The Vitalis Chronicles: White Shores (30 page)

“We won't wait three weeks,” she said. “We can't make it down here for that long anyways, unless they've got water stored somewhere nearby. We'll need to give ourselves up.”

“What?” he said. “I doubt they'll appreciate finding us all that much, whether or not we give ourselves up.”

“We won't have a choice. And neither will they, really. It's not like they can just put in at the nearest port and kick us off.”

“They could kick us off without a port. That's what I'm more worried about.”

“We can defend ourselves, Ardin,” she yawned. “I would venture to guess that if I suggest burning a hole in their ship, they'll treat us well enough.”

“You and burning stuff,” Ardin said as she found a nook between crates to curl up in. “You'd have made a great boy, you know.”

“I'll take that as a compliment,” she said, sleep overwhelming her as the ship began to roll. They could feel it slow as it began to change directions and head out to sea.

Ardin didn't bother saying anything else. He just found a spot where he could sit nearby to keep watch, listening to the deep creaking of the metal hull as the ship worked its way through the waves. Soon the combination of the warmth, darkness, and gentle rolling of the ship sent him dreaming as well.

Ardin woke to the flickering hum of fluorescent lights turning on overhead. Shaking the cobwebs from his mind, he hurried over to Alisia and hid with her among the crates. She looked like she had been awake already for some time. They sat, waiting, wishing they could see through their shelter but glad no one else could. Soon they could hear voices calling out and laughing farther down in the hold. There was a lot of space down there, but the ship only seemed to have one deck above. Ardin didn't know much about ships, but this one felt immensely long.

“What a mess,” a distinguishable voice came from what sounded like a few rows of crates away.

“Aye,” came another. “Can't imagine we'll actually sell all this. Half the crates are empty!”

“Captain's a fool,” said the first. “That's what I always says.”

“Aye, just don't let him hear you say it.”

The two of them laughed again, and continued talking as they wandered away and continued working with the cargo.

Ardin was shaking, his heart racing. He hadn't thought that anyone would come into the cargo hold while they were sailing. The idea hadn't occurred to him in any case. Alisia began to edge out of the crates, wanting to work her way closer to overhear the conversation. Ardin grabbed her arm without thinking.

“Hey,” she said as she turned. “Stop that.”

“Don't go,” he said, eyes wide and unblinking.

“I just want to hear what they're up to,” she said. “Try and figure out what all of these crates are for.”

She lowered herself gently into the walkway and then worked her way along its winding path until she was within earshot of the men at work. She slowed until she could make out what they were saying, then hid herself among the crates again.

Ardin was nowhere to be seen. She figured he had stayed put. His curiosity seemed on leave for this voyage, and she guessed she couldn't blame him. It would be easy to feel trapped in the bowels of a cargo ship like this. This would not be a good first experience sailing, that much was certain.

“Well I'm not in charge of running ammo,” the first was saying. “I'm a gunner, so what do I care if the ammo's at th’other end of the ship? I don' have to run it.”

“It'll take longer for your runner to get it, you clot. Which means you'll have less ammo to work with.”

“Bah, Tommy's a good lad. He'll manage.”

“I still think we'd be best to move the munitions closer to midships.”

“I wager you should stop yer whinin'.”

“Oi,” came a third, deeper voice. “I reckon you should both quit yer whinin' I does.”

“What you want?”

“Come to check on the two of you and make sure you weren't causin' no trouble, that's what.”

“Bah,” the second one sounded annoyed. “You're just bored, you are.”

“Right so,” came the deep voice. “Sailin's woman's work. I needs me a good fight.”

“You'll get it,” said the first. “Soon enough as sure as waves is wet. You never visited the continent, eh?”

“Nah,” the deep voice seemed put off by the question. “First time.”

“Well you'll wish you weren't hired to do the fightin' by the time we get there, I promise you that.”

“Can't be so bad,” the deep voice sounded uncertain despite the feigned confidence. “Fightin's fightin', Grandia or no.”

Grandia? Alisia's eyes grew wide, her heart rate increasing at the mention of the name.

“You keep sayin' that,” said the first. “Let us know what yer thinkin' when you see the place. Of course, that is, if you make it close enough to see it at all.”

The two had a good laugh at that, something that didn't sound funny in any way to Alisia. She began to sweat even more than she had been in the heat.

“Well,” the deep voice said contentiously. “I wager you two squats have no idea what all the empty boxes is for.”

“Who gives a gull?” said the first. “Boxes is boxes. Empty or no, the captain's daft in the head. I wager he's bringin' back some rare trinkets er the like.”

“Aye,” said the deep voice, unwilling to believe that the others weren't intrigued. “Somethin' real rare.”

There was a long pause in the conversation, it seemed to Alisia like the other two had gone back to working.

“Well ain't you gonna ask me?” the deep voice finally burst.

“The hell is it then, Clive?”

“People!”

There was a silence as Clive awaited a response.

“You're all excited about slavin' then, are you Clive?”

“Slav... hell, you two act like this ain't no big deal!”

“It ain't no big deal, Clive. We done it before, we'll do it again.”

“But you make big money slavin’! We'll be rich men!”

“Clive.” Something clanked as the first put down whatever he was working on. “Get back up topside with the other stiffnecked fighters, eh? Leave us be.”

“But we'll be rich men, hey?”

“Nah, Clive,” said the second. “We'll make near as much as we always do.”

“How do you figure?” Clive sounded indignant.

“’Cause, slaving trips cost more and there's always more damage done to the ship sailin' that far north. Why do you think we've been welding those huge plates to the hull? Get yer head out of yer arse before you go off gettin' all excited like that.”

The men continued to heckle each other for some time, but Alisia didn't hear any more of it. She slunk back to Ardin with her stomach in knots and her mind spinning.

“Well?” Ardin was waiting anxiously for her, sensing her tension as she crawled back up into their hiding place. “What's wrong? What did they say?”

“They're slavers...”

“What? What are slavers?”

“They buy and sell people, Ardin. Slaves.”

“That isn't legal!”

“No kidding,” she said. “Nothing about this ship is legal.”

He sank back to his seat. “I guess we won't be showing ourselves to them then.”

“It's worse,” she gulped, uncertain if she could say it as her stomach churned.

“What's worse? How does it get worse than that?”

“We're going to Grandia.”

“Grandia? Where's that? I thought we were headed to Silverdale. There aren't any other ports on the west coast!”

“We aren't going down the coast,” she said. “We're headed west.”

“I don't get it,” he said.

“You've heard of the forbidden continent, right?”

“Well yeah–”

“Before the Magi forbade passage, they called it Grandia.”

T
HE FISHERMAN LAY
on the bench in his cell in the South Docks maritime police station. He'd counted the ceiling tiles three times now, and was fairly certain there were eighty-seven. It was hard to keep track of where one was when reaching the center of the room, however. He frowned as he thought about where he was. This wasn't such a bad mess. He'd been in much worse.

At least so he thought, until the fire alarm went off. There were no other prisoners in the jail cells around him. He was alone. He could hear people running, trying to pack various things with them as they left the building.

The fisherman sat up, putting his big boots on the floor and resting his elbows on his knees as he peered through the thick bars of his cell. At least he'd get outside for a bit this way, he told himself. Finally he heard the big keys in the door to the cell block. The Chief of the City Police walked in, pistol drawn.

This was an odd development.

“What you doing there, lad? Come all the way down to Southy just to see me?”

“It would seem you tried to escape during a false fire alarm,” the Chief said, checking his pistol's magazine to ensure it carried a payload. “You've embarrassed the Proconsul again, I'm afraid, Cid. As you have an unsavory history, it shouldn't be so hard to sell the story that you attempted an ill conceived escape.”

“So that's it then, eh?” The fisherman didn't bother standing, much less seem to care.

“Stand up.”

“I always figured it'd be some coward that put a bullet in my back,” the fisherman said as he turned away from the captain. “Somehow I thought I'd finally escaped the possibility in my old age.”

“Turn around! Stand and face me!”

“So you can tell everyone I tried to kill you?” The large man sounded incredulous. “Have fun explaining why you shot an old man in the back, Chief.”

He heard the chief load a round into the chamber. The unmistakable sliding and clicking sounds sending a thrill through his gut.

“Turn around, damn you! I don't have time for this. I'll do it either way.”

“I'm not moving, Chief. Do what you will, I'm not going to defend myself.”

He closed his eyes and thought of all the things in life he wished he could change. All of the decisions made, the battles fought, the lives lost. He had wanted recompense, vindication, perhaps even to be reconciled with those he had failed. The fisherman didn't think he would be so lucky to have any of that now.

The gun never fired, instead he heard the latch on the door lift as his cage was opened. He didn't bother turning. Bullets were bullets, he'd been shot before. He figured that dying would take the edge off the pain this time.

“Aren't you coming?” a smooth, deep voice said from behind the fisherman.

He turned to see the Shadow King standing in the door, the Chief unconscious on the ground.

“There's a fire alarm going off and all you do is sit there like a lump.”

“My, aren't you a sneaky bastard.” He stood and walked towards the door. The Shade stepped gracefully aside to let him pass.

“I thought I might find you in here; getting in trouble all over town I hear.”

The Chief lay unconscious on the ground just outside the cell, the sight giving the fisherman reason to smile. They made their way out into the lobby. It was mostly empty as people had fled the building to await the fire department.

“To your right,” the Shade pointed. “The back alley.”

They strode behind the front desk of the station and through a side door that led them into a narrow alleyway. There was no one to be seen, save three police officers unconscious on the ground.

“They didn't believe I was on official business,” the Shade shrugged.

“Was that you that set off the alarm?”

“No, I simply took advantage of an opportunity.” The Shade took him down the long side of the alley, away from the commotion in the adjoining street.

“Not a moment too soon neither,” the fisherman fell in line behind him. “Coward was ‘bout to shoot me in the back.”

“Sounds like you made quite a splash today.” They rounded a corner and wound up a long set of stairs.

“Aye, but still leaves me surprised you're here.” The fisherman stopped and waited for the Shade to turn around. “What are you doing in this neck of the woods? I haven't seen you in decades, but I can tell. You're different somehow.”

“I'm looking for someone.”

“Aye, I wager the same girl the whole city's looking for. I'm not interested in that, I'm interested in what happened to you.”

“Cid.” The Shade ignored the inquiry. “Where did she go? I know you helped her escape, I need to find her.”

“She's plenty safe by now,” he said. “I set her on a ship to the south. Run by a good friend of mine.”

“The Droning Ingrid?” the Shade asked.

“Aye, how'd you know?”

“She didn't make it on board.”

The fisherman was surprised, and as much as he wanted to hide it, it played across his face.

“And how would you, as mystical as you may be, know that?”

“I've spent a lot of time building connections, Cid. I checked into it, she's not on board.”

“And why do you want to find her so badly?”

“To protect her.” The Shade seemed earnest enough.

“From what?”

“From what?” the Shade repeated sardonically. “Have you not been paying attention or are you just succumbing to your old age? The whole city is after her. Elandir put a price on her head! She landed you in jail, almost got you killed, and you're wondering what I'm trying to protect her from?”

“You know more than that.” The fisherman called Cid didn't budge on the point. “You obviously know what's driving all of this attention, and I want to know what it is before I help you any. You can't just walk me out of prison and expect that to stand as enough ground to trust you. Not when you've changed like you have. Something's very different about you, and you'll either tell me what it is or find your own way.”

The Shadow King's brow furrowed. With arms crossed he raised a hand to his chin as he thought on the proposition. He looked frustrated at the prospect of making a trade.

“You've crossed over,” the fisherman said as it dawned on him. Awe fused with suspicious wonder in his voice. “It actually happened, you're the last of your kind.”

The Shadow King didn't respond, he simply stared the big man down.

“God in heaven, it is possible. When the Magi told us they had made you to do it, to jump bodies like that, I never thought it could happen. That's what makes you different... you have emotions!”