Inti's Watcher
Sophie twitched at the pins-and-needles feeling of being transported. When it ended she was back on the ship, in a room far cooler than the desert had been.
Marie and Razan stood nearby, and Peter was sitting on the floor.
“There you are,” Marie said, looking at him. “Where’d you go?”
Peter yawned, lifting his hat to run fingers through hair damp with sweat. “Just… took a walk.”
Razan was frowning down at himself. He shook his arm, and sand fell off. His face showed this confirmed a grim suspicion. He shook each limb in turn, then brushed himself down, a pile of sand forming around him.
Sophie knew she was equally covered in sand, but wished to scrape it off with a knife. And water. Mostly water. She turned towards the door, wondering if Marie would kill her for taking a shower first.
Nop appeared, hopping to face the group. “Please walk slowly through the exit, removing as much sand as possible as you go.”
Sophie nodded, shaking her limbs as she stepped towards the door.
“What will you do with it?” Marie asked.
“Sell it,” the raven answered.
“To whom?” Sophie asked.
Marie raised an eyebrow. “Will we get the money?”
“Part of it, yes,” Nop told Marie, then turned to Sophie. “There are people who collect such things. We auction it off.”
“That’s only slightly disturbing,” Peter decided.
“I've heard of stranger collections,” Razan said. “What else do you sell of ours?”
Nop hesitated. “Mostly hair. Old clothes. Broken weapons. If you paint or knit or something, those items can be sold. Occasionally there is a market for fingernail clippings, but that’s only scientists. Oh, if ever you lose a tooth or finger, those can be sold for quite a bit.”
Sophie shared a concerned look with Peter.
“The next time I lose a finger I shall keep that in mind,” Razan said flatly, heading for the door.
“I have a number of false teeth, can I sell those?” Marie asked.
“I don't know,” Nop admitted. “I'll ask.”
Sophie followed Razan to the door, not sure she wanted to know more about what could be sold. Or why.
Marie helped Peter to his feet, saying something in a low voice. Sophie paused, glancing back. Peter looked apologetic, ashamed. Marie shot Sophie a glare, motioning to the exit.
Sophie hurried out, taking the motion to mean she could have the first shower.
Peter finished lunch, wondering if he would be allowed to visit the desert again. He’d liked that rock. He liked the heat and the sun. He wanted to explore more.
Razan came out of his room, clearly just waking up from a nap. He yawned, holding up a bandaged hand to cover his mouth.
Peter winced. “Hey, uhm, sorry I…”
Razan glanced over, his face neutral. “Deserted your post?”
“Yes.” He fiddled with his plate. “It won't happen again. Sorry.”
“Where did you go?” Razan asked, finding his lunch and bringing it to the table.
“Just… out into the desert,” Peter shrugged. “It… called to me.”
Razan looked interested. “Did you meet anyone?”
“No, I just found a big rock and fell asleep in its shade.”
“Ah. Did you dream?”
Peter hesitated. Thanks to him Razan’s hand was burned, damaged. And the man didn't seem to care. Marie had been near irate about it.
Razan took a bite of his fish. “If something called you into the desert and gave you a dream, it could be important.”
“I… dreamt I was floating,” Peter admitted. “Not really flying, just slowly drifting from one wall to another. It was lunchtime, but I couldn't get to the kitchen. Kept floating in other directions.”
“Interesting,” Razan said slowly. “A dream like that could mean any number of things.”
Peter didn't really believe dreams had any meaning, but he wasn't about to tell Razan that.
“Well, all four of us made it to the end,” Razan said, focusing on his food again. “That's the important thing. If you’d died out there I would have been rather upset.”
“You’re not mad about the hand?” Peter asked, his voice a whisper.
Razan paused, turning his bandaged hand. “No. I learned many things from the experience. The rostari have ways of completely numbing pain. And Captain Marie is a very good doctor.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” They were silent for a few moments before Razan asked, “What does ‘aye’ mean? Captain Marie and Mr. Louis say it a lot, and it doesn't translate.”
“It’s an affirmative,” Peter said. “It… implies agreement more than ‘yes’ does, I think.
“Interesting. What language does it come from?”
“English, I think. Possibly French? English has many French words.”
“Do you speak French?”
“No, just English and Spanish.”
Razan set down his chopsticks. “You and Captain Marie knew each other before coming here, didn't you?”
Peter blinked in surprise. “No, we’d never met. I knew her reputation, though. She knows the… political situation of where I grew up and worked. She knows how people treat people like me. And I think she just knows people.”
“What was her reputation?” Razan asked carefully.
“Well…” Peter thought his words over before answering. “If you made a list of the top fifty worst things you can imagine a human doing to other humans… she’s done them. She’s survived every type of death the combined efforts of five nations could throw at her. She began life with no fear and became twice as cunning with each passing year. I read her name in a report, and when I asked who she was, the answer was that she’s a terrifying legend.”
Razan hesitated. “Has she killed children?”
Marie’s voice came from directly behind Peter. “If you need someone to lose all attachment to life, having them watch their child die is the fastest way.”
Peter spun in his chair to look at her. Her cold eyes were focused on Razan.
“That doesn't answer the question,” Razan pointed out, his face similarly emotionless.
Marie smiled ever so slightly. “It depends entirely on what age you claim childhood ends. And if the question refers to me directly killing them or simply that my actions led to their deaths.”
“I retract the question,” Razan decided.
“Good lad,” she said, walking silently to the kitchen.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
“Would you ever kill someone here?” he asked instead.
“In this room? No.” She returned with a plate of food and took her seat across from Peter. “There are two groups of people in this world. Us and Them. I protect us. I have no respect for the lives of them.”
“I must ask what makes Them, Them,” Razan said.
“Simple, they aren't Us.”
“Ah, naturally,” Razan said sarcastically.
Peter saw Marie glance at him. She knew he understood perfectly.
“It’s a feeling, more than anything,” Peter told Razan. “Due to coat color, skin color, language, gender… anything, really. As long as there’s something common between us that another person is in opposition to, that makes us.”
“That implies someone could belong to both groups,” Razan said.
Marie nodded. “A good spy belongs to all the groups at the same time.”
Razan frowned, then looked at Peter.
Peter shrugged. “I wasn't ever caught.”
“How are we talking about you now?” Razan asked.
They looked at Marie, who was suddenly very focused on her lunch.
Razan looked over the options for long-distance communication. The distances were written in what he assumed were rostari measurements, which wasn't helpful. There were a lot of technical terms that, even written in clear Japanese, he didn't understand.
His instinct was to just purchase the most expensive set, but it was 800 credits. He couldn't justify that expense.
Nop had said they’d get 5 credits each for the sand they’d brought back. He wasn't sure why some things were paid individually while other things were paid by group, as the group only had one account. Perhaps there was some legal reason he would never learn.
Regardless, until the results for the contest were announced, their group didn't have 800 credits. He could, in theory, sell the clothes he’d arrived in and get a decent sum. But Razan didn't want to do that. He liked those clothes.
Sophie came into the room and smiled when she saw him. “The report is about to begin. What are you looking at?”
“Communication devices,” he said, moving aside for her to see.
As she stepped up to the screen English words appeared beneath the Japanese ones.
“Expensive,” she decided.
“Yes, but they could be life-saving,” he said. “Also this was one of your requirements for investigating the Masks.”
“Oh yeah, I’d forgotten about that,” she said, frowning.
He nodded. “As you nearly died last week I chose to not bring it up. Are you sufficiently recovered now?”
Sophie pouted. “I want to see the report. I want to know how many groups got first place.”
“Shall we wait for a boring week, then?” Razan asked dryly.
“Yes. Please and thank you,” she answered primly.
Razan looked at the screen, his face neutral. “Shame we don't have enough credits to buy these now, though. I'd like to practice using them.”
“Which set is best?” she asked.
He pointed to the set that cost 700 credits. “I believe these would suit our needs.”
Sophie smirked. “I'll have them by tomorrow morning.”
“How?” he asked slowly.
“I have my ways.”
“Yes, that’s what I'm worried about.”
She looked at him with big, innocent eyes. “Why would you be worried?”
“Because you’re a thief.”
“Thief? Me? Good heavens, no, I would never steal. Especially not if I thought anyone would notice.”
Razan watched her. “Have you ever been caught?”
“Not since I was seven,” she said cheerfully. “Well, people have figured out I was the one who took things. But they never saw me do it.”
He shook his head, heading for the door. For his own safety he prayed her good luck continued.
Marie stood with her team, watching the report. This was the longest one so far, focusing on every single battle in chronological order. Group’s placements were announced as they were wiped out.
The wide array of fighting styles people had was on full display. Everyone seemed to know how they fought best, and tried to force fights to their advantage. Most people had ranged weapons as well as melee weapons, but there was no shortage of specialists.
As they neared the end, Marie noticed a disparity between the damage possible with ranged weapons versus melee weapons. Swords and daggers cut, and cut deeply. A stab with a spear was just as potentially deadly as anywhere else. But pistols and crossbows only had the potential to bruise as they stained clothing.
Even so, while everyone took fights with blades seriously, most aimed to do damage more than kill. People left their throats open, but their opponents didn't strike. No one struck directly into the gut.
Marie made a mental note to adjust her fighting style to do damage without risking death.
Finally the review reached the end of the contest. The announcer listed off teams with one contestant left as all having fourth place. Teams with two left were in third place, three people meant second place, and finally the winners were announced.
“This time, three teams got first place! Those are… The Bees! The Parrots! And the Drifters!”
Cheering broke out. Marie cheered out of politeness for the other two groups.
The announcer gave a few closing remarks as groups broke up and everyone discussed the contest. Sophie went to find Rani as Innoka and Chimeg approached Razan. Louis and Ebba came from the other direction, stopping next to Marie.
“Well done,” Louis said, beaming.
“I wish I could say the same for you,” Marie told Ebba. “Bailing because of a scorpion?”
“It was huge!” Ebba protested. “There aren't insects that large in Sweden. I feel no shame in having escaped unharmed from a lethal situation.”
“It was quite large,” Louis agreed. “The stinger was as fat as my thumb.”
Marie patted Ebba’s shoulder. “Fears are nothing to be ashamed of, but next time let Louis deal with the threat.”
“Yes, I don't get to play hero nearly as much as I'd like,” he said.
“You aren't frightened of bugs at all?” Ebba asked.
“My dear, Marie isn’t afraid of anything physical,” Louis said.
Marie glared at him. “Indeed, ghosts terrify me.”
“No, I meant emotions,” he said charmingly. “You'd much rather stab someone to death than talk about how you feel.”
“Ah, something you have in common, how sweet,” Ebba said.
Marie suddenly realized Peter was gone. Sophie was at a table in a cluster of girls with Rani, and an annoyed Antoni had joined the group around Razan. But the cowboy was nowhere to be seen.
It struck her that Peter had no friends outside their group. He got along well with them, but he’d made no effort to communicate with anyone else. Marie wondered if she ought to push him to make more acquaintances.
“How do you plan to celebrate your win?” Louis asked, touching Marie’s arm.
She raised her eyebrows. “I haven't thought about it. What would you recommend?”
Ebba linked arms with her. “I may have a suggestion or two. Come with us.”
“That isn't suspicious in the least,” Marie said, grinning. “Lead the way.”
Peter focused, holding his knife at the ready. He made a few feints at his target, a scarred tree trunk. Finally he struck, digging the knife through bark into solid wood.
The strike was good, but he felt weak. His muscles simply didn't have enough strength to do real damage.
Peter sighed. He hated close combat. It looked like using ranged weapons wasn't something he could always do, so he’d have to practice with knives and get strong.
“That’d never hit a real opponent, mate.”
Peter jumped, spinning around. He hadn’t thought anyone would come in here after the report.
Grace smiled, walking up to him. She stopped a pace away, looking him over. “Is that actually a garment, or do you just wear your security blanket?”
“It’s a poncho,” he said, bristling. “It’s not unique.”
“Sure. I've never seen anyone wear a bl- poncho, but that doesn't mean it isn't common.” She reached out, and he took a step back. “What’s wrong, cowboy?”
“I'd appreciate it if you didn't touch me.”
“Oh, you’d appreciate it?” Grace asked, grinning. “All right, no worries, just stop me.”
She put her hands on his chest and shoved him back against the tree trunk. It wobbled as he brought his knife up, only to have his wrist caught and twisted painfully back. The knife clattered to the ground as Grace easily held him in place.
Peter glared, trying to not breathe. She unknowingly had her hand right over a healing bone; he couldn't move.
Suddenly a rope went around her throat and tightened. Grace let go of Peter, stumbling back as she clawed at the rope.
Sophie was on her back, feet pushing against the larger woman’s hips. She twisted the rope tighter, completely focused.
Grace fell to her knees, holding her hands up. Sophie jumped to the ground, still loosely holding her rope.
Grace coughed, looking up. “Damn, girl, didn't think you came from the streets.”
Sophie almost replied, then caught Peter’s eye. The move she’d used was one Marie had used on him. He shook his head, hoping she understood to not explain.
“How dare you insinuate such a thing,” Sophie said haughtily, snatching Peter’s knife off the floor. “I am Miss Sophia Cadbury, eldest daughter to the Duke of Cadbury, and you’d best remember that.” She knelt down, pressing the tip of the knife into Grace’s forehead. “You’d also best remember Peter is mine.”
Grace laughed, glancing at Peter. “Yes, my lady,” she said, her accent changing into a coarse mockery of Sophie’s accent. “I were just a bit confused. I didn't have no learnin’. No one taught me right from wrong, I carn't help it.”
Sophie stood up, dropping the rope as she handed Peter his knife. “Well, now you know.” She spun on her heel and walked away, not looking back.
“Well.” Grace pushed herself to her feet, her accent back to normal. “Can't tell if her confidence comes from strength or stupidity.”
Peter was fairly certain Sophie was just doing what she thought Marie would do, but decided to not say that out loud.
Grace looked at Peter again. “You've got technique but nothin’ to back it up with. Eat good and push yourself. That’s what this place was built for.”
“Thanks,” he said, still suspicious.
“And when Miss Sophia breaks your heart, come to me and I'll mend it,” she said with a wink.
Peter hesitated as she started to walk away. “What do you mean, ‘when’?”
Grace turned around, smiling as she walked backwards toward the door. “She’s a thief. Thieves get bored quickly.” She stepped through the exit and was gone.
Peter glared at the door for a few seconds before spinning and stabbing his knife deep into the tree trunk.
Now that they're out of the desert, where should they go next?
