Chapter 327: Chapter 311 – Pirates and Prayers III

Chapter 311 - Pirates and Prayers III

Sylvia hummed a cheerful tune as the group walked down the street. They were slowly making their way through the city, their feet carrying them towards the sun with each lighthearted step. Most of their movement was driven by Rubia, who was dragging Claire around by the wrist, investigating people, stalls, and shops in turn. It was her first time seeing the city during the height of its bustle. Normally, when she visited it during the early mornings, there were nowhere near as many people out and about.

In a sense, she was doing the same thing she always did when she took up residence in her sister’s tail, but with two feet of her own, it was far from the same experience. The lack of physical restraints allowed her to explore whatever caught her attention without the need for coordination.

“You know, your dad was actually a lot nicer than I thought he’d be,” said Sylvia. She spoke the words from atop Rubia’s head. Though slightly smaller and less comfortable, the newer chair’s novelty was impossible to overcome.

Claire scowled. “You’re a terrible judge of character.”

“No, I’m not!” said the fox.

“Your closest friend is a narcissistic psychopath.”

“If you know what your faults are, then you should fix them!” cried Sylvia.

“No. I like myself the way I am now.”

“I mean, I do too, but…”

They bantered while Rubia looked through a stall, her eyes sparkling as she examined the fruits it sold. She didn’t touch them, of course—Claire had already pinched her nose and told her that she would be too full for dinner if she ate too much—but the unfamiliar shapes and colours held her rapt attention.

There was a bright red melon in the form of a perfect cube, a large round fruit with a strange pattern scrawled across its exterior, and even a peculiar berry that changed colour depending on the angle from which it was observed. It was like a gemstone, shimmering in shades of red, purple, green and blue. The shiny fruits were certainly attention-grabbing, but they held her for only a few seconds before she moved on to a shop filled with swords and shields. Again, she didn’t stay for long. In fact, she outright ignored the merchant that had happily called out to her and stuck her face into the water. 

Her eyes lit up when she looked through the canal. Sinking into the depths, and dragging Sylvia down with her, she dove straight at a fisherman peddling his latest catch, albeit not because she wanted to. She quickly discovered that swimming and walking required completely different skill sets, and her body was utterly lacking in the former.

She fell straight to the bottom. If not for Sylvia, who grabbed her by the shoulders and yanked her back up to the surface, she likely would have been there to stay.

The homunculus-shaped distraction slowed their progress through the city. At the rate that they were going, they likely wouldn’t make it home for another two hours. They stopped briefly on Fourth Street when they crossed it. It was only meant to be a quick detour, so the fake could peek at the shop from afar, but the crowd gathered in front of the building grabbed the group’s attention.

When they headed over and waded through the crowd, they found a gaggle of wealthy-looking sea creatures sitting out in front. They were tied up, with dunce caps on their heads and spider silk binding their mouths and limbs. Starrgort, their captor, was standing atop the pile triumphantly, while Estelle was slowly sipping at a flask of Stress Be Less.

She didn’t say anything in particular, but she was clearly angry. She bashed the prisoners with a long metal ladle every time they did anything at all. It was a humiliation that spurred a vicious cycle; they would try to speak in protest each time they were unreasonably attacked, which only led to another series of strikes. Several members of the city’s guard were standing in the crowd, but none seemed interested in offering their assistance, in spite of the obvious assault and detainment.

When she noticed Claire among the observers, Estelle immediately waved her over. “They’re your customers. Deal with them, won’t you?”

The victims started making noise again when they noticed the lyrkress, but she never faced or acknowledged them. She kept her eyes on the siren doctor instead and quizzically tilted her head. The fake inspected them in the meantime, lightly prodding at their cheeks and giggling when the veins in the foreheads threatened to burst.

“What the heck happened here?” asked Sylvia.

“It’s Claire’s fault,” said Estelle. Having finished the first, she retrieved a second, identical portion from under her robe and downed it in a single gulp. It wasn’t as if she needed it right at that moment. It was just a preventative measure for the headache sure to follow. “They wouldn’t shut up about her having summoned them. I told them to come back later, but they threw a fit and refused to leave,” said the doctor, with a yawn.

The accused lyrkress took a moment to inspect the captives. She was almost tempted to ignore them. Leaving them out in the street would have been entertaining in and of itself, but after lightly touching the diary strapped to her waist, she begrudgingly approached and magically ripped the gag off of one of its members. Lia would have heard them out at least.

“I called for you idiots because you all asked me to kill the same person,” she said. “And none of your children looked like they were poisoned.”

“That’s because it isn’t the type of poison you can see!” The chosen speaker, a middle-aged lady wearing a fancy dress and a string of pearls, shouted at the top of her lungs. She was an elf, albeit one that had mutilated her ears by inserting a massive, circular decoration into the otherwise perfect triangles. “He’s poisoning their minds!”

Claire blinked. “I highly doubt that. It would have to be a decently powerful neurotoxin for someone other than the victim to notice the effects, and none of your children were suffering any noticeable symptoms. You're also all different species. I doubt the same substances would work on you in the same ways.”

“That’s not what I mean,” she cried. “He’s poisoning their minds by feeding them lies!”

“How is that any different from speaking in half-truths?”

The merchant bit her lips and lowered her head. At the very least, she seemed to acknowledge her own wrongdoing.

“Plea—”

“I don’t care,” said Claire. “Leave.” She magically undid their ropes and pushed them down the street. Some of them tried talking, but her vectors tied their tongues and shut their mouths. She had already learned enough from their complaints. She would have to find some time to listen in on the man’s supposed lessons to make a decision—though she highly doubted that any death would come out of the case regardless of what it was he preached.

“Mrmphhh! Mmmnnhhh hmmhjhfmn!” complained a gagged fish.

“I said, I don’t care.”

The lyrkress could feel the irritation building in the back of her mind, but the person standing beside her pressed a chilly beaker against her face before it could boil over. When she looked at the concoction in question, she found a fresh serving of the doctor’s emissively pink drink.

“You look like you need this more than I do,” said Estelle.

Claire paused for a moment to double-check her expression, accepting the potion only after she confirmed that her face was every bit as blank as she had thought.

“Thanks.”

“Eh, it’s nothing. I’ve got a few vats of the stuff stashed out back. Just in case.”

It wasn’t her first time drinking the mesmerizing liquid, but Claire still hesitated before popping open the beaker and bringing the contents to her lips. It wasn’t the taste that was the problem—despite its colour, it was earthy and sweet, like a tea made with a particularly expensive honey. Its effect was equally as unproblematic. The brew was just a light sedative that specifically targeted the associated receptors in the brain. It was such a tiny amount that it wouldn’t have affected her had it been considered a toxin, but the substance’s medical classification allowed it to bypass her defenses.

She simply didn’t like the idea of using a substance to make up for her own dysfunction. Once was enough. Any more, and it would leave a stain upon her pride.

The drug covered her mind in a cool, refreshing blanket. Pulsing through her magical pathways, it calmed her thoughts and distracted her from the idiots at hand. But at the same time, it reminded her of a certain unpleasant dysfunction. She had spent the past few weeks looking for a way to fix her circuits, but the search had only ended in vain. Not even asking around had helped. Estelle had never seen her condition before, and neither had any of her associates. The gods, likewise, offered little in the way of advice. Flux had gone completely radio silent since her ascension, and Alfred, the steroid’s creator and the man ultimately responsible for the adverse effects on her person, had only replied with a casual shrug.

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It seemed that she really had no choice but to sit around and wait for her body to heal.

“I heard about her,” said Estelle, her eyes on the fake inspecting the shelves. “But I didn’t think she was real.”

“They made her out of my blood,” said Claire. “I doubt it was even all that difficult, with Allegra and my father joining hands.”

“Creating a homunculus is a lot of work regardless of the people involved,” said the doctor. “Are you going to keep her around?”

“We’re putting her back tonight.” The caldriess closed her eyes and took a breath. “She likes her life right now. I’d be no better than my father if I tried to take it away.”

“You’re already killing people by the hundreds of thousands. At this point, it’s pretty hard to say that the two of you are any different,” said the doctor, with a snarky smirk.

“That was one time.” Claire jabbed her tail into the siren’s side, eliciting a faint groan of pain.

“How about resorting to violence less, to start,” offered the doctor.

“Shut up, Stella,” said Claire. “No one asked you.”

Cackling, Estelle shoved her hands into her pockets and started walking across the shop. “I’ll be doing the usual if you need me.”

“I won’t,” muttered the lyrkress.

“Oh, and I almost forgot.” She stopped just outside the door to throw a bottle across the room. “Try some of that. Honestly, I kinda doubt it’ll do anything for your circuits, but it’s supposed to be good for the flow of your magic,” she said. “The only catch is that you can’t uncork it. It stops working if you expose it to air, so you’ve gotta swallow the bottle whole.”

Claire blinked. “Alright.”

“Do the usual meditation bullshit once you’ve got it in your gut. You know, the stuff you used to do in the gym.”

The doctor lazily raised a wing and waved it before vanishing into her lab.

“Thanks.” Still, Claire muttered her appreciation under her breath. They were grasping at straws, but even knowing that it was likely in vain, she appreciated the effort invested.

Setting the drink down on the counter for the time being, Claire joined the fake and the fox in front of a mostly empty map of Pria. Their most recent excursion had led the fairy to fill in a small speck far to the north. It showed a small castle, as well as the city around it—in spite of the fact that they had never quite stepped foot outside.

“And this is where we went two weeks ago when Claire had to kill a funny mosquito-looking guy with a really shady beard.” Her index finger—she had swapped to her tiny pixie form—was pointed at a lake surrounded on all sides by dense, verdant forest. “It was actually kinda weird. There were all these super buff farmer guys working on fruit trees. They could pretty much make them whatever size, shape, and flavour they wanted.”

Claire frowned. “I didn’t like that place. Fruit is not supposed to taste like bacon.”

“Mmmnnnn, I dunno,” said Sylvia. “I kinda liked it because of how crunchy it was. Oh, and the fish ones were pretty good too, but only when they were baked into the pies and stuff. It didn’t really feel right for something that tasted like salmon to have so much bite.”

Rubia’s eyes lit up, but Claire shook her head. “Maybe next time. We already have plans for dinner.”

The homunculus pouted, but Claire stayed firm. She couldn’t allow herself to be a bad influence on the developing child. The night’s menu had already been settled. Chloe had giddily returned to the house a little ahead of the others with a bag of ingredients in tow—Rubia’s presence had apparently motivated her enough to cook.

As a homunculus, the fake didn’t need to eat. She could easily subsist off of water alone, though the added proteins from a meat-heavy meal raised the efficiency with which she repaired her body. She did enjoy it, however, and she dearly missed the meals that they had prepared for her back in the Valencian castle.

Perhaps driven by the praise layered upon her tea earlier in the day, Chloe had taken it as a sort of personal challenge to outdo the garbage produced by the incompetent chef employed at Decimus Manor. The human had made a claim about her pride as a resident of the Ryllian Sea, but Claire quickly wrote it off. She didn’t believe for a moment that the maid cared much for matters of pride.

“One or two can’t hurt,” said Sylvia. She began reaching for her tail, but Claire flicked her tiny forehead before her efforts could bear fruit and sent her tumbling across the room.

“No. Bad dog.”

“Oh, come on! It’s not like it’s gonna spoil her dinner. I snack all the time, and I still like my meals!”

“Unlike most normal people, you also happen to have a bottomless stomach,” said Claire.

“Mmmnnnn, it’s not entirely bottomless,” said Sylvia. “I think I could probably only fit like half of Llystletein. Maybe the whole thing if I really tried.”

“Which means it’s functionally bottomless,” muttered Claire. Shaking her head, and looking down at the clone tugging on her sleeve, she found Rubia with a finger pointing at the middle of the sea.

“Oh! That’s the place where we went on that one food trip,” said Sylvia.

“I can tell you about it if you want,” added Claire.

The homunculus nodded enthusiastically.

“Wait, wait, let me do it!” said Sylvia. She was already clapping her hands, forging an illusion with the resulting beat. “I’ll make it so she can taste all the stuff we had too.”

“You’ll ruin her dinner.”

“I just said that I wasn’t gonna!”

“And I didn’t believe you.”

Despite complaining, Claire loosely wrapped her arms around the fake’s shoulders, rested her chin on her head, and lost herself in the fox’s performance.

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