“I… I don’t know,” she whispered. “I’m afraid. What if we’re discovered?”

Yarlaith eyed her carefully. “I knew you’d find this place someday, Morrígan, but you didn’t come in from the house. How did you get here?”

“I saw a Simian near the field,” she said. “I followed him up towards the Glenn. There was an entrance, a tunnel….”

She expected Yarlaith to show concern at the mention of the Simian, but he gave a sigh of relief.

“These tunnels stretch out all over the Clifflands,” he said, “and it is likely that the Simian scouts of the Triad have been using them to navigate through mountains undetected. There is much at stake if we’re discovered, so I’ll take extra measures to hide this chamber.

“What I said before still stands, Morrígan. Are you willing to give your life to this cause? Colonel Eodadh and his mages serve the Church first, the Crown second, and the people last. They will not hesitate to murder anyone they suspect to be involved in something as wicked as this. You must commit to this work until we succeed, and you will not be able to walk away until it is complete. Do you understand?”

It went against all the teachings of the Church, violating everything the people of Alabach held sacred about the dead. There would always be a place for her mother to live in her memory, Morrígan knew, but if they were to be caught, the other villagers of Roseán, and even the books of history, would remember them as monsters. And they would live forever in those memories.

But now… now there seemed to be another way to live forever, in the flesh.

“Yes,” said Morrígan. She dropped the claymore and took her mother’s hand in her own. “I understand.”

Chapter 7:

The Gutted Fish

The docklands of Cruachan made up almost a quarter of its capacity, with the city surrounded by sea in three compass directions. The Gutted Fish was situated a stone’s throw from Cockle’s Wharf to the south, famous for the catching, selling, and gutting of fish from Móráin Sea. The sun had set by the time Farris reached the wharf, with the lively hustle and bustle of the seafood market replaced by the stolid silence of hard-working men eager to get drunk.

Chester the Lucky, mused Farris as he approached the tavern. Unlike Humans, the title of a Simian was based on either one’s deeds or appearance. Farris never understood why all a Human needed do to earn his father’s name was to be born of his blood. Some people called it tradition; Farris called it entitlement. He had worked hard as a young lad in the Dustworks of Penance to warrant the name Farris the Swift. Later, at the right hand of the Silverback, he had been known as Farris Silvertongue. At the king’s court, he had no full name until the Guild of Thieves incident, and now most called him Farris Turncloak. Many Simians would don dozens of titles throughout their life, but few took on as many first names as Farris did.

This morning I was Marc, today, Farris, and tomorrow, Chester.

Farris stepped into the squalid old building and noticed immediately that The Gutted Fish smelled far worse than its namesake. Like many inns and taverns along the quays, it served hard drinks for hard men.

And women, thought Farris. A particularly burly female Simian was staring him down with a single eye. A thick leather eye-patch covered what might have been another, but Farris thought it would be better to avert his own gaze than try to figure out what was beneath.

Across the room was a hearth of grey granite, with a tiny flame trying to fight out from under its coals. Two Human men sat at the bar with their backs to the fire, drinking in silence as they glared at the mirrored back wall. A barman, dressed in black, absentmindedly wiped down the splintered surface of the bar with a cloth. He was a Simian, but shorter and fatter than the lone drinker by his side: Chester the Lucky.

Chester did indeed look much like Farris, with a similar build and brown hair that seemed to shimmer bronze under the candlelight. He wore a simple grey waistcoat, open, leaving his arms and torso exposed to the cool tavern air. It was typical for Simians of lower stature to dress minimally.

But Chester is an educated man. The fine clothes of a navigator would certainly stand out in a place like this. It seemed likely that Chester’s appearance was a deterrent from being robbed.

Farris figured Chester must have been given the title ‘Lucky’ by other Simians, as Humans typically didn’t believe in coincidence and sheer luck. For them, everything was attributed to the plans of their Gods, from the flip of a coin to the roll of a thunderstorm. ‘Life in the Light of the Lady,’ they called it, implying that the Goddess Meadhbh was watching over their every move.

It wasn’t fate that put the bottle of poisoned thainol in the king’s hands. And it won’t be fate that prevents the Crown’s attack on Penancetomorrow.

“Two glasses of thainol,” he said, taking a seat beside Chester. The Simian slowly turned his head towards Farris. His eyes were dull in colour, but their gaze was sharp and sceptical.

“I appreciate the offer, friend, but I’ll be paying for my own. I’m drinking the money of gamblers and fools tonight.” He smiled, revealing yellowed fangs.

“Ah,” said Farris. “You play cards in the city, then?”

Chester waved a dismissive hand. “A Human’s game, that. All kings, queens, wizards, an’ knaves. On the ship, we play dice.” He spoke with the bastardised accent of one who travelled often between Penance and the Southern Seachtú, addled with the typical drawl of a commoner.

He has been away from home a long time.

Farris lowered his voice slightly, lining his own accent with similar inflections.

“Aye,” he said. “A good game, and fair.”

In his years in the Dustworks, Farris had learned how to cheat at dice too. With enough skill, even the keenest eyes could be fooled by a dropped die. Farris grinned, considering Chester’s name.

Perhaps the Humans are right. Maybe there really is no such thing as luck.

Farris introduced himself as Jacob of the North Wall. He didn’t need to divulge more information than that, as Chester mentioned he worked aboard The Glory of Penance straight away.

“Ah, the long-distance ship?” Farris asked. “Are you preparing to travel to the Eastern Lands? Or heading west across the Eternal Sea?”

Chester drank deeply from his own glass and sighed. “Nah, we won’t be leaving Alabach for a while now.”

Farris waited for a moment in silence, but when it was clear that Chester wasn’t in the mood to elaborate, he continued. “Good to see her in the sky, at least. I heard she was taking a trade route. It’s a bountiful time of year for commerce, and the roads are ripe with bandits these days. The skies make a great addition to the economy, and it’s ships like yours that help the kingdom grow.”

Chester slammed his now empty glass down on the table, beckoning the barman over to refill it.

“Aye,” he said. "Our technology aids the kingdom, sure. But what do they give us in return? They heal an’ sell us magical crystals with one hand, shovin’ taxes down our throats with the other. You know how much it is for a white crystal in this city?”

“I got one for two stags today,” said Farris, immediately and proudly.

“It only costs twelve shillings for a Human! Are you aware of that? We’re supposed to grovel in front of them and thank them for the privilege of using their magics. Do you know what taxes a Human is expected to pay for Simian steel? Not a penny!”

Farris listened intently; at least, he appeared to be. Behind his nods and his smiles, he was carefully taking note of all of Chester’s ticks and mannerisms. Chester spoke with the eagerness of a good storyteller, though he lacked confidence, frequently avoiding eye contact while sitting hunched over the bar. Farris subtly mimed Chester’s posture while he spoke, holding his glass with four fingers instead of the three he was used to.

I just need to fool them enough to board the ship.Once we’re in the air, anything goes. Farris certainly wasn’t going to learn how to navigate an airship before the morning, but he could still become Chester the Lucky, at least superficially.

“The Glory leaves tomorrow,” ventured Farris. “Are you returning to Penance?”

“Aye,” grunted Chester. “Can’t wait to be out of this damned city.”

“It must be a long flight.”

Chester shrugged. “Not as long as other ships. We’ll probably reach Penance by sundown. The length of the journey doesn’t bother me, though. I’ll be stayin’ in the good cabin for the trip.”

Chester finished his drink. Noticing Farris was almost at the bottom of his glass too, he ordered a second round.

That’s a start. Farris considered his next question carefully.

“But didn’t you say The Glory doesn’t take passengers?”

Chester hadn’t, but he answered anyway. “Other than the odd favour for the Church, we usually don’t. I’m just boarding for the trip tomorrow, not for work.”

“Lucky you,” said Farris, unable to contain his own excitement.