A creeping, burning terror began in Farris’s chest. He fought against it. “Fine, so what else can we do to warn them?”

Derelith didn’t respond immediately. His gaze fell to the store’s wooden floor. “I’m… I’m sorry. You know how cautious we need to be with this Church stuff. We can’t just stroll down to our local mage and get him to send a message to Penance.”

Farris closed his eyes. Bright sparks of light danced in his vision. His throat went dry, and he fought to get the words out.

“We… we could kidnap one, a crystallographer. Kill him afterwards and….”

But he knew. He knew well that no courier or carrier pigeon could make the trip in less than a day. The Church’s crystals were the only means they had to warn the Silverback.

Derelith looked up at Farris. “What if we just tell everyone about the king’s plans?” He spoke slowly, as if not convinced by his own words. “If everyone in Cruachan knew, surely the news would reach Penance by nightfall.”

“No,” whispered Farris. The truth had manifested itself in his mind before their meeting had begun, but only now did he acknowledge it. There really was only one way of stopping the attack on Penance.

I have to go with them.

“Nobody else can know,” said Farris, his voice low. “Not until we get a foothold on what’s really going on. King Diarmuid has left me blind on the details of the attack, ignorant to the identity of the other agents on board the ship, but I’ll find them. I’ll kill them on the ship, before they reach Penance. We’ll end all this quietly.”

Derelith closed his eyes and nodded slowly. “Sure, that’ll probably put us a full head and nose ahead of the king. But is it worth endangering the population of Penance, just for the sake of keeping the upper hand?”

Farris paused, and chose his words carefully.

“Derelith, I’ve been working for the Crown for three years now. I know how they work. If we expose their plans now, with no proof, they’ll use it against us. It’s possible that they killed Santos themselves and blamed the Silverback, just to justify attacking Penance. They’re ruthless, but they’re naive. There’s been no major conflict in this country for well over a hundred years, and the Crown has forgotten what it’s like to fight a war. You saw how easy it was for us to manipulate them during the Thieves’ Guild crisis.”

“How easy it was for you,” corrected Derelith. “Don’t be passing your ingenuity there onto me. All I did was watch.”

“Fair point,” said Farris. “And you saw how quick they were to hire me without question afterwards. What kind of organisation does that?”

“One run by a drunkard with a golden crown.”

“Precisely. Sure, the Crown has more men than we do. The Crown has more money than we do. The Crown has more reach, more infrastructure, and more power than we do, but they’ve so much more to lose. We’ve got men in all the right places, and we’ve learned far more about them than they have about us. The best part of it, the reason why I’m willing to risk my life, and maybe even the lives of those in Penance, just to keep this edge, is that they have no idea how far we’ve come. To them we’re a lone fly that refuses to be swatted, but they have yet to see the swarm. Their underestimation of our strength is the only hope we have of winning this war.”

Derelith stood in a thoughtful silence when Farris finished. He had embellished on some parts, of course, but the Human certainly seemed convinced.

“Alright, Farris. I’ll keep this information to myself. In the meantime, I’ll try my best to find out what really happened in those tunnels.”

“Thank you, Derelith. I better get back to work. There’s plenty to do.”

“Stay strong. You’ve already got half the kingdom fooled, what trouble will a few of the Crown’s agents cause you?”

Farris smiled. “Let’s hope they cause enough trouble to give me a good excuse for killing them.”

***

The sun was still shining by the time Farris returned to the docklands. Most of the daily freights were already docked, and only a few labourers and stevedores remained to tend to the last cargo.

Fortunately, Old Donal had returned to his post. His gaping, toothless smile was enough to tell Farris that he had completed his task.

“Chester the Lucky!” he announced. The old beggar was visibly drunk. “Chester the Lucky was born thirty-three years ago in the Steamworks of Penance. He drinks unflavoured thainol and smokes pre-rolled bacum cigarettes. The colour of his hair is a similar shade of brown to your own, so I’m told. I did never find the name of the last woman he fucked, but his wife is called Penny, so it could be that.”

Farris sighed. “Have you got any useful information?”

“Cool your coal!” The beggar held up his hands in submission. “I haven’t gotten to the best part yet! In Penance, Chester excelled at mathematics, engineering, and astronomy. He moved to Cruachan at a young age to study the art of navigation and trained with the crew of many airships known to frequent this fine city!”

“Oh no,” said Farris. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Chester the Lucky earned his title from regularly winning the wages of other crewmembers of The Glory of Penance and….” He paused. “Bollocks! I’ve just gone and ruined the best part. He’s one of the ship’s navigators! I was all over the city, trying to find out about those who’ll be travelling onboard. The Church has three special passengers, top secret stuff, but none are Simians. I was about to give up until I thought to ask about the crew.”

The Crown really is a joke. How in the name of Sin am I supposed to impersonate a damn navigator?

Farris reached for a small bag of silver stags concealed in one of his inside pockets.

I’ll need to find him. I’ll need to meet him and impersonate him well enough to get on board.

Getting by as a passenger would have been a challenge enough, but to act as Chester the Lucky for a whole day, surrounded by his peers and crewmen….

“Where can I find him?” he demanded, thrusting the bag of coins into Donal’s hands.

“He drinks at an old tavern not too far from here. The Gutted Fish. You can reach it by heading—”

Farris already knew the location of every public house and brothel in the city. He stormed off into the dusk and vanished before Old Donal noticed he had been paid four times as much as usual.

Chapter 5:

Harvest

“I told you, I don’t want to talk about it.”

The Pyromancer, Fionn, crossed his arms, ignoring Morrígan’s gaze. She scowled.

How could anyone be so stubborn?

“Leave him be,” said Yarlaith. The old healer walked ahead of Morrígan and Fionn as they made their way through the Square. All around, the villagers made preparations for the Harvest Moon festival later that night.

“I don’t have time for this,” said Fionn. “I need to reach Point Grey by nightfall if I’m to catch the last ferry to Penance.”

What are you hiding? Morrígan studied the Pyromancer’s face. The more she did, the more she doubted he actually was an adventurer. He certainly didn’t look like one, with his silky red robe and his soft, porcelain skin. His eyes looked as though they had never seen battle, and his lean body was more like a dancer’s than a warrior’s.

But his arm…. His right arm was twice as big as his left: a hulking mass of muscle sprouting from a slender shoulder. Morrígan had first wondered if he had been a blacksmith; the Reardon brothers of the forge had once told her that this was a typical trait of a blacksmith, spending all day hammering away with one arm. They claimed that they too would be grotesquely disproportionate if it wasn’t for the hours of weight-training they did every other night.

This explanation didn’t suit Fionn, however. His arm looked unnatural, as if it didn’t belong to him at all.

“Why are you going to Penance, Fionn?” asked Morrígan, despite another irate look from her uncle.

Fionn didn’t answer immediately. His lips moved slightly, as if mouthing the words he wanted to say, but a sharp voice cut him off.

“That’s enough, Morry!”