Chương 18: 17 The Empty Thermos (Bonus Chapter)

The ship bobbed, water slapping the hull below. I sat on the quarterdeck, legs spilling out through the rail posts, forehead pressed against stanchions as I watched the blurred stars reflected in our trailing wake. The pump squeaked on the weather deck without urgency. We'd piped out most of the boiling bilge water, and just about everyone was laid out with heat exhaustion. I took a deep breath, the air for once not feeling like a wet sauna.

My lungs grated raspy and raw, taking in the beautiful natural sea breeze of the evening, without the stench of sulfur or metallic ash. My hand drifted across my forearm, patchy and rough. The rashes were already starting to discolor. That's when people started asking questions. That's when the kids used to point and call me Tony Black Plague. I tugged my sleeve down, covering the worst of it. But the marks on my jaw—there wasn't much I could do to hide those. I shifted, taking a sweep of the weather deck.

Sailors lay scattered across the deck, resting in the evening breeze. Not a single person came out of this battle who wasn't four shades more pink. Even Delrid, whose flesh was naturally a cool yellow, had a brailed quality to it. Perhaps my patches would blend in, all things considered. My hand went to my belt, lightly touching the metal mutagen vials I'd gotten from Igor. I could try to suppress them, but they'd probably come right back when we returned to this extreme environment.

There was something else I had to consider. I opened my terminal, glancing at my mana which was slowly ticking back up. My buffs flashed across my vision. <<Passive Buff: Apex Wrath: +1 Fire Resistance>> <<Passive Buff: Amulet of Fire Resistance: +1 Fire Resistance>> As soon as the temperature started to drop, I retrieved the amulet from Barkley. The Armory of Allocation would want it back. I focused on Apex Wrath. The resistance hadn't activated until my powder horn exploded.

That was when the rashes had started in earnest. Did the skin irritations somehow contribute to that resistance? Would washing them away strip that added heat protection? Anywhere else, I'd take those mutagens in a second. But returning to Scorched Rock— The fact that I needed something useful from my father made my hands tighten on the rail posts. <<Time to Seal Collapse: 04: 02: 03: 05: 32: 11>> The timer continued ticking down, but I was too exhausted to feel the impending dread that chased the unknown.

A new notification winked into my HUD. I bit my tongue. I was still struggling with navigating the inbox. I'd definitely spent most of my time browsing the feat catalogs and not paying attention to my system network lectures. I opened it. <<System Alert: Quest Update>> <<High Family, latest reports confirm that the Puppetmaster has reclaimed Prisoner's Retaliation, and has been restored to his position in the Bloodwake.

New objective: Recover Prisoner's Retaliation from Puppetmaster—Uncle Kerelev>> I dug for the energy to work myself up, to be outraged at Puppetmaster's name, but that well was tapped. The terminal blinked away, and my head rested against the rail. My shoulder ached dully, my hands smarting where faded burns clashed with the patches. Something shifted within the arcane deck compartment, and I glanced over in surprise. The false cargo lid doors were still wide open.

Aside from Mateo, the helmsman, I'd assumed I'd been alone up here. I shifted, untangling myself from the rail before crossing over to the camouflaged box. Peering inside by the light of the stars, I found Ingred sitting on the inset sigils of the arcane focus. She shivered, knees drawn tight to her chest.

"Hey," I said. She glanced up, lips drawn tight.

"Thanks for saving our—" I stopped.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine," she said, teeth chattering. I straightened. The evening was cool but not that cold. She'd always been pale, but even in the low light, I could see her lips were so pale they bordered on green. The Thermos of Ice Island lay empty at her feet.

"Wait," I said. I conjured my field craft backpack from my inventory. My mana ticked down a point as the gear materialized. I slid my wool blanket from the bedroll loop. Despite how soaked I'd gotten, it remained dry, tucked safely in extra-dimensional space. Ingred didn't watch, she just stared at the wall of the box that housed the deck. I didn't ask or wait; I hopped over the edge, dropping into the false crates onto the lacquered wood. She glanced at me, her eyes glazed.

"Tex, Ingred, how long have you been here?" I asked as I flipped a blanket open and wrapped it around her shoulders.

"I—" she blinked.

"I haven't left." I grabbed her hand, flinching at how cold her fingers were.

"Do you need the physician?" I asked, getting ready to hop back out.

"No," she said, shaking her head.

"It's just mage shock."

"You're freezing," I said, testing the back of my hand against her brow. Cold and clammy.

"Let's fire the galley."

"No," she said, gathering the blanket tight around her shoulders.

"No, just—stay." The night went silent, the arcane deck compartment shielding us from the noise of the ship. I slumped back, pulling my own knees tight. There was barely enough room for one of us here, and I was all legs.

"Ingred," I started, considering the hours she'd been sitting here.

"Shh," she rested her head back and shut her eyes. I went silent—externally. Was this the type of thing I escalated up the chain? Did she need rest or treatment? What would Naomi say? I watched her carefully.

"Tex, Tony, I'm not dying," she said, somehow reading me despite her closed eyes.

"No offense, Ingred, but you look like a corpse that just finished cooling." She smiled, a snort escaping. Her eyes opened halfway.

"I don't know how you do it, Tony—you bounce back so fast." She took a breath.

"When that Primord torched you, I thought you were gone, then in the end, you were cranking the pump like you hadn't just been baked in a literal furnace."

"Ah," I said, nodding.

"Yeah, I definitely cheated." I rested my forearm on my knee, rubbing my thumb across my knuckles.

"Did you know Naomi has a horde of personal high-end potions?" Ingred smirked.

"Showed you the stash, did she?"

"You know about them?"

"We were only roommates for like four years," Ingred said.

"Yeah, her mother supplies them." I chuckled.

"I need to be more reckless. With a sponsor like that, there's no need to conserve resources." Ingred's smile faltered.

"Naomi doesn't like using them. She feels like she's cheating somehow. She gets a certain way when she breaks into her supply. Thing is, she can't refuse them; the only thing worse than leaning on her mother for support is—" she cut off.

"Watching one of us die, knowing she could have saved us." Ingred nodded slowly, eyes half unfocused as if replaying her own close calls.

"Did you know I called her out for wasting her lesser healing potions on Barkley?" I shook my head.

"She let me. Didn't say anything about the fact that she had much better ones in reserve." Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

"Myrkraths and their pride," Ingred said. I smiled, nodding.

"You know what? She's growing on me. When I heard she'd be my team lead, I grumbled to Diago for a week straight." Ingred shivered, hugging the blanket to her shoulders. Talking was helping. Already, color brushed her lips.

"I mean, she's not too bad for a princess," I added hurriedly, lest Ingred think I might be maturing. Couldn't let that happen. I'd be ruined. A silence stretched.

"So," I said.

"You sank a Scorched Fleet frigate on your first quest. Impressive." She shuddered, withdrawing into herself a little.

"I don't think Vulcans are good swimmers. I think I killed over three hundred people."

"I'm sure plenty made it to the escape boats."

"Three hundred twenty-seven didn't," she said. I cocked my head at that oddly specific number.

"How do you—""I leveled up," Ingred explained.

"I queried Ourabora, and she confirmed the number."

"That's—" I was still at level six; Ingred's progression to eight made the Apex Pride twist, like a snake pinned under a boot.

"Tony," she said, icy fingers brushing my wrist. I shook my head.

"That's incredible," I said, forcing the envy down.

"I'm glad you're on my side." She nodded slowly, reading me like a navigational chart.

"I'm not strong enough to cast greater spells. It—" she shook her head, teeth chattering.

"It almost consumed me. That power's too much." I studied her, and suddenly her hollow expression took on a whole new light. She'd wielded too much power, carried a weight too far, and now she paid the price.

"Please be careful," I said, measuring my words.

"I know you feel like it was too much, but we got out of there because of you. We're not in branding chains or cooking underwater right now because you took that on yourself."

"Wasn't me," she said, her heel brushing the canister at her feet.

"It was that." She angled herself away from it, as if afraid of touching it.

"Does it recharge?" I asked, leaning to pick up the canister.

"Not on its own," she said.

"Not until an enchanter can refill it. We are officially down one greater iceberg." I set the empty thermos down.

"How's the ship?" she asked after a moment.

"Slow leak," I said.

"Our patches are a very temporary fix. It'd be best to put into a port to do some real work, but we don't have a friendly port, or the time." She brushed her icy blond hair back.

"The crew?"

"Two sailors dead, one marine on quarters with a broken leg," I plucked at one of my fingernails.

"All things considered. Could've been much worse." Footsteps sounded from the deck outside. We glanced up as Bianca appeared, peeking into our alcove. She'd assumed her natural form, skin unhardened and without cracks.

"There you are. Naomi's calling a meeting with the captain. She wants us all present." I pulled myself up, every ache reminding me that I owed my body some serious rest. I offered Ingred my hand, and she grunted as she pulled herself up. The three of us made our way to the Captain's quarters, where Naomi, Lieutenant Stormsong, and Captain Thalendris circled a table. A green-tinted hooded lantern hung from a beam, casting an emerald light on their faces—and on a fourth figure.

Barkley leaned over the map, giving me a curt nod as I walked in. I hesitated, part of me wanting to demand what he was doing here, the other remembering how he'd leaped into scalding water without heat resistance to help us secure the final patch. In a staggering display of growth, I elected to keep my mouth shut.

"Cap'n," I grunted with a nod as the others shuffled into a wider circle, making room for us.

"We need a plan," Naomi said, officially starting the meeting.

"We have one," I said.

"Sneak into Obcity, find the Ashen Keel, meet up with Ignis, and reevaluate."

"Your plan has more flaws than a rotted net has holes," Barkley said. His square jaw and short tusks made him look like the type of pirate who solved problems with his teeth, but the calm certainty in his voice belonged to a veteran navigator.

"Yeah, like?" It wasn't a challenge; the truth was, I had no clue what to expect in an Ashlord city.

"Anything that doesn't chug its tea boiling, then complain that it's too cold will stand out like a shark in a dress," he said.

"Most of your crew wouldn't survive Scorched Rock's heat for more than half a day without magical enhancements, and your fancy toys would draw attention." He nodded toward Elara.

"She's the only one who wouldn't stand out too much, and that's specifically in the docking district."

"So, you're saying they wouldn't look the other way if seventy-five men, Feykin, and Dwarves suddenly flooded their city?" I tried to add a pinch of humor to my words, but they came out hollow. He huffed.

"Wrong crew for the wrong job."

"A small team, then," Naomi said.

"And move forty tons of steel with no one noticing?" I shook my head.

"We wouldn't be alone," Naomi said, rolling her eyes.

"The Rebels. Someone's buying those Sea's Tears to counter fire-based powers. They'd be local, and we'd likely have an enemy in common. If we find them, we can convince them to help us."

"Ignis gets paid," I said sternly.

"I'm not going behind his back and trading the tears for services."

"Rebels, please," Barkley shook his head and crossed his arms.

"When you need men to cut throats and steal cargo, you go to skilled thieves."

"Pirates," I said, reading into the implication.

"No."

"Why not?" Barkley asked.

"You smugglers have some sort of code? Look at the ship, you need repairs, and the nearest port that won't turn you over to the Ash Lords is here." His finger tapped on the map. My head tilted down as I took in the cluster of Islets. Los Colmillos.

"There's a Scorched Fleet dock there."

"Officially, yes," Barkley said.

"In practice, they won't give you any problems. The warden there's cool. We have an understanding."

"We?" Captain Thalendris asked, stroking the scruff on his chin.

"It's a pirate port," Barkley said.

"We have a code of our own, you know. The warden looks the other way; his purse grows. No officials, no bounty hunters. You can patch your hull, and it's close."

"We can't pay for a whole new ship and crew," Naomi said pointedly.

"The Scorched Fleet saw the Silver Zephyr. They'll be looking for us."

"Don't be so sure," Barkley said.

"If they're docked at Los Colmillos, it means they have business on Scorched Rock anyway. Among pirates, most deals are settled in favors."

"I know what kind of favors a pirate will ask," I said.

"We're not raiding for them."

"Hear them out, kid," Barkley said.

"Half the time it's as easy as delivering a message or passing a bribe." I pursed my lips, considering.

"Pirates or no, we could use a re-provision," Captain Thalendris admitted.

"I don't like holes in my ship."

"I don't like it," I said.

"We have Ignis, let's use him. He's an official; he can get us papers. Let's make the customs authorities load the cargo for us—no need to even break a sweat."

"I feel like that'd be a stretch on his authority," Naomi said.

"Plus, Azhak saw his face; no doubt he's compromised."

"You didn't see him?" I asked, glancing at each of my companions.

"Ingred probably solved that problem for us. He was on that Inferno Juggernaut when it went down."

"Still," Elara said.

"A lowly registrar, signing off on transporting seized goods which are no doubt locked down and under intense scrutiny—" she shook her head.

"Something like that would need the seal of the local sultan himself."

"Sultan Azhar Al-Harraq," Barkley said, and we turned to him, waiting for more.

"An Efreet. Malevolent—all of them are once they get a little power. He's a collector of exotic slaves, and by that I mean anyone who can endure Scorched Rock's heat. His eldest son's a commander in the Scorched Fleet, and his wife is a sadist who personally oversees the punishment of dissidents." I blinked, and silence fell.

"What?" Barkley asked, shrugging.

"Did a couple of jobs for him, maybe a few against him. Half of a pirate's job is to know everything you can about anyone with money." Ingred groaned, leaning hard against the table.

"This was supposed to be a straightforward pickup job. Now we need to rob an Ash Lord?"

"Welcome to the sea, Dwarf," Barkley grinned.

"My best advice is to have fun while doing it."

"Bad luck," I said.

"If that patrol hadn't caught our tracks—""That was my call," Naomi said.

"We should have trusted Ignis and approached from the sea from the start."

"The entire mission was a flop," Elara said.

"I still don't know how we could have been expected to load all of that steel by boat, in the heat, without ever being noticed." I grunted.

"That's why they sent us—to get the job done. We have to figure out the details, so that's what we're going to do." My lips pressed tight, and my hands balled into fists on the table. I was a Cousin now. I would not fail. The meaning of the name Moretti would change. It would no longer be the traitor's family, but the kin of Antonio, the greatest Cousin in the World Archipelago. Naomi and Elara nodded in agreement.

"And by they, I'm assuming Paradise?" Barkley asked. I tensed.

"Relax," he said.

"It was obvious. Heat-resistant steel? That narrowed it down. Plus, they always pay well." Something about that soured in my gut.

"You've done work for Paradise before?" I studied the pirate, hoping for signs of deception. Paradise didn't hire pirates, right? Barkley shrugged.

"Sure, why not. Usually as a subcontractor. But so long as the Wake and Paradise bar their fangs at each other, there's money to be made for people like us." That sat wrong with me, not because it was surprising, but because it wasn't.

"There are plenty of possible angles," Captain Thalendris said, shifting toward Naomi.

"But it's your job, so it's your call, Ma'am. What are we doing?" Naomi bit her lip and leaned over the map. While she considered, Barkley spoke up.

"A point or two about Los Colmillos. It's not a safe harbor for pirates. As far as we're concerned, there's no such thing as safe. Out there, it's every man for himself. The only thing you can be certain about is you'll find a knife in your back if you're not careful." He glanced over toward me.

"That's why you carry a dagger of your own. Make no mistake, we're not looking for friends, we're looking for tools." I made a special note of his use of the word "we."

"Not planning on slipping off the second you touch down on solid ground?" I asked.

"I owe you something," Barkley said.

"For saving my life. What's more, I smell an opportunity." He grinned. Naomi shifted toward me.

"Tony, I know you don't trust pirates. I'm not asking you to—""Standing right here, guys," Barkley murmured.

"But," she shot a scowl at our recently liberated prisoner.

"Pirates are predictable. So long as we can broker a proper incentive, we can count on their greed."

"Just say it," I said, knowing full well she'd already made up her mind.

"I'm with you." She glanced around the table, taking in each of us in turn.

"We sail for Los Colmillos." <<Time to Seal Collapse: 04: 02: 03: 05: 04: 11>>