Chapter 3: Ch. 3 – An Old Friend

Bea yawned as she, Rene and Harlowe waited outside the harbormaster's office. Nearby a fog-eater churned, constantly pulling the Weir fog into itself. Harlowe looked up at it; the device had revolutionized life in Tynan Weir a couple centuries or so since it was first created. No longer would coastal settlements have to fear the beings that came out of the fog, and it led to the nation becoming the premier naval power in the world. The half-ghoul listened a little longer, waiting for the telltale rattle of the condensed fog marble landing inside its collection tray. Just as the harbormaster stepped out to see the trio of them, it came, the little click clack of the marble being dropped. 

The harbormaster stood in front of the group, his clothing a little too clean for him to be someone who handled any of the physical labor. "And to what do I owe the visit from you ladies?"

Harlowe spoke without facing him, "I'm told you have a fog-eater in need of repair. Where is it?"

The man looked a little taken aback, hands clenching for a moment. “Err, it’s on the far western end of the docks. A merchant ship bumped it as they departed. We’ve sent a notice to the company’s nearest office–”

Harlowe groaned, knowing that, from the sound of it, it wasn’t going to be a simple fix. “How damaged is it?” she asked, finally turning to stare at the man. 

The harbormaster briefly met her eyes before looking to the side of her head. “I don’t rightly know. The side’s a bit dinged and it made an awful clunking sound when we tried to activate it last time.” 

“Non-functional then, do you have any supplies from when they were last maintained, or when they were installed?” asked Harlowe with a ragged sigh. 

“Should be some back inside, the representative from the College who installed them wasn’t exactly forthcoming with much…” muttered the harbormaster.

“They generally aren’t.” Harlowe put her right hand on his shoulder and squeezed lightly.  “Now, if you’ll just let me have what’s there I should be able to get it working by sundown," she said, pushing him towards the office door.

“We’ll be here when you two are done,” said Bea, leaning against the side of the small office. 

“Y-yes, I’ll be with you quick as I can, thank you for understanding,” said the harbormaster as he opened the office door and led Harlowe inside. 

The inside of the office was cramped with a desk covered in ledgers and letters in the center of it and numerous cabinets and various trunks holding over objects and files. It reminded Harlowe of the admissions office back at the College on the Moors and the minimal space they were given. On the desk was a small placard with the harbormaster’s name, Otto Krick, in silver set in a wooden base. Otto squeezed past a point where the desk and a cabinet were too close together, his pocket catching on a knob on the desk making him mutter a curse. 

He reached down and grabbed the handle of a case, grunting as he lifted it onto the desk. “Alright, here we are, everything they left behind.” 

Harlowe reached over and flicked up the latches on it. “Let’s see what I’m working with, Otto.” She lifted the lid and scanned the rather scant supply of replacement parts. “These are mostly the more finely machined bits, I may need to commission the city smiths for some pieces. In fact, send word that I need several plates made. I assume the housing is in bad shape.” 

Otto grabbed a quill and a sheet of paper then offered it to her, “I’ll get it sent over as soon as I can, just put the dimensions down.”

Harlowe closed the case and began writing, thankful that Clair had managed to get her limb into a working state earlier that morning. "Otto, do any of the workshops here have machining tools?" She asked, not looking up at him. 

Otto sucked a breath past his teeth. "Not a proper one, but we have one with some of the basics to keep the gate mechanisms and such functional."

“It’ll be enough. Tell them I may need to use their shops,” said Harlowe, handing Otto the parchment with the work order. “I’ll pay for the privilege with the basic schematics for fog-eaters, though I’d advise getting a trained artificer on retainer.” 

“I’ll see what I can do.” Otto folded the note and placed it in a jacket pocket. “I should be in my office most of the evening.”

Harlowe grabbed the case and nodded then went to the door, pausing to say, “try to give my friends a hand with securing passage to the Warring States.” She was out of the office before he could respond, stopping to look at Rene and Bea. “I’ll see you back at the Stake when I’m done.”

Rene turned to Otto. “So, do you know of any ships headed toward the Warring States?”

Otto looked over Rene, his eyes lingering on the band of scars around her neck. “Forgive me for asking, but why would you want to return there?” 

Bea tensed and Rene sighed. “I am heading to the Spire for additional magical study, beyond that it is my and my partner’s prerogative.” 

Otto nodded. “As long as you’re headed to the eastern sections it should be easy to secure passage. Though, might I suggest you take a ship down the coast to Enshem, you could likely save coin by acting as a guard for a vessel carrying steel southward.” 

Rene turned to face Bea. “What do you think? It would add a week or so to the voyage.”

“I’m honestly fine with whatever you choose, long as I’m with you.” Bea smiled briefly before frowning. “Being out beyond the village and the forests is odd. Disconcerting if I am being honest.”

Otto did his best not to listen in, silently thankful for the fog-eater about his office as it churned.

Rene hugged her lover. “I know, it’ll be okay. I promise.” She felt like she was lying to her, she couldn’t know it would be, but she’d do her damnedest to make it true. The red haired mage turned back to Otto. “We’ll take your advice.” 

Otto clapped his hands together. “Then let’s go see about speaking with the captains, assuming they’re sober.”

______

Harlowe began heading down the docks toward the furthest western pier. Even with her claw wrapped and hidden beneath her cloak people avoided her, stepping aside from her path and those that met her eyes recoiling. It felt kind of good in a strange way, it gave her distance from the everyday person. They wouldn’t understand her situation or they’d feign compassion. She shook her head. No, some people had been genuine.But right now the murmurs from the guards as she and the others passed under the gate bothered her. That she was a demon. A thought bubbled up; would it be worse to be seen as a demon, or what she actually is? What would it be like being in Megiddo. Not worth thinking about now. 

The air around the western dock was slightly hazy, weir fog spread out over the piers that sat empty. At the end of the furthest one was the silhouette of the damaged fog eater, the post beneath it was bent, leaving it off-kilter. Thankfully, the fog didn’t seem dense enough for anything to manifest in it. Harlowe walked down the pier, noting the damage not just to the eater, but also the pier itself, one of the support poles being partially splintered.

“Whoever was in charge of the vessel was a fool…” grumbled Harlowe, setting her own pack and the case from Otto down next to the damaged eater. “Alright. First, let’s get the collection tray out of this thing.” She tried pulling on the tray and it caught, a harder tug made the shoulder mount whine. “Fucking… fine. The damn thing is already busted up.” 

She stepped back and unwrapped her left arm, the limb pale with hard black claws at the end of her fingers. Harlowe grabbed the tray and pulled. Metal screamed as it was pulled out, then there was a crack and hiss; one of the fog marbles broke. Condensed weir fog erupted from the eater, throwing other marbles out of the tray and making Harlowe turn away to shield her eyes. 

“Fine mess,” she grumbled, carefully pulling the rest of the tray out. “They never emptied the damn thing.” 

Harlowe set the tray down and scanned the now much denser fog for any movement. This much of it could easily result in something slipping in from elsewhere. Satisfied for the moment she opened up the side of the fog eater and looked inside at its mechanisms, eyes scanning the engraved spellwork on its components. 

“There it is…” Harlowe tapped a faintly pulsing sigil atop a gear then popped the case open. “Easier to replace than to try and fix a damaged sigil.” 

With that she set about repairs, pulling out more of the internals, checking over how the teeth lined up and making sure the inscribed spellwork was intact. As she worked she could feel eyes on her, or more accurately on the pier. Shouts came from out on the water as a silhouette of a vessel approached, fog clearing around it as its own eaters churned. While the lessening of the fog was welcome, when she noticed the make of the vessel she felt uneasy. No masts and running mostly silent. One of the Admiralty’s latest designs. The occupants were likely either important, rich or both, and none of that boded well for why they were here in Zeistein. Harlowe hurriedly reassembled the internals of the eater, then stood and pushed it, the metal slowly giving in to her effort to bend it back upright as the ship drew closer. 

From the bow of the ship stood a man in armor of chain and padded cloth, a black tabard with a silver axe encrusted in frost. He carried himself with martial discipline, posture rigid. His head turned to look at the figure working on the dock, eyes narrowing. 

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“Can’t even keep their eaters online,” he muttered before turning and walking back to the helm. 

 Harlowe continued her work, briefly starting the eater to see if it would at least function. The contraption clicked and hummed as she held a hand where the marble would drop, the tray still full on the dock itself. The nearby vessel slowed to a halt as she waited. She looked up at it and the men that were gathering on its deck. They lowered a ramp onto the pier and the eater she was working on dropped a marble onto her hand. With her attention on the vessel it clattered from her hand onto the bottom of the eater. At the top of the ramp, to the side was a man she knew. The fog marble fell onto the dock then rolled into the sea.

_____

Bea groaned, the discussions with the various ships captains were not going well. She, Rene and Otto had been at it for hours. Bea watched Rene freeze over her drink and reheat it as they waited for the next captain to join them while Otto sipped at his own drink. 

“This is ridiculous,” muttered Rene, looking at Bea.

Bea shrugged. “We have the coin and relevant skills. I don’t get it.” 

Otto looked up from his drink. “Sometimes they just don’t have room, you know?”

“Oh, I barely take up space! I’m used to sleeping in trees or small hollows,” said Bea.

“We could possibly teleport there,” Rene got close to Bea to whisper, “but I don’t trust myself being able to safely get us there without a solid established circle for it.”

Bea whispered back, “Is it my mark?”

Rene shook her head. “No, it’s what happened the last time I moved more than just myself.” Her shoulders slumped. “The mark is of some concern, but no, it’s my own worry.”

A man sits at the table, his heavy naval coat open. His eyes were somewhat sunken and his dark beard had a thin line missing from it caused by an old scar that ran up his chin, over his lower lip then across his cheek. His hand went inside his jacket and pulled out a flask. “Just docked and found a notice to head here on your office door.” He took a draught from his flask. “Didn’t expect you to have company, harbormaster. I’m Captain Wolfe.” He extended a hand, heavy rings on his ring and index fingers.

“Are you a recent arrival?” asked Otto, shaking Abrahm's hand.

“Yes, myself and Pender’s Awl arrived just recently.” Wolfe shook Otto's hand then capped his flask and put his flask back in his jacket.

Rene leaned forward. “Is the Awl accepting passengers?” 

The captain stretched, back popping. “Eh, well. We let off the last batch of them after docking, might as well. Though, I suppose it depends on where you’re headed.”

“Enshem, and then onward to the Spire. We can earn our keep if need be," said Bea. 

Abrahm hissed when he heard them mention the Spire. "That takes us close to Rakkith."

Bea cocked her head. "And that's an issue?"

"The Old Gardener has been active lately, or so I've heard," said Otto. 

The door to the bar opened, letting in natural light for a brief moment as Bea looked over to Rene, her eyes pleading for context. 

Rene pulled Bea's head over to whisper, "it's another name for the owner of that continent, Rakkith the Evergreen, a true dragon."

"And the size of a damned mountain…" muttered the captain. 

Feeling Bea's disbelief, Rene nodded. "As long as you don't cut too close to the island you should be fine," she waved a hand dismissively, "I'm sure a captain worthy of being trusted with a fine ship like the Awl would not make such a foolish choice."

Wolfe's hand went into his jacket and once obscured his fingers slid over a wooden grip near his flask. "While I am flattered, you claim to know the Awl sight unseen." 

"The ship’s namesake tells it all! Alec Pender was an architect of the Brooke Street Rebellion that led to the founding of the admiralty,” said Rene, staring at the captain’s hand.

“Bit of a historian are you– and what of it?” asked Wolfe, grabbing his flask instead of the pistol, pulling it out and unscrewing the cap.

Rene relaxed slightly, her own hands over each other on her lap, thumb worrying the back of her other hand. “That the Admiralty board would never approve a name so tied up in its founding for any ship.”

The captain took another sip then sighed. “Fine. Yes, the Awl is a fine ship and you are clearly more than you let on.” He pointed at her throat. “Only ever seen that on corpses and Esaran spies.” 

Rene shook, anger boiling up in her. Bea put a hand on Rene’s shoulder while Otto nervously took another drink. Others in the bar could feel it too, the sudden tension, and they retreated into their cups or moved to excuse themselves from the situation. 

Wolfe took another sip and capped his flask before putting it back in his jacket, fingers wrapping around the grip of his pistol.  “How did it go again..? Going to shout at me, scream forge and flame then–”

“You think I am one of those monsters?!” Cried out Rene, arrays stacking over her palms. 

Wolfe drew his pistol, knuckles white. An array blinked out. Wolfe fired, bullet hitting a previously invisible wall of force as the chamber of the gun rotated. The mage snarled and extended a hand before pausing, her eyes meeting a pair of red ones possessed by a figure walking toward Wolfe from behind. Bea drew a dagger from a sheath on her thigh, eyes fixed on the captain.

The captain grit his teeth. “You can’t keep that up.”

A slow flow of blood dripped from Rene’s nose. He was right, absorbing that shot was too much force and she was experiencing feedback from it. She kept the other arrays visible, trying to hold out until Harlowe acted.

Wolfe’s finger partially depressed the trigger. “You’ll not survive another round, even with tha–”

The captain paused, he’d heard steps behind him and turned, gun raised. Before he could fire Harlowe slapped it out of his hand. The pistol hit the floor and discharged. It ricocheted off her mask, knocking her head back and revealing the silvery metal beneath the mask’s blackened exterior. 

Harlowe grabbed the captain by his throat and lifted him onto his feet, her head pulling forward as she did. "Now, is that any way to greet an old friend?"

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