The other patrons of the bar took notice as more passed, some standing and craning their necks to see more. By the time Fionn stood too, scores of Simians had poured into the streets, all heading in the same direction.
“What’s happening?” asked the bartender. “What’s all the fuss about?”
Fionn paid him no mind, darting toward the door to see for himself. When he reached the crowded street, a glance southward was enough to confirm his previous suspicion: they were headed to the waterfront.
“What’s going on?” Fionn asked nobody in particular. A young Simian girl stopped to answer, looking up at the mage with wide, innocent eyes.
“Ships and boats just turned up in the Rustlake,” she said. “Lots of ’em!”
Strange.What could bring so many people to Penance at once?
Leaving any concern for his half-finished pint at the door of The Ferryman, Fionn hurried out toward the docks. The narrow streets of the Goldworks eventually opened up to the wide wharfs and promenades of the docklands. The roads coming and going were thick with people: Simians and Humans with expressions of dread, while oblivious children climbed the walls to get a better look at the spectacle.
Boats and vessels of all shapes and sizes filled the lake. Humans crowded fishing ships that rocked to and fro, threatening to throw its passengers out. Rowboats and canoes not built for long distance joined them, their capacities well past their critical masses.
A wooden trade cog was the first to reach the shore. As soon as it landed, the doors opened, and dozens of Humans spilled out, many dressed in rags, others crippled and wounded. They looked up at the Simian crowds, fear and pain in their eyes. One man stepped forward, walking with a limp. He grimaced in pain with each movement. When he spoke, it was as if each syllable brought agony to his lips, cracked and dried with thirst and exhaustion.
“The dead,” he croaked. “The dead marched on Point Grey. There’s no stopping them.”
***
“Four hundred people arrived from the Clifflands this morning. If what they say is true, more than that will be here by the turn of the moon.”
Ruairí delivered the report to the Triad meeting room, which was far fuller than usual. Businessmen and landowners throughout the city had come to hear the news, along with the usual attendees of the Silverback’s meetings.
Farris watched as Argyll reacted to the report. True, it had been Fionn who brought the news to the Triad first—an armada of ships from Point Grey carrying refugees from a battle Farris could have scarcely believed was possible—but it was Ruairí and the Sons of Seletoth who counted the new arrivals and began the insurmountable task of tending to their wounded.
“And what do they expect to find here?” growled Argyll, covering his eyes with a pale white hand. “What gives them the impression that they’ll be safe from this… this….”
“It has been described as a horde,” said Ruairí. “We know little about it now, but if there’s a sliver of truth in this account, we’ll be hearing about quite a lot more than we already have.”
Argyll leapt from his chair and leaned over the oaken table. He raised an aggressive finger toward the Human.
“Do you find this amusing?” he roared. “Would you really prefer we wait around for more news to reach us, sitting here twiddling our thumbs while we do so?”
“No,” muttered Ruairí, though he didn’t seem perturbed by Argyll’s outrage.
“We need to deal with this in whatever way necessary,” said Argyll. “We’ll put every other plan on hold in the meantime.”
The Silverback emphasised the word plan in a way that immediately let Farris and the other dissidents present understand what he meant. The march south. The Reapers. The Plan.
And we were so close, thought Farris, watching as Garth tried hard not to react to this turn of events too. With him back, and the Sons armed, it was only a matter of days before…
“I can give a discount to any who wish to take refuge in any of my homes,” said Wheaton the Wise, a Simian merchant who owned half the property of the Saltworks. “It’s a modest proposal, but I’m still a businessman in—”
“You’ll take them for no cost,” snapped Argyll. “The Triad will provide some compensation, but you’ll make no profit.”
“Y-yes,” said Wheaton, bowing slightly as he spoke. “That will do.”
“Now,” said Argyll, the fury from before completely removed from his tone. “Given the wide space provided by the Saltworks, we’ll set up a camp there. All vacant buildings in the region must be filled to capacity before we start setting up tents. Ruairí, the Sons may attend to this, aided by the City Guard.”
“Yes,” said Ruairí. With a curt nod, he vanished from the room.
“We’ll need to scout the Clifflands to gauge what exactly it is we’re dealing with. Garth, take ten of your best men and arm them for an expedition.”
“Please,” said Garth. “If I may make another suggestion.”
The Silverback nodded.
“Reconnaissance is certainly the best course of action,” Garth began. “I agree with that much, but right now we know nothing more than a few disjointed rumours from commoners struck dumb with fear. If they are wrong, you risk losing me and a score of scouts on a week-long goose-chase across the Clifflands. If they are right, we’ll walk right into the path of an enemy greater than our ancestors have ever faced before. Either would be a blow to the Triad.”
Those who could read between Garth’s lines nodded furiously in agreement. Farris knew what he was really saying: ‘I am invaluable to the Movement. Losing me would set us back considerably.’
Of course, most of those present didn’t see things the same way. The merchants and landowners grumbled amongst themselves, possibly wondering how the loss of ten scouts could be a ‘blow to the Triad.’ Fionn the Pyromancer looked on with a furrowed brow.
Skies above. The lad has been in on dozens of these meetings, and he still has no clue what they’re really about.
“What I propose instead,” said Garth, “is to rigorously question Penance’s newest citizens and try to piece together a coherent story of what exactly happened in Point Grey, and what kind of enemy we are facing, if indeed one does exist.”
“You propose to take up this task?” said Argyll, raising an eyebrow.
“Of course. I’ll bring some of my men along, and systematically question all of those who can provide helpful information.”
“I’ll come, too,” said Farris. “I’d like to find out a little more about what’s going on.”
“You’re not alone in that,” said Argyll with a concerned frown. “You’re not alone at all.”
***
