Serial Saturday: "Clan of Outcasts" Season 3, Part 10

Part 10

"Trouble On The Move"

Markus slouched in Denahlia’s desk chair, basking in the way it cradled his body. His cybernetics had connected with her tech easily, as if it was on the same frequency. All he had to do was wait, right? Surely the Harbormaster who all but had him arrested when he first showed up with Hadrian would be able to handle things.

Right?

Beep-Beep
“Madam Watch!”
Beeeep-Beeeep
“Madam Denahlia? Come in, please!”

Markus groaned and sat up to respond to the screaming alarm. He tapped the red triangle, and immediately, the screen filled with red flags around the dockside area.

Markus opened the audio channel. “Denahlia’s not here,” he said. “This is her cousin Markus.”

“What?” Hayden’s voice came back, accompanied by shouting in the background. Now Markus could see his marker as well, a bright spot of yellow in a sea of furious red. “Well, Markus, has she left you in charge? Or was she planning on coming back?”

Markus grinned, thinking of the lanky, pipe-smoking know-it-all throwing up alerts at the slightest provocation simply because he didn’t know how to handle angry people. “Looks like you’re left with me,” he said. “But fair warning, the only people I like to be in charge of are myself and people I care about—and right now, the one other person I care about is up at the White Castle.”
The alarms spread further, but didn’t go away.

“Well then,” came Hayden’s reply, “I suggest you start thinking about the people here as your family also, because like it or not, you’re the only one who can stop this murderous crew!”
“Murderous?” Markus snapped to attention. “What’s going on down there?”
“See for yourself!” Hayden shot back, and Markus tapped on a triangle.

Immediately, a screen popped up, showing real-time footage of the wharf. The scene of chaos ruled the streets, as members of the Brigadier’s Ransom’s crew picked fights with the Realmish citizens who lived there.

At least, from what Markus could tell, they were picking fights. There was a scrawny red-headed girl who seemed to go out of her way to swing her rapier at someone just minding their own business. She had an empty ale mug in the other hand, and she tended to whack people over the head with it when they got in her way.

He watched a young man with deeply-tanned skin and hair shaved almost all the way off except for a long rat-tail hanging down from the back of his head. This young man was far more subtle in his movements, using the distraction of his loud friends to sneak into places and come out with bulging pockets, or break away to lift something off a street-vendor’s cart without paying.
The rest of the pirates seemed content with just keeping the people at bay, frightening them off or engaging the ones that tried to fight.

Markus gave a noisy, theatrical yawn. “What do you expect me to do about it?” he asked.
“Do what she would have done!” Hayden exploded. “Deploy the Harbor Patrol!”

Markus glanced toward the spot on the map with the white dot labeled “ADMIN.” That was him, and he saw a group of green dots gathered in one area, while a few more stood scattered throughout the region, unmoved by the chaos of the docks. He flicked open the menu, and selected the “DEPLOY” option. He could choose whether to “DEPLOY ALL” or “DEPLOY ACTIVE”, and shrugged.
“Why not just get this problem sorted as soon as possible?” he said to himself, pressing the “DEPLOY ALL” command.

The green dots immediately swept through the map. He could hear the clashing of their armor as they left the garrison below him. He watched the security footage as the soldiers entered the fray, pushing the pirates back and giving the innocent citizens the chance to escape.

Once it was just pirates and soldiers, though, the balance of control shifted. At a word from the burly, hooded man whom the system identified as Goddry, the Quartermaster, these pirates took on the soldiers, fighting back.

The Rat-Tailed pirate from earlier evaded capture and began smashing doors and collapsing crates. The redhead defied capture, climbing on things and using the environment to her own advantage as she swung off rigging and used her rapier to poke and slash the vulnerable spots in the Peacekeeper armor. There was a stocky, bald man who managed to shake off anyone who touched him. The one pirate the soldiers could capture didn’t seem to be the same as this rough, dirty crew at all—she seemed too clean, and patient. Markus aimed a camera at her as she waited calmly in custody. Her close-cropped fair hair curled softly around her ears—which came to a very subtle point at the top.

Markus jumped to his feet. “Crap! She’s an Elf!” he yelled, and ran out the door, which locked behind him, to be only opened by an admin.

Down on the harbor, the Peacekeepers were hard-pressed to subdue the unruly pirates. The captains sought to mitigate the reach of these ruffians by sending a few at a time after them, but after one too many soldiers returned weaponless, they soon abandoned that idea in favor of constructing a barrier around the wharf to attempt to contain those who weren’t quite so fast.

They were at least able to free the Harbormaster from being barricaded in his own office, terrified for his life. The Admin arrived, in the form of a young man with an entire arm made of metal who vaulted the barrier easily. He walked to the middle of the stand-off between the Peacekeepers and the pirates, who had been joined by the restless ruffians who normally found themselves too outnumbered to act. Armed with clubs and ropes and knives, they glared at the interloper.

Markus held up his hands. “What seems to be the problem, here?” he asked.
The bald pirate spoke up. “We’s ain’t gettin’ our fair share in treatment, is all!”
“Yeah!” cried the short redhead, looking for all the world like a compact version of Denahlia. Markus notes that she had pointed ears too. Why weren’t these Elves staying in their own dimension, and why had they taken up with a pirate crew?

“What do you mean?” Markus asked. “What treatment do you want, that you haven’t received?”
“We want beer!” called a thug, who had obviously been drinking his fair share already.
“Yeah!” shouted the rest of the crowd.

Someone else added, “Them barkeepers won’t let us in!” As if to illustrate his own point, he swung his club and smashed the side of a vendor’s cart. “They say our coin is not welcome!”
Markus shook his head. “A simple mug of ale is certainly worth a few of any coin out there, Realmish or not.” He pointed to the captive Elf. “You, there,” he said. “What would you say you and your crewmates want?”

The Elf ducked her head, and wriggled against her bonds. “We would like to go where we want, free and unhindered, without the Harbormaster suspecting us of too many things and calling for us to be arrested over the slightest provocation.”

“Slightest?” Hayden burst out, coming to stand next to Markus. “You’ve made a mess of the tavern, and you were harassing the people on the street—“ his eye fell on Markus’ face, and recognition choked his words. “Wait, I know you!”
Markus glared a warning at him, and addressed the troublemakers, “If we let you go about your business,” he said, “would you consent to following our laws and letting our citizens be?”

“We don’t owe you consent for nothin’, lawman!” grunted one of the pirates. “We’ve come for blood!” As one the frenzied crowd raised their weapons and shouted, “WE WANT BLOOD!”

Markus raised his hand and mimed chambering a gun, hearing the rewarding click of the shotgun barrel embedded in his arm locking into place. He was going to have a riot on his hands, for sure!
Immediately, all shouting and movement stopped as a third person joined Markus and Hayden. This man had a broad, brawny build, and a billowing white beard. The pipe he smoked put Hayden’s own to shame.
“Goddry!” he barked. “Get these squealing hogs back into my ship. Coming ashore has made them soft in the head. I’ll do all the talking myself, thank you!”

The hooded man nodded in assent. “You heard the captain!” he barked at the pirates. “Back to the ship!”
Just like that, the riot was over, as the pirates went or way, toward the ships, and the ruffians went another, scurrying between buildings so they wouldn’t get caught by the Peacemakers and forced to clean up the mess that their own hands made. The Peacemakers, at a nod from Markus, released their prisoner, and she fell in with the pirate crew boarding their ship willingly enough.

The bearded man smiled at Markus and tipped his ragged tricorn hat at Hayden. “Dreadfully sorry about that. We’ve been at sea for a long time, and the more active ones tend to get more antsy and apt to trouble. I see they’ve completely disregarded the thing I sent them ashore to do.”

“What was it?” Markus asked, noting how Denahlia’s database informed him that this man, Cornelius Haggard, has an entry marked “Dangerous.” How could someone with so much control be dangerous.

The man’s gaze intensified. “First, I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’ve met the Harbormaster here already. The name’s Haggard, Captain Cornelius Haggard. And you are—“

“Markus, Interim Harbor Watch,” Markus answered, shaking his rough hand. Still, he had seen nothing worth the Danger flag—perhaps that had been a hasty judgment on her part. “What can we help you with, Captain?”
“I was wondering,” Haggard mused, stroking his beard, “if you happened to know of a crewman I lost many years ago.” he gave a light chuckle. “The bugger got away from me during a storm out in the middle of the sea, and we were driven to several other ports searching for him. We heard rumors that he might be here, so we’d just like to find out if you have anybody here by that name, and then we shall be on our way.”
Markus nodded. “Seems simple enough. What’s the name?”
Haggard laughed. “He only had but one name, for as long as I knew him: Harlock.”

Markus remotely linked up to Denahlia’s files, going all the way back to when she first assumed the role of Harbor Watch—but no Harlock existed. He wagged his head. “The name doesn’t sound familiar. Perhaps the Harbormaster might have some records worth looking into?”
Hayden nodded eagerly. “Oh, of course! I record the names of everyone who comes up the docks. Right this way, sir!” He led the way to his mangled office door.

Markus sauntered back up to Denahlia’s office to await her return. Just wait till she heard about how her renegade cousins had employed diplomacy and took care of her “Very Dangerous” pirate crew all on his own!
>>>>>>>>>>>

Velora slumped against the wall, her breath creating small clouds in the night air. She held Sable's tether loosely, knowing full well that the wolf would not make a move without her say-so, but willing to comply with the requirements so that the others could feel safe around her.

 

Not being able to perceive his wife definitely took a toll on Beren. As soon as they reached the palace, he'd done his best to try and find some kind of solution for the fact that they all couldn't see or feel her, but only Azelie could hear her via her thoughts.

Then Zayra had told them about the box, and the necklace she'd found inside it. "I don't know why I put it on," she said through Azelie. "I can't see it or feel it against my neck to get it off again. That must be what's making me invisible."

Risyn had stepped forward, and held out a small glowing disc, which brightened at some angles, and dimmed at others. He nodded. "The magic signature coming from this region is strong, indeed," he said.

"I just want to touch her!" The way Beren scratched at his beard in consternation, Velora thought he might tear it out if he didn't stop. "Just to hold her, and tell her everything will be all right!"
In the end, Erlis figured out a way for this to happen. Pulling out a long bedsheet, she had Aurelle and Azelie hold it, while she asked Zayra to climb underneath it and stand.

Immediately, a shape coalesced in the middle of the sheet, the draped cloth forming a woman's figure. Through the sheet, Beren could connect with his wife's unseen form, holding her as she rested her cloth-covered head on his shoulder. Wet spots appeared on the cloth near the region of her cheeks--Zayra was crying.
They all retired to bed soon after, Beren caressing the sheet-covered shape as if he never wanted to let go. Denahlia had taken up her position in the top of the West Tower, as that would be the most inconspicuous location for her to supervise the upper reaches of the castle, while Velora and Sable helped Edri and her garrison patrol the grounds.

She had to wonder how much had changed in only a few days: from hatching a dragon's egg, to losing Gavin to the prisons of Elvendom, to finding out that Denahlia had a cousin with his own dragon, and now here they were, protecting an invisible princess from a hired attacker with an unknown objective... Sable whimpered, pulling at the leash. Velora shook her head and tried to maintain alertness in the dead hush of the night. One could only guess what fresh mysteries the morning would bring.

High up on the south side of the castle, a dark shape crept onto the balcony outside Jaran's old chambers. Nowadays the room stood empty, and indeed, much of the South Tower had not been used since the early days of King Jaran's reign.

The soldier posted in the hallway at the base of the tower happened to be the unfortunate Sir Monte. He slouched in his post, his eyes shifting from one corner to the next--but in the middle of one of his sweeps, he missed the compact form keeping just outside his periphery. Perhaps if the soldier's attention had been just a bit more engaged and less aimless, he might have caught the intruder just before the next soldier approached to relieve him. The assassin paused in the thick patch of black shadows, where no red eyes blinked out at him, and no person stayed for long. His quarry stood at the end of a long hall, and his feet moved soundlessly over the stones. The prize money was his, for sure!

The door slipped open on well-oiled hinges, and he took advantage of the parlor's tall furnishings to make his way into the room. He could barely see the vague shape upon the bed, the occupant blissfully slumbering, unaware of the fate that awaited them. He drew his knife from the leather sheath, holding it at shoulder height. He would have but one shot at this, and he needed to make it count, or he was a dead man. 

<><><><><><><><>

<<<< Previous               Next >>>>>>