded and spoke not another word. They stood there for a while longer, the girl in black and the girl in white, watching the idiotic scene before them, and then Sophia muttered something to Ella and began walking towards the caravan.

“…Come on, kid,” she said. “Help me get my guitar so we can give these brainwashed buffoons a real show.”

“Coming!”

 
-------------------------


It was almost midnight in Zuckergewurz, and Ella stood on the wrong side of the window of her small cottage, watching the Circus caravan drive past her and disappear slowly into the shadows of the Enchanted Forest.

The mayor threw another log on the fire and came up behind Ella, putting her warm, wrinkled hands on the young girl’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry, but you couldn’t really think I would let you join the Circus,” the mayor said. “Your place is here, Ella, in Zuckergewurz. It has been, and always will be.”

“I know…” Ella said sadly.

“Still, that was a great show they put on for us. I’m sure they’ll come back this way again. Don’t you think so?”

Ella nodded, but her motions were numb and without emotion.

“Come now…” The mayor closed the curtains and walked Ella towards the fireplace, where a platter of cheese and crackers and a cup of the best tea a girl could ask for were waiting for her. Next to them was a new book, bound in a thick purple cover, whose pages were crisp and unread. A finely-crafted bookmark with intricate gold vines and an engraving that spelled out ‘Ella’ sat thoughtfully on top.

“Take these and go up to your room,” the mayor said, handing Ella the platter. “When you are finished with this book, you can tell me all the wonderful things you have learned.”

“Thank you, mother.” Ella did as she was asked, holding the platter out in front of her with stiff arms and a straight back. She walked as delicately as a waitress carrying a dozen bowls of hot soup as she climbed the old wooden stairs to her humble attic room and set the platter down on her bedside table.

She picked up the bookmark, smiling at the letters of her name that glittered back, and placed them on the bed sheets. Then she picked up the book and closed the attic door with the utmost of care.

Once it was shut, Ella pressed her back against the door, took a moment to exhale and glanced around the room, and then grabbed a leather sack—usually used for picking flowers—that was hanging in her closet. She immediately moved towards her bookshelf, dropped the sack to her feet, and began to stuff it full of the biggest, thickest, most colorful books she could find. Only a small fraction of her collection could fit in the sack, but she didn’t waste time looking at all those she had missed. She quickly folded the flap over the sack, buckled it shut, and threw it over her shoulder.

With a crash, she fell backwards.

“Ella, is everything okay?” her mother yelled from downstairs.

“Yes, mother! I am fine. Just tripped over my shoes.”

“Not again.”

Ella grunted, unstrapped the sack, and opened the flap. Hesitantly, she began to remove the books one at a time, setting them into a neat pile in the center of her room, until the sack was only half full.

She tried again to lift it, but still to no avail.

Once more, she knelt down and put her hands on her hips. She stared at the sack for a long time and then gave a sigh of frustration and turned the sack upside down. The books spilled across the floor and she dug through the mess until she found one exceptionally large tome with no title or words on the cover. Smiling, she held the book at arms-length and then stuffed it into the sack.

She stood up. The sack was much lighter now, so she hurried around the room and filled the remaining compartments with a few potions, a handful of herbs, a comb, and a small bag of trail mix and gingerbread men.

When she was finished, she grabbed a blue shawl from her bedpost and threw it over her shoulders. Then she opened the window, grabbed the leather sack, and tossed it into the night.

She took a moment in the inhale the calm night air before she swung her legs over the windowpane and dropped down beside it.

The town square was empty. She stood in the grass and peered into the window behind her, where she could almost see her mother through the closed curtains. She imagined her mother was in her favorite rocking chair, knitting another sweater, even though winter was many months away.

“I’m sorry, mother,” Ella said, gracing the window with her fingertips. “I’ll be back someday.”

“This is all you’re bringing?”

Ella’s heart jumped and she put a hand over her chest.

“Oh, Sophia. You surprised me.”

Sophia picked up the sack and swung it loosely over her shoulder. “And you surprised me. I didn’t think you had the guts to go through with this.”

“Do you suppose she’ll be mad at me?”

“Part of growing up is pissing off the people who love you. Trust me. She’ll appreciate you doing this.”

“Okay…” Ella moved away from the window. In the distance, she could see the twinkling lights of the Circus caravan, waiting for her just beyond the trees.

“Let’s go,” Sophia said, seizing her hand. “Adventures await.”