Vol 7, Chapter 23

◆ Old Camp, Night, Corporal Noah POV ◆


An empty beer keg flew out of the tent. Right after it, a soldier crawled out, his musket catching on the tent flap. His superior, who was holding a torch for him, asked hopefully:

"Well?"

"The Abyss-damned keg isn't here either, Noah. Maybe we should try searching in the new camp?"

"You think our men could fail to notice an extra keg of gunpowder? It has to be somewhere around here, I can feel it."

"We've already scoured the whole camp. It's just not here! Commander, look how dark it's gotten already! We'll never find it now," the soldier yawned and added, "Let's just get some sleep."

"Sleep? General Til made it clear, we only have until morning, and after that the Lord will take over this matter."

"So what? We've got nothing to fear, we didn't steal it. Lady Tamilla will vouch for us… Ow! What was that for?" the soldier protested after getting slapped on the back of the head.

"Yeah, right, she'll drop everything and rush here for a couple of nobodies, dream on. Maybe we won't be executed, but do you really want to rot in a cell until the end of the war? Besides, someone stole it, and we were supposed to guard it. If we find it, maybe the punishment won't hit as hard. So shut up and move!"

"But comm-aa-ander, I'm sleepy…" he whined, then raised his hands when he saw the palm about to strike again. "Alright, alright. Where are we searching now, Commander? Just don't say we're heading to Lord Bicon's camp!"

"Hm, good idea," the corporal nodded.

"Almost as good as asking again to search the part of the camp where Baroness Syrel is stationed. My ribs still hurt from that knight's strike!"

"Bingo; that's exactly where we're going."

"You've lost your mind, Commander? You think they'll be friendlier in the dark?"

"No, the opposite. Most of their soldiers have already moved to the new camp, there'll be fewer people in the old one. We slip in, check what we need, and slip out."

"And if…" The soldier drew a hand across his throat, miming a killing.

"They wouldn't dare; we're not on our own, we've got protection," Noah said firmly. Ever since he'd been freed from captivity, he was certain their lord wouldn't abandon them.

While the soldier mulled this over, Noah held out his hand.

"Hand me your musket. We can't go prowling with these big things. Here, take a bayonet."

"I didn't sign up for anything bloody," he shook his head. "I'd rather sit in a cell for negligence than that."

"Fool, we'll just slice a tent quietly and slip inside. Now move."

"And the muskets? We're just leaving them here, in some random tent?"

"Yeah."

"What if someone steals them too?"

"Then we'll be the unluckiest guards in the Kingdom… Come on, cheer up, we've got almost the whole night ahead! We'll split up: you enter from the north side, I'll take the south. Check the small tents first, I'll handle the big ones."

Noah wasn't a professional thief, but life in the city makes everyone at least a little bit of a thief. In towns, there were always more people than honest work to go around, at least in typical towns.

He just hoped his clumsy subordinate wouldn't botch things—farm life hadn't prepared him for this. That was why Noah sent him to ransack the common soldiers' tents; there would be fewer patrols there.

Once again, the former thief thanked fate for the black uniform. A bit of charcoal from a campfire smeared over the white stripes on the sleeve and… voilà. As good as any night shadow. Though even blackening his comrade's face with charcoal probably wouldn't help much, he was far too noisy when sneaking. Still, if he made noise, Noah would have an excellent chance to search everything he needed.

The overcast sky was just right, smothering the camp in total darkness. Only a few torches on poles pushed it back, casting dancing shadows across the tents.

Noah peered out from the darkness, making sure a lone sentry wasn't turning his way, then quickly sidled over to a stack of barrels barely covered with cloth. First rule of thievery: hide trees in a forest! And whoever had stolen a whole keg right under his nose had to be a damn good thief.

That was what kept Noy going — someone had played him too neatly. He wouldn't rest until he made them pay in kind. Preferably with a knife to the ribs.

He tapped the barrels quickly with his bayonet. Empty. Empty. Something here… tilt it! Liquid sloshing. And another, liquid again…

Ten minutes of tense work and several opened barrels later, only to find: no powder. Just barley grain.

Damn it.

After slipping past another patrol, Noah thought: If he were some pompous idiot aristocrat, where would he order his thief to stash the keg?

His gaze snagged on the most luxurious pavilion in the camp.

Oh, yes.

Ten minutes of dodging patrols and… sudden silence. While the storage area was regularly guarded, the sanctum of an aristocrat's rest was left unprotected. Not a single soul stood at the entrance. And yet, a fire burned inside.

Noah drew a knife and tested the edge with his thumb. Far too suspicious! There was no way barrels of water and crates of grain were guarded better than the Baroness's own tent.

His sharp ears caught a rustling inside. The sounds were drawing closer. Noah shifted his grip on the dagger, ready to knock someone out with the pommel… but at the last second he held back.

Because stepping out of the tent, upright and unashamed, was his subordinate.

"What are you doing here?"

"You should've seen those little tents, Corporal! There's no place to hide a keg there, so I came straight here. By the way, you were right, the camp's empty, not a soul around! Oh, and guess what? Come with me, I've got something to show you!"

For a moment, the thief wondered if the soldier was just fooling him, playing dumb on purpose. But no—no one could keep up such an act for months without a single slip. If it walked like an idiot, talked like an idiot, and blundered like an idiot… then it was simply an idiot.

Noah slid the knife back into its sheath and stepped deeper into the tent. The first thing his eyes landed on was a massive hole cut right through the silk at full height, smeared all over with charcoal handprints.

By the Abyss, who even does that?

The second thing was the boldly burning torch planted right in the middle of the room, beside a very familiar wooden keg.

"Did you light that torch?"

"What? No, it was like this already."

"And you… didn't see anyone here?"

"Nope. So is that ours? Should we open it and check?" the peasant asked, rubbing his hands eagerly.

But the former thief stayed tense. Knife back in hand, eyes darting, he crept toward the keg.

"Don't celebrate too soon… Someone lit that torch, and it wasn't for nothing."

"That torch is here so there'll always be shadows for my silly guests." A woman's voice floated out.

Noah spun instantly, just in time to see a stranger appear out of nowhere and press herself against the soldier's neck in a hungry kiss… No, not a kiss, a bite.

A scream tore through the tent. The hapless guard thrashed, arms flailing, but could do nothing against the pale woman. Noah hurled his knife, but it passed right through her as though she were a phantom. Snatching up the torch, he charged his friend.

The woman released her victim, and with blood spraying from a severed artery, he crumpled to the ground. Noah struck with the torch, the bright flame dazzling his eyes for an instant, but…

No one was there.

Danger!

His ribs cracked.  His vision lurched as a brutal strike to the liver sent him flying across half the tent. Crash! Crack!

He couldn't tell what had broken—the keg he slammed into or his own spine.

His legs refused to move, the hiss of spilling gunpowder telling him it was both.
Meanwhile, the stranger licked her lips and toyed with an obsidian dagger as she strode toward him.

Noah's eyes locked on his comrade, already still. Blood seeped weakly from the shredded throat.

Now she wanted his blood too. Like hell. He hadn't survived Laszlo's tortures just to become someone's meal!

Noah raised the torch. The woman paused, lifting a brow in answer.

"Chew on this, gutter rat!" he shouted and swung…

Only to jab the torch behind himself.

The powder ignited. The blast roared.

********************************************

I dream of thunder. Or maybe not a dream?

Strange, even with my eyes open, the echoes linger.

For a few seconds I wrestle with the urge to ignore it—if it were something important, it would be reported anyway. And besides, I had no desire to leave the warmth of the arms wrapped around me.

Through the soft snoring to my right, the steady breathing to my left, and the splash of water against wooden planks, faint cries seep through.

No, I'll have to get up and check.

I ease a hand off me and slither out of bed like a cork from a bottle.

Lighting a lamp, I hunt for my trousers, eyeing the girls out of the corner of my eye. Deprived of her hugging pillow, Erin pulled Asha close with her only arm, cradling her against her chest.

Better hurry. Without knowing it, she'd grabbed a bomb—Asha hated that. Snatching my shirt, I pushed the door.

It resisted, as if something blocked it.

Indeed, right outside our cabin lay the captain, snoring. Likely drunk, he must have stumbled here by habit, failed to open his locked door, and collapsed on the spot.

Stepping over him and pulling on my shirt, I paused. Should I head to the upper deck, or check the hold first? What if the shouts and crashing had come from below?

I supposed I'd better check. Pete was just the type to blow something up—he could cause trouble sober, let alone drunk!

Stepping past the bodies of those who'd drunk themselves into a stupor, I made my way down into the hold. I moved carefully; tumbling headfirst over some bottle underfoot wasn't in my plans. Especially since the hold lay in near darkness.

All the magical lamps were out, some even shattered. Only the red glow from the boiler embers lit the room, but at least they kept it warm. Spotting a wakeful figure near the steam engine, I let out a sigh. So it really was just that.

Pete, squinting, was carving something into the ship's planks with a dagger.

"Good evening. Don't tell me that crash was you accidentally starting the engine?"

"Huh?" he reacted vaguely, lifting his head from his carving.

"The noise, I said. Was it your doing?"

"Quiet, you'll wake people," he whispered, shaking his head. "That racket came from above. A thunderstorm, probably…"

"Sure, a thunderstorm," I snorted.

Realizing conversation was pointless, I stepped closer and leaned over the pressure gauge. The system's pressure wasn't nearly enough to turn the flywheel. The water in the boiler was hot, but nowhere near boiling. Looks like Pete was innocent.

I was about to wish him good night and continue my search when he grabbed my leg, keeping me there.

"Why are all the good women already taken?"

"Uh, what?"

"The first time I meet someone I truly want by my side... and she's already married. Is that fair? Am I asking too much?"

"You've got a mansion right in the capital and the title of Count. Surely it can't be that hard to find a decent woman?"

"Depends what kind," he muttered, driving the dagger almost to the hilt into the wood. "When I inherited my father's estate, there was no shortage of eager suitors! Every one of them wanted to drag me to a healer to get rid of the scars from my experiments, but otherwise they were patient enough. The greediest one, hungry for money, even lasted through three explosions and two fires at the manor before she left. The others didn't last nearly as long. Before long even my father's old servants had scattered—never mind the less patient women. None of them supported my work. At best, they tolerated it! And those endless conversations, telling me to come to my senses, reclaim the lands… I didn't sell them off just to take them back!!!"

"So what you want is a woman who'll dive into your mad inventions with you?"

"Yes! Exactly! I need a lady with a mind open to everything new and unusual!"

I sighed sympathetically. Odds were slim he'd ever find someone as eccentric as himself. Even Ashley… she was more normal. Her constructs at least had rationality to them. Her idea of giving golems a bit of independence might seem insane to others... but certainly not to me.

"All I can do is wish you luck."

"Yeah… Luck wouldn't hurt. Ran, when are we going back to Reikland? Maybe if I showed her everything I've built—I could impress her?"

That question dragged me back to thoughts of business again… though I'd arranged this drinking bout just to escape them for one evening. Sigh.

"It depends on negotiations with the Duke. I can't send the ship back with you until peace is secured; it's needed here. If we sailed it down the river to Lottingham, it could blast through every castle fortification with ease. But if we sent it back alone, the river could be frozen again by the enemy, and the ship boarded. For all its firepower, it's still just a floating artillery battery, its route far too predictable. I can't send you by griffon either, it's too risky while enemy riders still roam the skies. I'm afraid until we reach a truce, you're stuck here with the army."

"What if I build a new ship? A flying one… Those paddle wheels gave me an idea, since they could row the air too!" He waved her arms, mimicking either wings or propellers.

"I think you need rest, my friend. Get some sleep." Carefully I pulled the dagger from the wood and helped Pete into a hammock.

"Am I becoming too greedy? My creations don't just work, they change the world, just like I dreamed; but now it's not enough anymore…" he murmured as he lay down.

"I promise I'll ask Ashley if she has a couple of delightfully unhinged girlfriends still left in the Steel Tower," I told him, but he was already closing his eyes, mumbling faintly about lift and propellers.

An airship, then… For a moment the thought tempted me too, but I pushed it aside. Not the time.

Turning the dagger thoughtfully in my hand, I tucked it into my belt and climbed to the upper deck.

A fine drizzle was falling. In the old camp chaos reigned: fire engulfed the tents, lighting everything for hundreds of meters. My hand reached for the spyglass at my belt, only to realize I'd left it in the cabin.

Still, even without it, I could see the massive crater in the middle of camp. Judging by the blast, there was no doubt—the missing powder keg had been found. But the night and the fire made it impossible to orient. Some tents had been ripped away and crumpled into heaps by the explosion, banners lay scattered on the ground. For the life of me, I couldn't recall whose section of camp that was.

"Baroness Syrel's. And we've got company," Astarot grumbled sleepily.

A quick glance around the deck revealed no one. Which meant only one thing: our guest was very good at hiding.

"How about stepping out of the shadows and having a chat?" I invited the empty air.

Bait cast, fish caught. Even before I finished, the mast's shadow stretched, thickened. In a blink, a pale brunette in a bloodstained leather jacket materialized fully on the deck.

"How did you know I was here?"

"A bat whispered it to me," I answered dead serious.

Where am I wrong? Big, winged, with horns… Name is Astarot.

I take a closer look at the guest, and the cheer quickly leaves me — her bloodstained jacket reeks of more than just blood.

"And you smell of gunpowder," I said slowly, putting two and two together. "So… Syrel, then?"

She grimaced.

"I learned from past mistakes; I made sure to meet you only in crowds. When many hearts are beating around, you won't notice that there is one extra in the crowd..."

"But this time, no disguise."

"What's the point now, when we're face to face? Alone~!" She licked her lips. "Besides, I don't want you ruining another artifact. To get the King to repair it, I had to do a lot of errands for him, even killing an old man. So this time, I left the amulet somewhere safe."

"So it was the King who ordered you to steal the powder?" I pressed.

"Oh, no." She smirked, showing off surprisingly long fangs. "I could've used that little toy myself. Pity it didn't work out."

"You should've minded fire safety," I said, taking a slow step away from the rail, maneuvering to where fewer shadows lay. My hand found Pete's dagger, the only weapon at hand. "Now I want to hear one thing: why are you here?"

"Hm. And what if… I came to kill you?" she cooed, retreating back into the darkness and melting into it.