Inti's Watcher

  Razan walked out of the sparring room an hour before dinner time, wondering if he should devote more time to exercise. Not training or walking, but lifting weights and such.

  He saw Innoka not far away and smiled, moving towards her. She saw him and smiled back, then frowned as Antoni got up from a nearby table and called to her.

  Antoni took her elbow, saying something in a low voice. Innoka rolled her eyes, and they walked towards their area.

  Razan felt his fists clench as he watched them.

  “Razan,” a voice called.

  He turned and bowed to Ebba, who was grinning at him like a shark.

  “If you’re not busy, I'd like to have a cup of tea with you,” she said, motioning towards her group area.

  “I… suppose I have time for tea. Thank you,” he said, bowing again.

  “Excellent.” She put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him into a walk.

  Razan noticed several people look their way with smirks and became suspicious. “May I ask why you wish to have tea with me?”

  “Of course,” she said in a comforting tone. “You can ask me anything.”

  “Will you answer?” he asked as they reached her door.

  “That depends on the circumstances.” Ebba led him to her personal room, finally dropping her hand.

  Every surface seemed to be covered in at least three layers of cloth. The bed was no surprise, but the walls and desks had multiple tapestries and tablecloths over them. Even the ceiling had sheets of fabric tacked over it. Razan wasn't sure if stepping on the ornate rug which covered the floor was allowed.

  Ebba removed her shoes and set them beside the door, so he did the same.

  “Please, sit,” she said, motioning to a cushion on the floor.

  Razan bowed and sat, watching her pour steaming tea from a clay teapot into two wooden cups. She handed a cup over and sat down facing him.

  “Thank you,” he said, bowing slightly before taking a sip. It was not green tea, but that was all he knew.

  Ebba smiled, her ice blue eyes locked on his as she held her cup in her lap. “Miyamoto Razan. Twenty-five years old. Well-traveled within Japan, trained from childhood to be a samurai. And recently given the guidelines for proper behavior here.”

  Razan felt himself tense. “How do you know that?”

  “The rostari culture is interesting. They very rarely offer more information than what is absolutely needed, and yet if someone asks a direct question they are obligated to answer.” She finally took a sip of her tea. “I know what questions to ask.”

  “Interesting,” Razan said flatly. “Why am I here?”

  “Because people with anger control issues make the best clients.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I break one bird-”

  “Oh, no, they don't read the guidelines to people for just one thing,” she said, grinning. “You’ve shown barely-restrained anger on a number of occasions. When Nali laughed at you. When Sophie teased you in the maze. Every time Antoni stops you from talking to Innoka. You, samurai, have a problem.”

  “If you bring everyone with that problem here, I assume everyone on the ship knows I’ve had the guidelines read to me,” he grumbled.

  “Not at all; I bring people here for several reasons,” Ebba told him. “I sell information. I sell drugs. I've slept with over half the people on this ship. If you want anything, I can provide.”

  Razan drained his cup before looking at her again. “Somehow I doubt you have access to everything.”

  “Might take me a week or two, but in all these years I've only failed to acquire something five times.” She took another sip of tea, watching him with shrewd eyes. “My one condition with what I do and sell is that everyone has to be a willing participant. Antoni tried drugging Innoka without her knowledge once, and that’s what got him introduced to the guidelines. Almost got him kicked off the ship.”

  Razan stared, desperate to know more. “What happened?”

  Ebba slowly grinned, leaning back as she watched him. “That was easy. Granted, I've hooked some people just by mentioning drugs, but your desires are written across your face. Regardless. Would you like to know… details? How Innoka reacted, for instance?”

  “Yes.”

  “Two hundred credits.”

  He stopped. “I don't have that. Even if I did, I can't pay you without someone noticing.”

  “Remember how I said the rostari never volunteer information? Yes, they give everyone a group bank account out of convenience, but to get a private account all one has to do is ask,” Ebba said, pouring more tea into their cups. “That leaves acquisition of credits, which is simple enough if you know what to offer.”

  “I assume you have a list of instructions you can provide me?” Razan asked dryly.

  “Naturally.” She took a sip of tea. “First, request to visit your home for a few days. They let people go twice a year. Then ask if there’s anything their customers are demanding at a higher rate than average. A few months ago all the rostari seemed to be collecting fans, but the fad may have changed by now. Then, think if you know anyone who can provide this ship with food. We eat a lot here, and that food needs to come from somewhere. If you can recommend a supplier of, say, rice or fish, you’ll get a small commission every time that person sends up a shipment. Bring back a load of whatever’s selling well at the moment, and you can easily make a private fortune.”

  “Which I then give to you for information.”

  “Precisely.”

  “Can I trade you information for information?” he tried.

  “You may try, but there isn't much I don't know,” she warned.

  Razan smiled. “I know about the Masks.”

  Ebba rolled her eyes. “Only one of the four is human. The group had a huge falling out, and only the owner of the suit of armor chose to stay.”

  He sat back, deflating.

  “Yes, Marie was quite upset with you for finding out the dangerous way,” Ebba said, smirking. “Although… For information, I am interested in learning how Peter died.”

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “What will you give me in return?”

  “Let’s see, something of equal value… I'll tell you two things about Antoni.”

  “Peter’s employer found out he’d worked as a spy and sent him off into the desert with no provisions,” Razan said immediately.

  “Interesting,” Ebba said slowly. “That does explain… Well. Antoni died ice fishing. The ice cracked under him and he fell into the very, very cold lake. Also, he regularly comes to me for a fun drug which produces intense paranoia as it wears off.”

  Razan smiled. “Interesting.”

  “And for a very reasonable sum, I can ‘forget’ to replenish my supplies at any moment you choose.”

  He took a calm sip of his tea. “I shall keep that in mind.”

  Peter looked over the options for guns, wondering which would be more useful in the long run. He had his crossbow, but Marie had told him to get at least three more weapons.

  He’d chosen a basic hunting knife as one, but he really wanted to stay as far away from his opponents as possible. That meant ranged weapons.

  Louis came into the room, whistling a merry tune. The two men nodded to each other, then Louis looked up to the hawk in the corner.

  “Anything new this week?” he asked.

  There was a pause as the bird flew down. “You bought the six-shooter, correct?”

  “Yes, and it was very fun,” Louis said.

  “That’s the most recent thing we’ve added to the list,” the bird said with a hop.

  “Pity. Well, until next week.” He turned to leave.

  “Wait, sir,” Peter called, stepping towards him. “You… have a lot of weapons?”

  The hawk made an amused noise. “No. He has all the weapons.”

  Louis smiled. “Do you want to try something?”

  “If you wouldn't mind,” Peter said apologetically.

  “Of course not! Seeing how you shoot now will let me know how worried I should be during the tournament.”

  Peter followed him out of the room. “Assuming we fight.”

  Louis took a breath, stopped, then shook his head with a sad smile. “We’ll be fighting, lad. Bet on it.”

  “Isn't it random?”

  “Somewhat, aye. But not completely.”

  Peter frowned as they got to the shooting room. He considered everything he knew about how things worked, and then considered that his group and Louis’ group hadn’t met in a contest yet.

  “They want you to fight Marie?” he finally guessed.

  Louis grinned. “I knew you were smart. Aye, they’ve been keeping us apart in contests so this’ll be a big event. The universe will finally see what happens when we’re ordered to cross blades.”

  “And… what will happen?” Peter asked.

  “I have no idea,” Louis answered cheerfully. “Now: what would you like to try? Ebba and I own so many weapons they’re kept in a different part of the ship. Have to request they be brought here.”

  Peter shrugged. “What one-handed things do you have?”

  “Too broad,” Louis said. “One hand includes blow darts, throwing axes, and that ridiculous shoulder cannon Grace favors.”

  “Alright, what do you have in the way of revolvers?”

  Louis patted him on the shoulder. “That we can work with.”

  Sophie growled, flinching as another cut appeared on her arm.

  “One hit, Sophie,” Rani laughed, dancing back on the spongy floor of the climbing room. “Just block one hit.” She stepped forwards, flicked her wrist up, and drew blood again.

  “I can’t!” Sophie complained, throwing her spear to the ground and crossing her arms. “This isn't working. There’s no way to stop you.”

  “I wish that were true,” Rani said, letting her arms drop. The three blades that stuck out from between her fingers on both hands reached to just below her knees, the tips colored with Sophie’s blood. “I think you need something smaller. And a shield or bracer. You keep trying to protect your face with your arm.”

  “Well, yes, I'd rather have my arms cut than my face,” Sophie said.

  “But it’s best to not have anything cut,” Rani pointed out.

  As Sophie bent to pick up her weapon, Innoka walked into the room. They all said hello, then Rani smiled.

  “Innoka, you wear a bracer and use a small weapon. Can you teach this pathetic English girl how to not immediately die in a fight?” Rani asked, poking Sophie with her claws.

  Sophie whacked the claws away with her spear. “I wouldn't immediately die.”

  “No, because you’d turn and run,” Rani jeered.

  Innoka had an odd smile on her face. “You want to copy me?”

  Sophie sighed, annoyed. “Well, I have terrible aim, I’m useless with a sword, I don't have the strength to punch people, and my ability to block attacks with my spear is nonexistent. I'm willing to try anything.”

  “Oh.” Innoka thought it over, then nodded. “I wouldn't mind. I don't think you have the strength for a hatchet, but a dagger…”

  “What about claws?” Sophie asked, pointing to Rani’s weapons.

  “Wouldn't do,” Rani said, smirking. “To use these you need to have been a tiger in a previous life. I think you were… probably some kind of bird.”

  Innoka nodded. “Chickadee.”

  Sophie hesitated at that. “I was a chickadee in a previous life?” Somehow the idea didn't feel insane. And she liked it much better than being called a magpie.

  Rani and Innoka looked at each other, then shrugged and nodded.

  “Chickadees don't fight, do they?” Sophie asked, considering it.

  “No, they mostly scream at each other,” Innoka said.

  Rani giggled. “Well, that’s one defense. If someone tries to attack you, just look them in the eye and scream until they run away.”

  Innoka looked at her. “That’s… There are devices that make your voice louder, right?” She turned to Sophie. “I wouldn't recommend it for a tournament, but it might be effective in contests where fighting is only a part of it.”

  “I like that, actually,” Rani said. “You still need bracers or a shield, but a very loud scream would make people… Mmm…”

  “They wouldn't know what to do,” Innoka finished. “Which would give your teammates time to come help.”

  Sophie smiled. “Very well. I shall use my chickadee’s soul to scream at people before flitting away. Not a traditional fighting style, but I don't think Marie will be upset as long as it works.”

  “It’ll work,” Rani promised. “Now. Innoka. Up to the ceiling with you. Sophie, go get those cuts cleaned up unless you want to be my target for another half hour.”

  “Practice dodging,” Innoka suggested, walking to where the safety ropes hung. “Fly, chickadee, fly. Chase, tigress, chase.”

  Rani grinned, lifting her weapons into position. Sophie giggled, then screamed and ran away.

  Marie looked over the tournament roster. Their first fight was going to be against the Moss team. She didn't know them, and she didn't like that.

  If they won, they’d either be up against the Wasps, who she was fairly certain they’d win against, or the Masks. All she could do was hope the Wasps won their first fight.

  The next two down were the Bees and the Caterpillars. Marie dearly hoped the Caterpillars won that battle. She didn't want to face the Bees so soon after destroying one of their prized weapons.

  And the two after that… were Dust and Windwards. She knew Ebba’s group had won the last tournament, so she believed Windwards would win against Dust. If they won against the Bees or Caterpillars…

  Marie briefly wondered why some teams used the plural version of their names, while others went with singular.

  Then she wondered why four people would decide on “caterpillars” as a good bug to name themselves after. Out of all the bugs, caterpillars weren't particularly interesting.

  She pushed her mind onto the subject of the battle royale. Sophie said Rani’s group specifically asked to join it, as it was “more fun”. Marie was very interested in watching that battle.

  Eventually her mind refused to be distracted any more, and Marie wondered if she could face a fight against Louis. He might look into her eyes, and she might freeze. She…

  Marie sighed, remembering their “dances”. Short blades in their right hands, left hands clasped, pushing back and forth as they spun around the room. Not aiming to hurt each other, just trying to land a single blow. The loser had to wash the dishes.

  She almost laughed, remembering their debate on if there was a better way of deciding who got which household chores than knife fights. They’d decided there wasn't.

  That memory led to another, and another, until she was lost in the past. And under all the memories, like a current that always flowed, was the pain of guilt.

  Marie hadn't been avoiding Louis, they spent time together almost every day, but there were some things they still hadn't discussed. Things they hadn't acknowledged.

  Things they hadn't done.

  If they truly fought, Marie knew she’d lose. If he played, she’d be fine. But he might have been waiting for an opportunity to hurt her without consequences. If he wanted to kill her, if he looked at her with hatred, Marie knew she wouldn't be able to defend herself. She desperately didn't want to break in front of the whole ship.

  So she took a deep breath and purged all emotions. She buried them as deep down as they could go. Marie looked out at the world with cold eyes, and got ready for the tournament.