Tariq held the rope in his hands. It was simple enough to get off the binds holding the fairy exclusively, but now that they were gone, he still had to contend with the ropes holding both their wrists together. He wasn’t anyone too familiar with rope, only recently having learned the bowline, and regardless of his ability to do it, there was still the matter of freeing a potential adversary, someone his captain might’ve called a “radical element”.

  But, the age-old adage did state “the enemy of my enemy is my friend”, and seeing as the marines were the ones who kept him tied up, Tariq was willing to bet they were enemies. So, enacting his best judgement, he threw caution to the wind and untied the ropes, letting them audibly sp against the ground so as to leave no doubt in anyone’s mind as to what just happened.

  Immediately, he felt a chill run down his spine, and sweat beaded on his forehead as he felt an overwhelming sense of dread overtake him. His heartbeat was so prominent, he swore he’d be caught just by the sound alone. Then came the breath leaving his throat - in his limited experience with such matters, he thought he was having an encounter with death itself.

  Before he could grow any smaller with fear, however, he felt a small dainty hand find his with a surprising accuracy, almost as though his invisibility was slipping. When he finally regained control of his faculties, he confirmed that was indeed what was happening as Garend dragged him with an unfitting level of strength.

  “Come on, you lug!” She shouted, though the young man dragging his feet meant they were blocked from the exit by the Lieutenant.

  “You’re not going anywhere!” He shouted, drawing his sword. With a great leap forward, aided by the wings on his back, he lunged toward the two, cutss pointing straight for the fairy’s heart.

  “Get down!” Tariq tackled her, not managing to dodge the sword completely, and taking quite the nasty gash to his shoulder as a result. He grunted as he stumbled to his feet, barely managing to draw his sword before Peeares had brought his own over him again, slicing and stabbing at him with a frenzied vigor.

  Neither of them were truthfully too experienced with a sword, and neither were all that good. Their slices were awkward and bumbling, and both seemed ready to trip at any given moment as their back and forth provided no meaningful progress on either side. In an effort to break the stalemate, Garnd delivered a decisive stab to the Lieutenant’s side, bringing him to his knees while Lorenzo still held his boss at bay.

  Without further ado, she escorted them out of the building, throwing open the door to reveal… nothing. At least for a moment, she thought they were out of luck, but the rest of the crew revealed themselves quickly enough, and soon they were all absconding away.

  “Garend?” The captain delivered his question with an unrecognizable quiet, as though the boisterousness was wrung from his brain like a sponge, “You holding up alright?”

  “Yes - this is he, I assume?” She asked, pointing to Lonceré, easily the least athletic, and most easily tired of the crew, “The man behind the announcements?”

  “Formerly, yes,” The man in question huffed and puffed like a steam engine, “I’m joining the crew, though, so I think I’ll have to resign.”

  “And Tariq,” Paracelsus seamlessly wove the words together, “You’re literally invisible. How did you get got?”

  “Sorry,” The young man, with only around half of the adrenaline still in his veins, clutched his shoulder painfully, “One of them, or maybe the fox, they had this indescribable presence. I was scared out of my mind, and I must’ve lost focus.”

  “It’s alright, we’ll get you patched up,” He ughed, though not mirthfully, “I’m just gd we’re all back together again.”

  “Now we are!” The ever-increasingly familiar voice of Sally sounded, approaching from the rear, “I thought I told you - I really do intend to sail with you.”

  “How did you find us?” Serpacinno asked.

  “You all dress like foreigners - it’s not hard when you can run as fast as I do.” Sally replied, her usual teasing gone, in its pce a calm solemnity.

  “Can we take a step back -” Paracelsus asked, and his crew complied, Lonceré gratefully bowing his head, “Not literally! I meant, it just registered to me: what ‘fox’ are you referring to?”

  “It’s a long story.” Garend said, the expnation standing for now.

  —

  “My god,” One of the corpse gatherers wiped their hands of blood as best they could, which was not very, given the rather devastating nature of the fighting, “That’s the eighth child today.”

  “I heard they’re bringing the gendarmerie in.” His coworker said, heaving another corpse onto the cart.

  “The gendarmerie!” The first one scoffed, puffing his chest out, “That’ll be the day. Maybe they’ll clean all this mess up.”

  “And so we shall.” A hand came down upon his shoulder, and looking up from the rough, calloused appendage, he saw the helm of the national police, with the signature blue feather pluming from the comb. The helm turned away from him, clearly indifferent to his presence, “Deodat, I see your point about the stench.”

  “Where were we to meet the padin?” Deodat asked, his hand clenching around his horses’ lead. He kept the equine close, not wanting to stain his feathers.

  “You are to meet him near the fountain,” His boss pointed her long, armored finger pointed authoritatively, and all who heard her voice felt a compulsion to follow it, even bumping into each other when they lost their focus on where they were going, “I’m meeting the mayor. You have command until I return.”

  “You heard the Captain!” He shouted, rallying the troops of Toulouse rode away on her own silver horse, “Fan out and search the area. Consider any suspicious actions arrestable.”

  The group did as commanded, although they were without their own steeds to expedite the process. Soon enough, they’d formed a loosely defined perimeter, keeping tabs on anyone approaching the fountain, where the second in command sat, waiting for Rond.

  “Lieutenant.” Rond, sans armor, greeted politely and formally, with a distinct ck of friendliness.

  “Padin,” Lieutenant Avignon replied with a bit more cheery of a voice, “I’m gd you recognized why Central Intelligence was so insistent on this being discreet.”

  “This is what you call discreet?” He gestured to the scattered police with a wide, sweeping motion, “Anything but.”

  “Discreet for you, I mean,” He eborated, pointing a cwed finger at the padin, “Nobody recognizes you without the armor - which makes this a perfect scenario for you to talk.”

  “Talk about what?” The padin raised an eyebrow, and his face made it clear he was annoyed.

  “The mayor’s deteriorating condition. I know you know, there’s no point in hiding it.” His accusations were heavy, and sounded like great iron balls ccking together, “We need an expnation. The state of this city is unacceptable, and she will either fix it - or resign.”

  “She will fix it. If you read the report, once we find Domingue -”

  “Domingue?!” Deodat shouted, before taking a deep breath lest his temper get the best of him. As he did, Rond swore he heard the flicking of a forked tongue, “Look around you - Domingue is a distraction.”

  “We believe that we can leverage his information -”

  “To what end? Destroying the insurgents?” He leaned in close, so as to not give anything away to prying ears, “Central Intelligence be damned: don’t worry about their secret caches of weapons, or their bases of operation. If you don’t make progress within the next two days, Montpellier will be held in front of a judicial tribunal.” Which Rond recognized as the judicial hurdle to overcome - when one was sat in front of a Tribunal, they were essentially guilty from the onset.

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “You’re right. I wouldn’t, I don’t have any authority. But despite my disdain for them, Central Intelligence does have that authority. And they will hold her personally responsible.”

  “So what do you suggest?”

  “Officially, I recommend exercising your best judgement and doing what’s necessary to stop this incursion,” He looked around again, confirming no one was nearby, “Unofficially, I’d recommend you get her committed. At the least, it will buy her time to prepare her legal strategy.”

  “I can’t imagine Central Intelligence gave you that one.”

  “They didn’t,” He whipped his head back to the Padin, who in turn whipped his head at the Lieutenant, “As I said, that’s an unofficial suggestion. Believe it or not, I have great respect for the mayor.”

  “One issue, though, I can’t have her committed. I’m just a bodyguard.”

  “Her gift - Copain, I think his name is, should be able to,” He argued, “Try to convince him.”

  “I’ll take it into consideration. Will that be all?”

  “Indeed that will be. Good luck.” The two of them stood, shared a handshake, and walked away.

  —

  “Can’t you synthesize something for him?” Garend asked, observing Tariq’s writhing, wriggling figure, who was deftly, accidentally dodging any attempt at wrapping his wounds.

  “Sorry, whatever Silver hit me with knocked out my gift.” Paracelsus tried once more to generate some gauze, finding no luck. He took special note of Serpacinno’s shaking hand, “Stay still!”

  “Did I miss something?” Sally asked, “Who’s Silver, old lover?”

  Both captain and vice gave an awkward look at that, turning back to whatever they were paying attention to. With no one else able to give an answer, Sally stretched her arms above her head, csping them almost like a cat before lounging around, content to let everyone else do their own thing while she rexed.

  “You sure are zy for someone who cims to be that fast.” Serpacinno said, letting her own legs rest.

  “I don’t cim it, I am that fast.” Sally corrected her, offering no additional commentary. The sound of the captain wrestling with his helmsman to try and dress his wounds made quite the backdrop to converse.

  “And you’re the only person with proof of that.” The swordswoman argued back with a cocky smirk.

  Sally rolled her eyes (although it was hard to see past her long, full hair), then her ankles and wrists before stretching again and standing up. With a small adjustment to her neck, she disappeared in the blink of an eye, and after a few moments, returned just as quickly with a fg. The same, beat up, creased fg Serpacinno recognized as hanging off the Current. Also a few crackers.

  “I’ll admit,” Serpacinno crossed her arms, and her grin made way for a grimace that stretched over her face, “I wasn’t expecting that. What are the crackers for?”

  “Hunger.” Sally said between bites, “I get quite famished, running around.”

  “Finally, you nky freak!” Paracelsus had at st managed to get the wrapping around Tariq’s shoulder, “I’d run to the ship to get some tonic, but I’m exhausted.”

  Serpacinno looked over at Sally, who replied “Absolutely not. I’m not a dog.”

  “What? She can get it?” Paracelsus asked. Sally was about to open her mouth to retort, but Serpacinno cut her off and confirmed, “Well I’d say it would only be right to get it for your crewmate,” He tossed her a key, “The medicine chest is under my bed, look for hydrogen peroxide.”

  With all eyes expectantly fixed on her, she shrank into herself, wishing she could trade gifts with the one being operated on. Instead, she had to resign herself to her role of delivery girl, and with a sigh, spent a few minutes before she returned with the rgest, most medicinal looking bottle she could find, seeing as she barely spoke their nguage, much less read it.

  “Close enough. One three: one, two -” He went early, which made Tariq flinch and jump like a pomeranian, “There. All better.”

  With the matter closed and done, they gradually all retired for the night, awaiting the next day.