Collab bet’w Silent and Fox
Location: On Valhalla…?
A Toast to Your Good Health
Adelaide placed a hand on the wall at their backs. “Hm,” she said.
Taking a step back, she paced their closed-off corridor once before peering into the old kitchen before them. She took a piece of jerky from her waist pouch and chewed at it as she did. Her face was unreadable at their sudden change of situation, though an eyebrow lifted ever so slightly when she found Cedric by her side and not Jack. As she stood in front of the door, her form began to blur. Sid felt a trickling breeze brush his cheek and tweak his hair. When she solidified again, she turned her head to him.
“So, tomcat? How do you feel about entertaining our hosts?”
“Depends on the amount of effort and whether we can find a bottle of fine wine. You and I know that Jack won’t like us experimenting in an unfamiliar kitchen. Not that we can cook much in a showpiece.”
The whole setup felt sterile. Cedric appreciated the amount of effort spent in making the simple kitchen look old and dipliated. The person had painstakingly coloured every inch of wood in hues of brown that darkened into black. It was almost perfect save for the absence of smell. In his mind’s eye, he recalled a similar kitchen from years back. His first apartment with Jack. It was the smaller of the two rooms. A tiny space enclosed by peeling walls and scarred floorboards. There was a rusty, leaking sink in the far corner under a misted window. The glass on the lower right corner was fragmented. Spidery lines raced from each missing piece never quite reaching far enough to shatter the entire pane. Recalling the place brought back memories of the overwhelming mildew in the air. He doubt he’d ever forget that smell. Sid wrinkled his nose. Maybe the absence of smell and the overly bright (artificial) lighting were a boon. They reminded him that they were in a very real and a very different place.
He hadn’t quite shaken off the feeling that the crew had stepped into an ever changing dreamscape riddled with confusion. The dance and the strange mirrors, everything, had been overwhelming to say the least. He was simply waiting for the big reveal. With how much he had already speculated, he suspected it would be a relief. Constantly being on the look was exhausting. He missed having clear objectives, but this wasn’t the worst he had experienced either. Jack was always better at dealing with ambiguity.
Heliotrope eyes scanned the yellowing expanse enclosing the square space. The chipping paint coat wasn’t too old. He could estimate how much yellow had been added to the white paint. Just enough to distract the eyes from seeing the tiny keyhole camouflaged by a big watermark. It was carved barely a foot from where the wall kissed the floor. He didn’t want to imagine how big the space was. The last thing he wanted to do was get on all fours behind Adelaide in a tight crawl space. The reverse wasn’t pleasant either. There were bound to be far too many squabbles the moment someone received a kick to their face, intentional or unintentional. Such was the nature of their co-existence. He wasn’t even sure he could classify it as a relationship.
His eyes flitted back towards the table. An unlabelled bottle of wine, the liquid red as old blood, was placed on it with two beautiful crystal glasses. He narrowed his eyes and looked at Adelaide. He didn’t like how the setup echoed her earlier question. Just how involved was she with this group? He wouldn’t put it past her to one of the key players in this nebulous plot. He only hoped she felt enough for Jack to let the man leave unscathed.
“Entertaining you say? I find this a bit too much of a consequence.” He swept his hand towards the table to indicate what he was referring to. “Either you are more involved with this crew than I suspected or your membership is tenuous at best. So, Zebulon, mon cheri, are you going to produce some cheese to go with this wine or will you join me in this drunken misadventure?”
Cedric pulled out a chair and motioned for Adelaide to sit down. His actions contrasted with the venom embedded in his words. He gave her the same polite smile he usually gave her whenever they met at formal dinners. It was all part of their training. Manners, appearance … the necessary polish to allow them to blend in seamlessly with their gilded surroundings. He had a feeling she wouldn’t be giving him a straight answer, as usual. At least, if she sat down opposite him, he wouldn’t be as worried. There was a chance that he might be able to manipulate her overconfidence if he caught her off guard. A slim chance but he liked the thrill of it. The rush was a throwback to another life. A less languid existence.
A smile matched his own, and Adelaide lowered herself into the offered chair. The entire time her eyes had been trained on Sid, watching him, waiting to see what he’d do. Something close to smugness flickered over her face when he mentioned her affiliation with the Court of Miracles. She leaned into her chair, ankle crossed on her thigh. An arm relaxed along the backside. She was completely at ease. Unperturbed by the sudden changes of events, and the animosity between the Court and Stardusk.
He stretched out a gloved hand and picked up the bottle as decorum dictates. In the absence of servants, the gentleman would be the one to serve the wine. He held the bottle in his hands turning it around. He hated how murky the liquid was. Definitely cheap, unfiltered wine. He shuddered at the thought of having to drink it. He could already taste the biting sourness on his tongue. A shade less intense than vinegar but not that much better. This was the reason he never really liked the balsamic foulness Jack enjoyed with freshly baked bread. He swore his brother had a dead tongue. If Adelaide’s tongue was just as dull, and she was actually participating in their apparent demise, maybe he could foist more wine onto her. His suspicious mind already justifying that poison no matter how little ingested should be just as deadly. That was how he would have done it if he planned this. You should never bet that your target was a raging alcoholic.
“J’en ai ras le bol. Vin pas cher! N’amis sont sans méchants.” (trans. “I’m sick of this. Cheap wine! Our friends (implied hosts) are mean.”)
He sighed loudly pushing the note towards Adelaide. He thought he could bypass that friendly suggestion written in bold lettering, but his fingers told him the bottle won’t shatter no matter how hard they throw it. He guessed they could always opt to pour the foul liquid away and risk offending their hosts even more. That was a very tempting idea, honestly! He didn’t want to risk poisoning himself out of sheer stupidity.
“The key is in the bottle. I can’t see how it’s suspended thanks to the sediments. We need to drain most of this emmerder to get it.” He thinned his lips. (trans. emmerder = piss (politer sounding lol))
Unvoiced was the question of how do they get themselves out of this obvious no-win situation. It was a given. He doubted she’d be that willing to put her own life at risk. Neither of them have enough medical knowledge to make such a death less tortured. Well, other than slitting the damned person’s throat. Now that was a funny thought. Both of them were better at ending lives than preserving it. That’s how wretched they were deep, deep down. Not much better than Luro, which was perhaps the reason behind his constant irritation. No, he was certain there was more but such thoughts were pointless at this moment. Cedric quirked an eyebrow as he waited for Adelaide to respond.
Picking up the note between two fingers, Adelaide lifted it to the front of her face.
Bottoms up! it read, with the picture of a key next to it. Her fingers drummed once against the table before she flicked the piece paper onto the floor. “Alright then.”
Snatching up her glass of wine, she drained it two large gulps. She licked the droplets from her red lips. “Hm. Not bad.” She slammed the glass down and reach for the bottle. She glanced at Sid, amused. “Cheers, tomcat.”
Lifting the glass to him, she drained her second helping.
“Non, tu bois tout seul. I’m not gambling my life for nothing.” He removed the glass Adelaide placed before him with a slight grimace. He wished the smell wasn’t spreading so rapidly. (trans. “No (thanks), drink it yourself.”)
He began fanning the air near his nose to alleviate the smell. In the past, he’d carry a scented handkerchief on his person but such fussiness was impractical for someone in his line of work. Even the slightest scent could be the difference between life and death, a lesson he wished he never learned. He glowered at Adelaide who seemed to be enjoying his suffering immensely.
Was she on her fourth glass? The bottle was about a third drained.
“Your nose must be as dull as your tongue. You and Jack,” he sighed. “Both of you never seem to suffer from anything. Why? Didn’t all of us share a similar childhood?”
This same complaint had been become rhetoric over the years. It baffled Cedric how he had always been a lot more sensitive to smells, sounds and colour. He had hoped that his senses would dull with age, but they remained as sharp as ever. He gave up fending off the smell and simply cupped his hands around his nose pretending not to care how silly he appeared. If the Court wanted him to die from humiliation, they were succeeding.
Kudos to them!
He curled his toes and screwed his eyes shut as he heard Adelaide lift the bottle to pour her seventh glass.
Par l’toiles! That woman was a monster. Nothing short of a miracle would let him hold down that much swill. He felt his head spin. Very reluctantly, he forced himself to take several breaths in succession. Then it hit him! (trans. “Par l’toiles” is the equivalent of using God’s name in vain.)
His eyes shot open as his hands slam the table. “Stop! Woman just … stop!”
It was there! A sickly underlying sweet scent. Merde! It was a trap after all! They had been tricked into vaporizing the drug. He tried to hold his breath but his vision dimmed. He grabbed at the bottle in Adelaide’s hand and missed. She had fallen to the ground. Wine stained her top making it look like she had been stabbed in her gut. Cedric swore. Try to. His lips felt heavy. He stumbled. Fell…
“...wake up, tomcat. Can you hear me? This is no time for you to die. Especially now.” Adelaide’s voice pulled Sid from his intoxicated unconsciousness. He felt hard taps on his cheek as she roused him and a smirk met his opened eyes. “Welcome back. Nice to see you still care.”
Sid groaned. He clutched his head with his right hand. That intermix of sweet and sour remained in his nose. The air was fresher here, merci l’toiles (trans. the equivalent of saying “Thank God”). There was a whiff salt as well. He didn’t mind the latter that much seeing that he never lived too far from the sea. Overall, though, il se sentait comme d’la merde (trans. “he felt like shit”). He really wanted to kill Adelaide right now. Pity she was more useful alive than dead.
Merde! Thinking about her was just as annoying as dealing with her.
“Shouldn’t I be welcoming you instead? You look like someone failed to send you to the afterlife, O Sanglante Abella!” (trans. “O Bloody (Queen) Abella”; meant to be an insult. Implying someone is like pest who won’t die.)
She laughed. Placing a hand under his upper arm, the other holding his wrist, Adelaide helped Cedric to his feet. The first thing he’d notice was his back soaked through from the flooded space. They’d awoken in what looked to be a tower; crafted from damp cobblestone and degrading wood, it rose high above their heads. The cylindrical walls were lined with odd contraptions: ropes, netting, flimsy platforms, uneven stones that protruded like steps, pulleys and such. It reminded her of an obstacle course. Down at their level, water sloshed around their ankles, numbing feet with bitter cold. Adelaide bent down, cupping a hand and brought it to her mouth. She made a face and spat the water out. “Saltwater. We still be at sea.” She looked up. “Do you recall such a rousing tower from the ship’s deck, tomcat?”
It was hard to tell if her question was serious or rhetorical.
Cedric rolled his eyes. “Un aveugle ne peut pas l’voir. I fancy we are below the ship. There are many ways to build a ship that won’t sink even when one section is compromised. It’s usually a safety measure but … this is risky! Clever, surely, but still risky. I wonder who, M. Sergi or l’Captaines?” (trans. “A blind man would have missed it”; not a literal translation)
Adelaide glanced at him sidelong. His quiet observations were meant to be a warning. He doubt Adelaide would like drowning given her weakness to salt water. It was a fact he discovered during one of their joint missions together but he never used it against her. He wondered why.
The tower’s quiet shattered with the sound of a gong. Adelaide’s hand snapped to the whip at her waist, but paused when the tower rumbled. Loose dust drifted from the stone walls, and a sloshing sound rose from the flooring. Adelaide looked down, then stepped back rapidly when she saw the water level beginning to rise. Her eyes flicked across the floor, up the walls, then to the contraptions hanging above their heads. Her lips pressed together.
“Alright then. We’re going up, it looks like. See the best path?”
“The path doesn’t matter. Not for someone with your advantage. I suggest you race like the wind, Zebulon.”
He pointed towards the ceiling and Adelaide followed his finger up. Hidden among the shadows of the dome was the outlines of a door. Sid guessed it was a trap door that open downwards. For most people, attempting to access the door would be tempting fate to the extreme. He observed that the closest beam wasn’t even directly underneath it. He’d have to rely on Adelaide to grab him and haul him up. Not exactly the most comfortable position to be in. Still she had proven her relative “trustworthiness”. She could have killed him while he was knocked out earlier. He was alive and not even mortally injured.
“Treat this like our first training exercise. Charlotte told us to press our advantage but leave no one behind.”
His eyes met hers. There wasn’t time to say more. His ears detected metallic clicking and the sound of straining wood. Time was an illusion here. The trap was designed to fill up faster as more water flowed in. Their opponents probably harnessed the pressure generated by the flowing water to open more pipes.
Deadly yet fascinating. “Go! I’ll manage.”
His mouth moved but his later words were deafened by the roaring water. Adelaide moved before he finished speaking, and barely had time to escape before Sid disappeared beneath the foam crested barrage. He felt the air knocked out of his lungs as his skin turned numb. He resisted the urge to fight the current and swim up. He allowed himself to be knocked into the wall where he clung to one of the hidden crannies. Once his panic subsided, he crouched down and jettisoned himself to the surface. It was a fight to keep above the water but each controlled, small gasp was enough to keep his alive. He just needed the ache in his legs to dim enough for him to begin his climb.
Adelaide jumped the wall, gripping one of the jetting stones with one hand and her feet scrambled struggled for purchase. The stones were horribly even with wide gaps filled by dirt and grime. Her fingers dug into them and she hauled herself up the wall. It was a struggle to get above the waterline; the saltwater drenched her skin, bogged down her clothes, made her a weight that threatened to sink if she fell. Her teeth bared as she continued to climb. It got easier the farther she was from the waterline. Once she cleared it enough, her body began to blur. The edges of her form wisped like smoke. Eyes trained to the platform just out of her reach. She braced herself -- then, she vanished. For the briefest moment. She re-appeared on the platform, looking down for a sign of Sid.
Instincts honed by training took over. His mind might be hazy and his ears waterlogged but Sid continued struggling. One hand up. Feel around with the other. Now one foot. Then the other. Finally, the water was kissing his ankles. He had time to breath a little more. He inhaled his sweet reward appreciating the salty smell even more. Still, he couldn’t afford to be indulgent. The water was gnawing his shins again. Sparring a few seconds, he threw his gaze towards the ceiling trying to see where Adelaide was. He doubted she could hear him from her vantage. There was far too much white noise.
But what of the dome above? Could she use it to amplify her voice? He hadn’t given echoes much thought before. In the future, he planed turn it into an advantage.
Once she spotted Sid clinging to the wall, floating up with the torrent, she turned her attention to upward to the trapdoor. She performed her disappearing act repeatedly to reach platform to platform, using them to elevate her position at a fat rate. At each one, she paused to assess Cedric’s position. Occasionally she wait until he was closer before moving on. Still, she became impatient and reached the trapdoor in record time.
Scampering up a knotted rope, hand over hand, feet over feet, in quick succession got her eye-level to the beam that paralleled to their exit. Her form blurred once more -- and she was balancing on the beam, lightly walking over to the trapdoor. She reached up with one hand to graze fingertips across the ceiling. They came away perfectly clean. Adelaide gave a small smile, a glimpse of satisfaction, then gripped the trapdoor and gave a pull.
Nothing.
The smile fell. She yanked at the door, and it didn’t budge. Adelaide frowned. Squinting in the glum, her fingers felt around until she touched a wrought iron keyhole. “Always one more thing,” Adelaide muttered.
She looked around, teetering casually on the beam as she first examined the ceiling, then turned downwards. They stopped on the rising waters.
“Tomcat,” her breathy voice tickled at his ear. They were so far apart but he could hear her clearly as Cecilia’s disembodied voice except at an intimate distance. If the waters didn’t block it, Sid would feel the kiss of a cold breeze against his cheek. “We need a key. For the door. It must be close to you, can you see it?”
“Preuve? I don’t doubt you conclusion but backtracking is en’yeux.” (trans. “Evidence?” and “tiring”)
Cedric rubbed his ear to warm up. The tickling sensation wasn’t appreciated in the slightest. A small shiver wrecked his body reminding how about the uphill battle to the top. He rubbed a hand down the length of his right arm. Some sensation returned. He repeated the action on his left arm. Glancing down, he quirked an eyebrow. The water appeared to be slowing down. He felt apprehensive. Were they being watched? Or was this the calm before the storm? Whatever that saying was. He remembered Jack always raving about storms and trouble but he never really paid attention to the actual saying.
He chose to capitalise on their supposed windfall. Crouching down onto the beam to lower his center of gravity, Sid focused on finding the key. His mind flitted back to the bottle repeatedly. Logically, a bottle would be easier to find compared to an actual key. He closed his eyes. Snapping them open, he hazard a glance down again.
The calmer waters shimmered like a rising mirror. He managed to peer into their depths. It was surprisingly clear. Reminiscent of the shallow waters hugging the beach. A mermaid’s treasure trove decorated the bottom. Broken chests, the skeletal remains of a small boat, scattered trinkets and bottles upon bottles. The details appeared superfluous. A message was carved into stone floor. He bent forward to get a better look.
Why does the sun rise in east?
A better path lies in opposition.
The beguiling waters have no answers.
Look heavenward.
The key is never far from the door.
Scrawled below were several strings of musical notes. Cedric drummed his fingers according to the inscribed tempo.
An embarrassing reaction, but who could resist? He paused. He repeated the tempo again.
A hidden message within a hidden message? So much theatrics. He wondered how it fitted with what they saw. He heeded the advice and looked heavenward.
Oh!
The spatial arrangement hadn’t been recognisable earlier when he was fighting to stay above the water. Now, though, he realised the beams hadn’t been arranged haphazardly. They were built to resemble a set of spiralling piano keys. That’s the reason why some were shorter than others. They were the black keys; the flats and the sharps.
Piano keys worked in octaves. The set get higher or lower but the keys repeat nonetheless. He counted the notes again starting on the left side. West. Feeling confident that the final note would be close to the key, he started counting the beams upwards. Adelaide’s eyes were following his finger. She seemed to have come to the same conclusion.
It was a piece meant for her.
On an actual piano, he won’t have any difficulty stretching from one key to the other. Here he’d need Adelaide’s effortless agility to cross some of these … yeah, his music education had been sketchy at best. Mostly due to a lack of interest on his part. Technical terms aside, he was glad he remembered enough to figure it out.
“How much do you know about the piano?” he asked.
His finger pointing to the undisputed start of Adelaide’s journey back to the top. He wouldn’t mind explaining the route to her, but he’d rather save the effort. He sensed he’d need every last lungful of air to scramble up. The water had reached the bottom of the beam he was standing on. He really wanted to just float on the surface at this point. Let the water carry him up. He suppressed the urge to smirk. The action would be mocking Adelaide in some sense too. Bonus! She would float as well as a rock.
He’d rather not risk it. As far as he was concerned, they had two more doors to go. There was no telling whether the time squandered here would have hefty consequences. He preferred having more on his side if the puzzles become even more challenging.
“Is that all? Se rencontrer au sommet. Shout if you need me. It’s easier to hear you now that the water isn’t gushing.” (trans. “Meet you at the top”)
“Sweet little kitty cat. Worried about the lioness?” she mocked and patted Cedric’s cheek with her hand. The water lapped at her feet, and she looked down, nose wrinkling. “I think I’m done with this charade.”
Turning her gaze upward once more, Adelaide tracked the path the poem indicated. There-- a speck of something other than cobblestone, flickering on a rope. Standing up on the beam, she jumped onto one its ropes and shimmied up and past the water until she was high enough for her leap/vanish from it to the platform on the far side of the tower. It landed her close to the beams of her designated path. She didn’t waste time hopping to each one, occasionally shifting past one and hopping the other, to quicken her pace. The farther she got, the easier it became to pinpoint the key for the trapdoor. Smirking, Adelaide performed one last somersault - vanished - and reappeared on the key’s rope. It dangled above the water in an empty wine bottle. Manipulating the rope around her ankle, she hung upside down to grab the key. Curiously, she turned the bottle in her hand and smirked at the label: the same as what they’d drunk in the kitchen. She tipped the bottle upside down, and the key fell into her palm.
She left the bottle and returned to the trapdoor. No using the obstacle course this time - or, what was left of it. The water caught up quick; Adelaide spotted Sid mere meters down, treading as best as he could. She gave him away then turned and put the key in the door’s lock. It fell open. Not wasting another second, Adelaide leapt for the edge of the doorway, and vaulted herself into the room beyond.
“Égoïste.” Cedric muttered under his breath. (trans. “Selfish”; though he also meant that she was being egotistical hence the choice of word)
His resolve crumbled. He wasn’t going to waste energy up the last two flights if an insurmountable leap was his reward. He lowered himself gingerly onto the beam then lay flat in surrender. He should have just done this from the start. Merde! That hope for nothing. As punishment, Adelaide could start figuring out the next puzzle by herself. He closed his eyes. He was going to recuperate. Be that lazy cat Jack always accused him of being.
Sometimes, the lazy prosper.
He always wanted to tell Jack that. Not really. It would only prolong the nagging. Cold wetness pressed against his back. The sensation crept up his sides like a cocoon. Sid refused to budge. He planned to keep calm and float. Eventually, he’d reach the door. The resulting mess be damned. It wasn’t his problem!
xxxxxxxxxx
O Monochrome World
The world fell silent; it deafened her ears to the point of oppression. Adelaide winced and rubbed at them once she was on her feet, and found herself on a street of pure gray scale. Dark with soft silver lighting. Color was voided here. She looked around: they seemed to be in a whole new place. A whole village, perhaps. She was on a clay roof, the trapdoor nestled behind her, attached to a house much to small to house the tower they were originally in. Familiar structures of houses and stone streets sprawled around her. They varied in tones of white and black; the very absence of color hurt her eyes. As a very wet Sid pulled himself up, she reached into the satchel strapped around her chest. A hand slipped beneath the flap, and pulled a tiny daisy no bigger than her thumbnail. She twirled the stem between two fingers, then placed it behind her ear. Amidst the dullness, the whiteness of the flower seemed coloured.
“Have you made any progress?”
“Pas encore.” (
Not yet.) Even a whisper rendered the air.
Their voices were oddly loud. The sound expanded and filled the room. It felt almost tangible. Cedric shifted uncomfortably as the words died. Not only were his ears empty post mortem, he no longer felt cold and wet. Sensory deprivation was one of the crueler ways to torture someone. He never witnessed it before but this was close to what he imagined it to be like. Absolute stillness. A near absence of sound, smell and sensation. Sight greatly compromised. He was beginning to realise how much he relied on colours for visual cues. Even in the darkest night, there was some colour. They shouldn’t linger here or risk going insane.
Distinguishing between close shades of grey slowed their eyes down considerably. There was no getting accustomed to it. Worst yet, they had no clue what they were searching for in this void. The only feature Sid felt noteworthy was the huge clock tower two streets away. He saw an opened birdcage perched at the top.
Were they supposed to find a bird?
He felt a tap. He turned his head to the side and blinked. Adelaide devoid of colour appeared even more dead than when she was covered in reddish wine stains. He shoved his morbid thoughts away long enough to spot the self-satisfied smirk on her face. He wrinkled his nose in distaste before looking in the direction she pointed to. A banner hanging just up ahead, stark white with abyssal writing.
Dance to Nightingale Song
Down a Road of Blazing Yellow
Behind the Door is Your Journey’s End
Right. This explained everything. Not. He understood the part relating to the bird. It was most likely linked to that opened cage.
What was the link between song and colour?
Again the sensation of being tossed into a befuddled dreamland returned in full force.
His mind had to go there! Fairy tales! Back in Trovale, there was story how the goddess Etouffant created the first Gris in a fit of mania. A magnificent song bird with feathers so dark that it absorbed all the colour from the world. It was also the origin story for the day and night cycle. He didn’t remember the full story. Just the bird itself. He recalled that by absorbing all the colour its feathers blazed with rainbow hues.
Fairy tales actually made sense. The Court were performers. Tellers of tales. It shouldn’t be surprising that they knew even the most most obscure story. He tried to remember what the bird looked like. Being in the city made it nearly impossible to encounter one aside from the occasional pet or references in books.
Oh right, he forgot. He had Adelaide to rely on.
“We are looking for Gemini’s bird. A Gris. Do you remember that story? It was the bird that absorbed all the colours. Quite a fashionable pet say five years back. Twilight was always filled with its song. The princess had one. She was so fond of it that she joked that it would be her chosen familiar if she was une Reveuse.” (trans. “Reveuse” means dreamer but in Trovalian it also means “summoner”. Reveuse, f. Reveur, m. often shortened to Reveu in colloquial speech)
“I do,” replied Adelaide as she turned in a slow circle, “I spoke of it to Sergi once.”
“That explains a lot. This scene,” he said as his hand swept outwards in a dramatic arc. “It’s so eerily similar to Fresnel. The place where it supposedly happened.”
He chuckled as the other pieces snapped into place. “Twilight is also the time when the sun is almost gone. The reddish rays would make any yellow road look like it’s burning.”
Another pause. “What’s the time now? I think we have to make sure the bird sings at the correct time. Meaning we need to get it to sit long enough to start singing. Any ideas?”
Sunset had been at six past seven yesterday in the evening. He recalled asking Kadi for the time when the man passed him on deck. He glanced at the clock while waiting for Adelaide’s reply. Quarter past five. He doubted that was the actually time in the real world. Just the time for this world.
Great! Another time based puzzle! He couldn’t help the sarcasm. He wondered briefly how the others would fare. A fair few struck him as the sort who wouldn’t have the patience to work their way through these mind games.
That or he and Adelaide were simply too obedient. Two obedient disobedients. More irony! He decided he would discuss this insight with Jack tonight if the man wasn’t too preoccupied.
“Fifty-one minutes,” he stated. “A minute give or take. Shouldn’t matter too much. Sunset was at six past seven yesterday. About ten past seven a day or so before that.”
He began walking towards the edge of the roof. “Don’t you love how flexible they are with time?”
Two fingers tapped his forehead. “You think too much.”
“Hardly. I happen to be more vocal than you due to our circumstance. Mon Zebby, you remain far too proud to share your thoughts. This is supposed to be teamwork.”
Adelaide smirked. Like in the tower, her form blurred. A breeze picked up, whistling through the stillness that leveled to a screech. It became more powerful - a small gale - and the large it became the less of Adelaide existed. The wind itself seemed to sweep through, and from, herself. Her body shift and whispered on the currents, whole limbs and parts appeared missing one moment then reappeared the next. She raised her arms, which were constantly warping in and out of existence, and made a flicking motion. The winds swept out. They blew Cedric’s hair and clothes, passing through the homes and rooftops, kicking up graytoned debris from the streets.
Towards the east, an indignant squawk followed up the first thing of true color in this monochrome. A bird: bright and blue, with a shining underbelly. It flew up and up… then plummeted, ten feet straight. It spiraled, corrected its course, only to get knocked to one side. It flew around erratically. Trying to find wind currents that made sense.
Beside Cedric, Adelaide solidified- for the most part. Her hands were gone, and the edges of her arms continued to waver. “What do you wait for?” Adelaide’s voice came from her, yet sounded far off too. It lilted with amusement. “Go fetch.”
Sid turned towards the clock. Five-twenty. His uneasiness grew. This was
too easy. The wine bottle had been easy too. Non, there had to be a twist. His eyes narrowed as he took in the coloured Gris.
“You sure?” he questioned.
Adelaide rolled her eyes and gestured with a non-existent hand. Wind blasted against Sid, thrusting him off his feet, and he went sailing several meters. He landed on a rooftop, tiles cascading off to shatter on the street below, and the bird chirped somewhere to his right.
“What’s the worst that will happen?” Adelaide whispered into his ear with a breeze.
As if on cue, the blue-backed bird flitted across Sid’s line of vision. Its song chittered and chirped high above as it stopped to hover above his head. Its tiny twitched left and right, observing this anomaly in its territory, then opened its mouth and released an ear-bleeding, wretched scream straight at Sid.
The blast of colour hurt him more than the screech. Cedric stood there dazed as the feathered Fury targeted him. He drew his arms up a fraction of second too late. A stream of searing flame smashed into him. His cheek stung then numbed. His arms fared a little better thanks to his ruined sleeves. For a moment, he had a distinct impression that colour returned to the world. He was disoriented.
The bird’s beak snapped shut. It did a backflip and rocketed skyward. Fanning its wings, it watched Adelaide attempting to haul Cedric to his feet. The Gris let out another metallic screech. Steam hissed from unseen vents. There was a slight prickling of heat in the air causing a breeze to kick in. They heard more pneumonic hissing. The warning came a little too late. Fast, almost solid, streams of wind raced towards them. The sheer force was enough to cave in the roof. Thankfully, Adelaide had been a lot of swifter.
The two made it in time. They panted heavily several rooves away. Cedric gritted his teeth as some pain registered in his mind. The protection of adrenaline not as effective as he’d like. He had a hard time distinguishing his blood from damp. He had no idea how badly injured he was.
“Adelaide,” he murmured.
He dropped down on the roof. He didn’t want to be dramatic but he doubted he came away with superficial wounds from the earlier encounter. He felt the tail end of the wind blade carve his right shin.
That had been his better leg too! So much for relying more on agility here.
“I’m tempted to snipe ce connard!” he gritted as he felt his injured leg being straightened. (trans. “that bastard”)
They both knew it was an empty threat. Shattering their means of escape was foolish in the extreme. They just needed a workaround. He tried not to gasp as he felt the area around his shin constrict. The sensation alone spoke volumes. It was bad enough for Adelaide to decide to tend to it. Merde!
“It’s searching,” he commented.
The bird appeared quite blind to their existence. He wondered what was the maximum distance it could see. Therein was their advantage. Both he and Adelaide were just as skilled from the distance. Him more so when his familiars were present. He sighed. No, he didn’t want to go that route yet. A second no to really attacking that thing. He believed the real solution was to get the bird into the cage.
Why else would the door be open?
“When you told Sergi the story, was there a cage?” he asked. Her honesty was vital to confirming his theory. He believed the same thoughts had crossed her mind the moment they discussed the Gris.
Everything had a purpose so far.
She glanced at him, then the bird, then the cage. “Did you ever hear another version?” she asked him. “The story went the Gris had its freedom at nighttime, granted by our King of Gods. It would sing at twilight to rejoice its freedom, while trapped by day in the cage.”
Patting his cheek, Adelaide told him to stay put. She then walked out of their cover. The Gris spotted her immediately and screamed, sending another fireball directly at Adelaide. She raised her arms, not making another movement. It hit -- and went right through her. She blurred, just for a moment, her body re-assimilating from the blast. She then flicked her wrists. The wind caught the bird once more, and this time in a far more aggressive state. It blasted the thing towards the cage. Blue feathers cascaded around them as it went over their heads, screeching, caught up in its own personal whirlwind. Adelaide thrust it into the cage, and used the wind to slam it shut.
Dusting her hands, she turned to Sid with a wide smirk.
“Show off.” he teased.
He was glad she tackled that half of the puzzle. They had to deal with the clock next. The hands showed that it was half past five. He wondered if moving the hands forward would hasten their departure. It didn’t seem very practical to wait another forty or so minutes.
“Please,” he stated simply gesturing towards the clock with an open palm.
He remained seated where she left him earlier. The less he moved the better, he figured. He didn’t want to aggravate his injury. Not without good reason, at least. He felt a light breeze sweep past him. Relaxing a little, he watched the Gris flying around the cage. It would sit on the perch occasionally, but it wouldn’t remain still long enough to begin singing.
Adelaide moved her hands in a circular pattern. With each circuit, her skin grew more transparent. A concentrated whirlwind swirled from her and hit the clock tower. It took several minutes for Adelaide to thread her currents around the hands of the clock, and maneuver them to her desired time. At last, she hit the top of the hour. The tower gonged across the monochrome world.
The bird stopped fluttering around so energetically once the clock chimes for the sixth time. As the minute hand reached seven, the Gris hopped onto the perch and tilted its head up. A hauntingly beautiful tune, so different from the usual bird song, issued from its beak. The soothing song reminded Sid of a music box.
Belle Folie, he recalled.
Beautiful Madness. This song was one of the highlights of their opera performance a few years back. Another production he missed. He allowed himself a few minutes to enjoy the music.
Colour ebbed back into the world. The gentle rebirth was kind to their deprived eyes. Cedric blinked slowly several times before finally inspecting his wounds. Long blackened patches appeared sporadically. Some parts were starting to peel open to reveal semi congealing blood. He suspected the prolonged numbness of his right cheek indicated a similar blackening of the skin. The bandages around his shin was dyed wine red. He guessed he and Adelaide really look like a pair now. Her stained shirt and his bloodied leg. He staggered to his feet with a slight wince.
As the rays reddened to a rich ruby, the path beneath them glowed. Cedric squinted slightly not appreciating the sudden sharpness contrasting harshly with the soothing twilight palette. His eyes began to water but it didn’t hamper his vision. He managed to locate their exit without much effort. It was a simple wooden door that served as the entrance into a music shop. Based on the display in the window, the place specialised in music boxes.
How fitting, he thought snidely.
“The Court recruits people of many talents, don’t they? It’s rare to see a skilled tinkerer so far from Brass Cape. Is this person among your many acquaintances here? This person who made the Gris.”
Adelaide’s head tilted. “I did meet a tinkerer once. He liked wearing funny hats.” She smiled at Sid and walked into their last room, saying no more on the matter.
“They always wear funny hats. A more imaginative answer would have been appreciated.”
Adelaide was being frustrating as usual, but the sting wasn’t there anymore. It wasn’t like he shared his thoughts that openly either. He ambled behind taking care not to put too much pressure on his leg. He guessed this would be his first lengthy conversation with Ms. Vilimar. He’d appreciate it immensely if she could prevent unneeded scarring. Not just for vanity’s sake but for more practical reasons. Scars made identifying someone a little too easy. It was something he could do without.
As they passed through the shop into the open cupboard, one of the music boxes began playing. Sid’s thoughts were brief. They heard it recently but he forgot where. He decided it didn’t matter for now and he stepped in after Adelaide.
xxxxxxxxxx
The Curtain Falls
Cloak and daggers seemed to be the theme of their homestretch. Adelaide and Cedric found themselves in a cramp alcove created by tall hedges once they stepped through the second door. A masked messenger greeted them and passed them a sealed envelope. Adelaide took it, her head cocked to one side as she met exuberant, fuchsia eyes shining from behind the mask. She popped open the wax seal once the woman pranced out of sight. Inside was a single leaf of parchment.
Checkmate. You win?
Cedric’s eyes blazed with curiosity behind his glittery satin mask. A chess game during a masquerade ball? His only guess was that they were here to assassinate someone. A royal. Possibly a king. That was the only way the word checkmate would make any sense. He bowed elegantly and held out a white gloved hand to Adelaide who took it after a moment’s pause. Whatever this puzzle entailed, he figured they should enjoy the moment. The dance here would be a lot less tense than the one earlier. Here he knew he had to play to win. There was simply too nebulous.
“Warm hues suit you, Nightingale,” he flattered. “That waterfall of green peeking beneath heady gold and heart throb reds. You look like an exotic Bird of Paradise than a dull Trovalian Nightingale. So vivid.”
His compliments prompted a chuckle from Adelaide. “Do you wish to earn something from these gracious remarks?”
He allowed her to thread her hand through his arms. Practiced farce. They were a little too good at this, he thought uncomfortably. He let the thoughts flow away like the music sweeping towards them from the lit dance hall in the distance. Their feet already on the path towards it.
Even in the weak glimmer of fairy lights adorning the shrubbery, Adelaide glowed. Her figure hugging dress hung off shoulder enough to toe the thin line between seductive and explicit. The long skirt folded like tulip petals down her legs splitting off mid-thigh to make dancing so much easier. A design choice too many noble women overlook in their eagerness to flaunt their wealth. This simplicity breathed elegance. The jewellery, a lacey gold and pearl choker, complimented the gown without overwhelming it. Cedric didn’t know which look he preferred. The vapid butterfly suited her just as well. Maybe even better. He never thought of her as a nightingale before. She came across as more fiery. More tropical.
Slowly, his eyes trailed back to the pearly white and gold mask adorning her face. Stray curls artfully arranged fell over the edge. The longest strand fell close but not touching her mauve lips. “I wish I could see how I look and show you how you look,” he commented.
He was skeptical about his appearance. He had a distinct impression that they went with a raven theme for him. Deep purples that verged on black. He could feel the cutting but seeing it was necessary to solidify the image in his head. At the very least, he was glad they didn’t cloth him in black and white. The starkness reminded him of funerals and death. Nothing remotely delightful about that. Certainly not on the dance floor. It bordered on disrespect in his opinion.
If your host invited you into a beautiful ballroom, you should do your best to fit in. Be dramatic but tastefully so.
She tilted her head back to get a good look at the man, eyes trailing up his outfit from the amethyst-buckled loafers to the tips of his feathered collar. “Lush,” she said simply, “You look lush.
“Why haven’t you asked me yet?”
“I don’t want to be accused of being vain. You and Jack always
always remind me to be more humble,” he replied in a mock suffering tone.
It was clear from his voice that he really wanted to know. He allowed his eyes to drop from her gaze. Another attempt at false modesty, one which both Adelaide and Jack were familiar with having lived with him for years. “You know I don’t let it get to my head. It’s people who can’t stop staring.”
Adelaide’s mouth opened, as if she was about to say something. She closed it after a second thought.
Sounds of laughter started mingling with the music. They were close. Masked doormen held jewelled crusted lanterns aloft waving them forward. Both of them passed the servants without the slightest nod of acknowledgement. Again according to script. Even with her cool, weightlessness on his arm, Cedric noticed a slight tensing. A similar thrill was racing through him. It was starting soon.
Polished glass and oak doors greeted them at the top of the marble stairs. They were each presented with a white rose surrounded by baby’s breath plated in gold. A corsage for Adelaide and a boutonniere for Cedric. He quirked a thin eyebrow. White meant that they should make the first move.
They had to be strategic about it, because defending was always easier.
“White offers a slight advantage. Say fifty-two to fifty-six percent if the Mathematicians are to be believed. It’s a knife’s edge when it comes to chess. Depends on our skill and theirs.”
He leaned closers His voice dropping into a purring whisper. “Dev’nous parler dans notre langue? Comms’ pas drôle.” (trans. “Shall we speak in our own language? Common is boring.”)
Adelaide turned to face him without moving away, their faces inches apart. Her bright brown eyes seemed to absorb Cedric’s own. The sense of her reading him with a glance, formulating, coming up with her own conclusions. Her head cocked to the side. “Bien.” (
Alright.)
She shifted her eyes away to reevaluate the “chess board”. Her eyes flickered for the identifying markers of the black pieces, their adversaries, and the king and queen of each side.
Sid wasn’t in that much of a hurry. He believed that they needed more information about the “battlefield” first. Information about their actual opponents were incidental. He wanted to give them as thick a knife’s edge as possible. Picking up two flutes of champagne, he passed one to Adelaide.
“Ne soy’z pas si impatient,” he tutted. “Nous attendous.” (trans. (not literally) “Don’t be too hasty. Let’s wait.”)
She scoffed, “ Dit le petit à sa mère.” (
Says the cub to its mother.)
Supplementing his words was a dance card he picked up earlier. There were only two more dances in this set. It meant that they needed to wait for the start of the next set to join in. He swirled the glass between his gloved fingers.
He tilted his head to the side. “Pas d’amis ici.” (trans. “No friends here”; implied “We can only rely on ourselves to win”)
Every card emblazoned with a red rose was completely filled. The two cards emblazoned with a white rose were empty.
Fun. He never recalled ever playing chess with such a disadvantage. He guessed that made one of them the
King. It was the condition for a checkmate. Probably their identities didn’t matter much. The two of them had to take down the enemy King to win.
Or try to... He watched a graceful couple dance in the center of the dance floor. A woman with flaming red hair twirled in her partner’s arms. Her dress just as seductive as Adelaide’s with hints of a Feian elements intermixed into a slim silhouette. Probably for concealed weapons, he concluded. He watched the flowing sleeves a little suspiciously. A tiny tiara sat on her head. The phoenix feather filigree on it mirrored that of her choker. Aside from the scarlet rose corsage, those were the only hints of warmth. Her outfit was bathed in cool colours. It brought back memories of the black and white world.
He watched long enough to see a flash of her silver stiletto heels peek beneath the hem of her skirt. She was laughing as she gazed into her partner’s masked face. The man had strong arms. Cedric’s eyes lingered on the outlines beneath the sleeves. Solid. Someone who might prefer brawling not unlike Sara. The woman’s fighting style wasn’t hinted at all.
One known and one unknown, nice.
Metal threads sparkled amidst the earthy bronze of the man’s top. Cedric imagined a very sinewy beast prowling protectively around the woman.
Hm? He wondered.
Was she the King perhaps and the man the Queen? His suspicions were confirmed the longer he watched them. The man was indeed her knight in shining armour.
Okay, so they target the woman.
The other pieces, he didn’t know what to make of them. The dancing figures had nothing distinct about them. Their outfits of the same colour palette, reds with black and burnt greens. Subdued and meant to confuse.
A bit like a school of fish. You can’t tell one from the other once you get sucked in.
“Garde tes y’ouverts.” (trans. “Keep your eyes peeled”; implied don’t get deceived by what you see.)
“Do you even see beyond your nose?” Adelaide asked, continuing to speak in the Trovalian tongue. “Or does the thrill of the hunt blind you?”
“Je suis blessé.” (trans. “I’m hurt”; Sid meant it more literally indicating he prefers being more cautious)
The corners of her lips pulled. She’d been more admonishing, and the vaguest tell of frustration revealed itself to Cedric. Those who’d known her less wouldn’t pick up on the way her body poised like a panther casually prepping its lunge on a prey. Her eyes flicked ceaselessly over the ballroom; her arms folded loosely across her chest. When it was finally their turn to dance, she took Sid by the wrist and lead the way. She swung him around, hand on his waist, the other on his shoulder, and let the music carry them forth.
“Why do you think this needs to be so planned?” A cocked head and glassy voice questioned him behind the glittering mask. “Do you imagine it a real mission? It’s not. The target is set where you chose. Where will you strike, tomcat?”
“Who has the advantage between the two of us?” he shot back.
He was never good at close combat. They both knew it but between an agile woman and her muscled partner he had to pick the latter this time. His leg was barely cooperating at this point. He felt the urge to call Chester or Chaos to him. It was overwhelmly strong. Still he didn’t want to do so. He could manage without them. Charlotte wouldn’t let him have such a weakness.
“l’Chats pas ici.” he added a little more apprehensively. (trans. “My cats aren’t here”; implied do you want to take this risk? It’s the actual answer to Adelaide’s earlier question)
He sucked in his breath. “I don’t know if I’m desensitized yet. I could try pushing on. You should take the lead.”
He spoke whatever came easier to him at this point. His language repertoire was mingling at an alarming rate. Fatigue was close. He should conserve as much energy as he could from this round in case they need it at the end. He had no idea if the rest of the Stardusk were in better shape.
Adelaide’s hands guided him. He appreciated the fact that she tried her best to lessen the pressure on his right side while concealing the weakness. He knew the injuries on his arms were hidden by the sleeves but what of his face. He had tried to forget all of them earlier. It had been so easy when the pain wasn’t registering in his consciousness.
“l’Roi and l’pion. What se q’on fait?” (trans. “The king and the pawn. What do we do?”)
He better stop talking soon. His grammar was going to be a bigger distraction than their enemies. One he can’t have Adelaide suffer now that they were so close to victory. For second, his mind flitted with the idea of double indemnity. Their possible safety net. He wondered if their enemies were so kind. It wasn’t explicit who was their designated King.
So much confusion.
From the moment they appeared in the ballroom, he’d sensed an odd warmth coming from. A mounting displeasure that accumulated below the surface of her skin. Her features remained unreadable, and her body relaxed, always poised for action but never tense. But when before she’d taken their challenges in stride, now she seemed to be… bored. Adelaide shook her head at him, as if disappointed he hadn’t grasped what she wanted him to. “Little tomcat. It doesn’t matter.”
In one single motion, Adelaide released Cedric, spun on her heel, and released a slice of wind from her hand. It cut through the ballroom - felling pawn dancers with one bloody strike - and headed straight for the supposed King and Queen.
The couple broke apart in an instance. The man threw himself in front of the woman to shield her from the attack. The redhead appeared quite amused. She simply leaped away before Adelaide could materialise fully behind her partner.
“Oh my,” came a husky purr.
The owner of the voice raised her hand to her mouth and laughed in amusement. “Why so impatient, Adelaide darling? We did our best to keep you oh so entertained.”
The man growled. He drew his fist back. He didn’t get a chance to step forward when a silver bolt bounced off his leg. Kiril’s focus shifted to Adelaide’s partner. His efforts were met with a wide-eyed stare. Sid’s look of surprise morphed into nonchalance. His purple eyes barely betrayed the inner workings of his mind. The right side of Kiril’s lips tugged upwards in anticipation. This fight was over before it began. His prissy opponent didn’t look like he’d stand a chance in a fist fight.
“Kiril, love, Adelaide’s mine. The other’s yours. He shouldn’t be a problem since he’s injured.”
Kiril grunted. He straightened up to his full height. He cracked his neck from side to side before squaring his shoulders. Tearing at his right arm, the man revealed the mechanical prosthetic beneath. Steam hissed from the elbow as the man drew his hand back to strike again. He roared and leaped into the air.
Sid raised an eyebrow.
Okay, the tailor thought.
This was interesting. But a brawler is still a brawler …
Or so he thought.
Kiril released his punch. Rather than a fist slamming against his flesh, Cedric was knocked downwards and backwards at the same time; he came to a skull-ringing halt when his head smashed against the wall. Sid groaned. The attack reminded him of a powered up version of Adelaide’s wind blasts. One that felt like an ton of invisible bricks. He sputtered and groped for his crossbow. It had fallen at the place he stood earlier.
“Not too bright are you?” Kiril barked.
His foot landed on the crossbow as he kicked it into the crowd. He walked over towards the fallen man and kicked up. His steel clad foot jerking Cedric’s chin upwards. There was a loud thud when head met wall again. Purple eyes glazed over.
Kiril hauled Sid up and threw him even further away from the crossbow. The smaller man was completely swallowed by another group of puppets. Kiril’s shoulders dipped. Target almost neutralised. He paused to consider his chances of winning. A good chance as the tailor looked close to collapsing. Sergi said if either fell it was game over. Victory was so close! Kiril didn’t know whether he was happy or disappointed. He expected a lot more from a member of the Stardusk.
“You’re too slow, darling.”
Mirren twisted to the left. Adelaide’s wind met emptiness. Leaping further away, the graceful belle thrust her arms forward. Her long sleeves shot out towards the she-devil. She missed the woman by the smallest of margin. She smirked. There had been the smallest of ripple where her sleeves tagged her slippery foe.
Not so invincible, eh?
She skipped to the right immediately afterwards. Shimmering string springing from her fingers. They latched onto the fallen dancers as she pulled them back up. En masse the puppets started crowding around their fight. The free space between the women started disappearing.
“How long do you want to play this game of tag? Your stamina won’t last forever. Neither would your partner.”
Adelaide’s head tilted to one side. “So. You have been paying attention.” Something in the way her gaze drifted lazily around gave the distinct impression she wasn’t talking to Mirren. Adelaide turned her head up to the ceiling. “Listen. My mood’s beginning to thin. I’m not even a part of this crew. Would you constitute this as a little unfair?”
“No,” Mirren replied in proxy.
The first puppet made its move as Mirren’s mounting irritation became known. Adelaide ducked, but the skirt of her dress caught beneath her foot. She stumbled, then hit the floor hard as the puppet ran into her. Gripping its wrist, Adelaide over onto her back and pulled. His arm cracked and popped as she broke the wrist and dislocated the shoulder. She kicked his face to render unconsciousness and then scrambled back to her feet.
“My real clothes would be nice right about now,” she commented.
She looked down at her hand, as suddenly the familiar weight and shape of her whip rested in her palm. “Hm. Alright.”
If Mirren made any retorts, they deafened to Adelaide as she whipped into action. She targeted the second closest puppet, and manipulated her weapon around the target’s throat. She yanked the puppet forward, causing them to fall into the person in front of them. More came forward, and introduce a game of whip-the-puppet. Adelaide mixed her windly prowess with the whip, quickly establishing a berth around her. She was quick to react to the puppets sent her way with a crack the rendered necks broken, faces bruised, chests spliced. Those who managed to get past her guard either passed through her entirely, or were attacked directly by wind.
They kept it up for long minutes. Adelaide panted under her breath, the only sign of her energy waning. Then her reactions began to slow.
Mirren twitched a finger, and a puppet dancer lunged for Adelaide from her blind side.
A tug on Adelaide’s whip stopped her short. Her body jerked back. Leaning into it, she bent at the waist and watched a blade bleeding black pass over her face. She felt its tip dig into her face, whipping her head to the side as droplets of blood splattered the floor. Adelaide dropped onto her back. Pain stinged enough for her eyes to water but she ignored it. She leveraged her whole body weight against the mass holding her whip. It loosened, the enemy stumbling forward. She vaulted onto her feet, spun, and directed a razor-edge wind at him. It cut him across the chest. He flew back from the force, crashing into a pillar. He crumpled, limbs splayed, one blank golden eye peering through dreadlocks.
Mirren’s red lips curled into a feral grin. She heard that panting. She took that unguarded opening to tag the woman’s clothed shoulder. Green and gold threads heeded her call as they began weaving around the tanned neck.
“Do your clothes become part of your fleshless body or does it take effort to keep them on you?”
She didn’t wait for an answer before jumping backwards. She took a second leap; this one to the left. There was a brief glimpse of icy grey before Mirren melded with her puppets. She was perfectly camouflaged and the puppets continued encroaching on the abandoned battle ground.
The threads tightened, and Adelaide gasped. Her eyes hadn’t left the newest corpse she created, and as such, she watched it meld and blur into another puppet. Her jaw clenched. Phasing into wind, Adelaide pivoted on a heel to escape the King’s threads. Her clothes transformed too and left the threads drifting uselessly. For the first time, Adelaide met Mirren’s eyes. They were wide; wide and blank as the puppets she controlled. All emotion seeped away, all trace of the natural warmth of humanity. A predator replaced the she-devil in a glittering gown.
Winds picked up around them. All at once, they collected around Adelaide and expanded outward, knocking everything backwards. The dolls fell away, momentarily breaking the King’s protection. Adelaide herself disappeared a fraction of a second. She re-appeared several feet closer and cracked her whip out. It snaked around Mirren’s neck with a flaming vice. Adelaide yanked it, bringing Mirren to her knees. She quickly wrapped the whip between her palm and elbow, making her arm into an anchor that prevented Mirren from using her end of the weapon against its owner. Adelaide tugged it again when the King made to stand. Wrap, tug. Wrap, tug. Bit by bit, Adelaide dragged Mirren closer until they were close enough for her to walk to without incident. Adelaide knelt down, her skirts splaying around her. She put two fingers to the King’s chin and lifted it up so their eyes met. She looked into them, searching.
Adelaide sighed with disappointment. “If only you were real.”
Leaning down, Adelaide kissed the woman, and sucked the air out of her lungs. She was a breath away from the killing blow when teeth clamped down on her tongue. Blood filled Adelaide’s mouth. Dazed eyes curled with feline mischievousness. Two hands pushed Adelaide off.
Mirren panted. Colour slowly returning to her face. “Who is real and who is not? Who’s to say? I’m real in my mind and that’s all that matters.”
Adelaide’s skirt ripped from the waist and turned into weighted manacles. Mirren had disappeared before Adelaide could fully free herself. There were too many groups of puppets to pick from. Where was Mirren hiding?
The puppets aiding Kiril parted to form a clear path for him. Cedric was still flat on his stomach. One arm blocking his face and the other appeared to be crushed under his own weight. Steam rolled off Kiril cloaking him in a hazy cloud. The cogs in his legs began turning as he focused on speeding up. Two more hits for safe measure, he planned.
His fingers dug into the back of Cedric’s shirt and he dropped into a crouch. He was about to take to the air when the man threw a card in his face. Kiril blinked but it didn’t help. A burst of heat and light hit him between the eyes and he staggered away. His bundle fell to the wayside. He clutched at his face yelling gutturally.
The darkness and static dots cleared after he calmed down. Vision in his biological eye remained blurred and grey tinged. A quick assessment told him that it was mostly likely inflamed. Kiril sucked in his breath. Damn his overconfidence! He scanned the area for his prey. Lo, the man was headed towards the crowd ahead. Most likely aiming for the crossbow.
Steam flooded the area as Kiril closed the gap in half a heartbeat. He aimed a punch at the retreating head. The mirage vanished leaving the brawler dumbfounded. His own heartbeat echoed inside his ears. Fuck!
Out loud he spat, “How?”
His lips had become nonexistent as his face morphed into a mask of rage. He was so done with this. The fight would have been over if he snapped that thin neck. Mistakes. Far too many mistakes. Mirren had better not let Adelaide win in the meantime.
His enhanced eye caught a slight flicker of something. He shifted his body away from the direct line of fire. He saw the beat up man looking smug. A decent sized flame danced in his open palm. Kiril’s mind overloaded. Really, what fruit was that? First fire then illusions and now fire again.
Their roles were reversed. Kiril’s hesitation didn’t give him time to escape. Shadows lengthened and pulled away from the puppets on the dance floor. They darted towards him. Never quite merging, they rose taking form of ravens. Dozens of birds pelted every exposed inch. Kiril bit back a hiss, as the inky bodies met real flesh. He could hear his clothes rendering at places where metal was beneath thread.
The sounds made by the flock drowned out the other battle completely. The birds cried loudly as they split off into two groups and rounded back onto the dance floor. Their frenzied wings tore through thread, wood and cloth. Some of the puppets lay irreparably destroyed. Mirren barely had time to dart into a different set of puppets as the birds sped pass her.
Kiril’s surprise blossomed in her. She gave up hiding and met Adelaide head on. Her mind noting that the shadow onslaught wasn’t diminishing. It continued growing in strength as shadows from the nearby pillars were recruited into the fold. She had no doubt that it would soon consume the remaining shadows in the room. Their advantage was getting slimmer.
“How’s he doing this? A devil fruit user?” she asked the tight-lipped Adelaide.
She doubted the answer would be handed to them so easily. Fine, play it that way. She pulled several puppets out of harm’s way and brought both groups speeding towards her smug adversary. She didn’t really care now. Even if Adelaide won, they managed to goad the two into revealing their abilities. The information would be useful for Cecilia.
Kiril dodged the returning wave. He calculated the time lapse before the birds came his way again. Realising it was just enough, he leaned forward and ran. He was going to tackle the man and finally wring that pale neck. He did his best to ignore the flicker of black at his sides figuring it was just the puppets.
Cedric let out a small huff. His respect for the brawler dipped a little. The man had been so alert and calculating. He guessed the two wanted to end it with or without a victory. Their willingness to surrender their lives was a bit unnerving. Unless …
He didn’t bother to finish that thought. He held out his left hand and beckoned with his fingers. The action a mirror of Mirren’s when she manipulated thread. Several birds hiding beneath the puppets flew out. They smashed into Kiril from behind forming snaking chains. The hulking man crashed face first onto the marble floor. He trashed around to no avail. Cedric clenched his fist making the bindings constrict faster.
A bored look played on his unmasked face. Sid raised his hand up into the air. His birds gathered overhead. Throwing his hand down, they turned into needles. He watched unblinkingly as a flash of grey and white appeared out of nowhere. Mirren’s sleeves expanded and hardened; she blocked off most of the attack. Just enough to keep both her and Kiril alive.
Barely. She was panting. Her partner was gasping.
Inky puddles coagulated at their feet. The shadows still pliable for the man before them. The two members of the Court didn’t flinch in the face of the inevitable. Cedric glanced towards Adelaide wondering if she wanted to claim the killing blow. He didn’t crave the glory.
“They are waiting for you,” Mirren stated.
Kiril grunted in agreement. “Don’t keep them waiting.”
Adelaide walked up. She hadn’t uttered a word for the rest of her fight with Mirren, though the transformation of her clothes had slowed her again. A bruised formed on her cheek and splatters of blood stained the dress. She stared blankly at the pair. In one swift motion, she raised an arm and split their necks with the wind.
Cedric fell to the floor. The only sensation he felt was pain. Endless waves radiating from his limbs and back. He dry heaved. His arms wrapping around his stomach. He gathered the blood in his mouth and spat. He didn’t want to actually vomit. It would be the final blow to his fraying dignity. He sucked in three laboured breaths.
“Either you find Ms. Vilimar or a little help would be appreciated.”
He gave Adelaide a strained smile. His face paling rapidly. He wasn’t done, though. They just finished and their exit was within walking distance.
To hell with this weakness! Adelaide,
damn that woman, was more unscathed than he was. He was embarrassed. His first fight as one of the crew and he took a real beating. He hoped the Captain wouldn’t hold this weakness against him. He regretted not taking Jack’s advice long ago. He should incorporate more close quarter combat into his skillset.
He allowed his eyes to fall on his crossbow as they passed by. Indicating that he would like to retrieve it. He wasn’t keen to lose it so soon after he crafted it. Call it pride or what not, he didn’t care.
He sucked in his breath as a familiar weight rested on his less tender shoulder. Heavy as it was it was good to be reunited with his crossbow.
“Merci, Zebby. If fate permits, tonight we share the chocolates Belvedere gifted me. You were awfully fond of them. Never found someone else who had that much of a sweet tooth.”
He allowed his mind to stray. Distracting himself always worked. The door was
so close. “I’m a poor man out at sea. It feels strange not to have much to my name. I hope the situation won’t last.”
Adelaide sighed, dragging Sid to the door and pulling them both through. “Vous parlez trop de tomcat.” (
You talk too much tomcat.) The next moment they both awoke on the deck with the rest of the crew.