Chương 21: 20 The Boneyard

"How are you with undercover work?" I asked, legs burning as we trekked up the hill.

"Posing as an Efreet slave is going to be dangerous."

"Don't worry," Bianca said, tucking her sketchbook tighter under her arm.

"Infiltration is my specialty."

"Good," I said, puffing as we climbed the slope.

"It's sure not one of mine."

"That's what Naomi said." I turned to her, blinking.

"Naomi said what?" She suppressed a smile, amber eyes dancing with mischief.

"Nothing," she said, reaching up and plucking at her choker. I cleared my throat loudly.

"So, um. Do you have any tips for working undercover?"

"Yeah," she said thoughtfully.

"You don't become someone else; you just decide what parts others get to see." Her gaze lingered on the discolored skin marring the back of my hands—I'd caught her studying them before, curiosity warring with the tact not to pry. Instinctively, I covered them and forced the thought away. We had bigger problems. The bad feeling returned as every step of the plan flashed through my mind in rapid succession. I didn't like it. Maybe it was Barkley.

The pirate had openly admitted to betraying Snapfist on five separate occasions; there was no way we could trust him. Then again, Snapfist himself wasn't the picture of integrity. A sign hung over the hut where the path ended. The Sparklock Cousins— the sign read in stenciled cursive. I started up the steps, knocked twice, then eased the door open.

"Hello?" The musk of burned powder, hot steel, linseed oil, and tallow hung heavy in the air. I took a deep breath, trying to capture the scent. A gunsmith. Was there a better scent in the World Archipelago?

"Oi, how can I help you?" A Gnome squeaked, rising from a desk, magnification lenses giving him buggy eyes. A sharp tapping ceased as two other gunsmiths stopped working. The one on the far side, a Brownie, wiped her brow. Several inches shorter than the Gnome, the fuzzy Brownie's ears fanned out wide, veined and thin like a baby bat. On the bench across from her, an unsettling Kobold turned toward us. Its tough skin resembled cracked shale, overlapping like scales.

Black pinprick irises glared at us from the center of its yellow eyes.

"A Gnome, a Brownie, and a Kobold open a gun shop together," I murmured out of the side of my mouth.

"Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke."

"We're closed!" the Kobold snapped, slamming a tiny hammer on the desk with a clatter.

"Disregard Booru," the Gnome said, flipping his lenses up.

"My name's Berry. How can I help you?" I stepped farther into the shop. Fortunately, it was sized for someone of my height.

"I heard the Sparklock Cousins were the ones to talk to about getting a new pistol?"

"That we are," Berry said, dusting off his hands. I very much doubted these three mismatched small folk were literal cousins.

"A Magmote blew up my powder horn on Scorched Rock," I said.

"Lost my piece in the blast."

"Well, you made a big mistake, silly," the Brownie chirped, black eyes wide as platters.

"You took black powder to the isle of fire. What'd you expect?"

"We can sell you a protected powder horn," Berry said, folding his arms over his apron.

"You could leave it in the campfire all day and still measure out a charge to use in your guns when you pulled it out."

"Not bad," I said, admiring a rack of muskets on the wall.

"What about tinker-style guns?" I asked.

"I'm hoping to upgrade to something I don't need a ramrod to load."

"Not a ball and shot fan, eh?" Berry asked, stroking his pointed beard.

"We do brass-cartridge guns. We've even got a few with magazine capacity. Cartridges are harder to come by, and it'll cost you."

"How much?" I asked, stepping aside for Bianca. She hugged her sketchbook as she tried to take it all in, but seemed to struggle to know where to start.

"Two gold on the low end. It just climbs from there."

"Gold!" Booru the Kobold snapped.

"No notes." I deflated.

"I guess I'll look at your ball and shot options."

"You could ask Naomi," Bianca whispered.

"She'd buy you a new gun."

"I am not asking Naomi for money," I said decidedly.

"Say, they're big," the Brownie said.

"Maybe they can help us with our problem."

"A trade?" I asked, trying not to get drawn into the Brownie's massive eyes. My sister had a plush Brownie toy as a child. The real thing was a lot cuter.

"Yes, that might work," Berry said, wiping his fingers on a rag.

"He looks strong. And I wouldn't trust the job to Orcs."

"For one of those brass-cartridge guns?" I asked, eyes shining as I stared at several gnomish models lying behind protective glass.

"That, or we have a case of refurbs that are getting dusty," the Gnome gestured to a chest. I leaned over it, barely able to contain my excitement at the arsenal within. Pistols, single-barreled and double, a blunderbuss, a carbine, two muskets, and a rifle had me salivating. They all appeared to be muzzle-loaded ball-and-shot models, used but well-maintained.

"All this," I croaked breathlessly.

"Just to move something?"

"It's in the Boneyard," the Brownie said sweetly.

"A chest loaded with a few prototypes we were shipping to Raft Town. The ship that was supposed to take them broke the rules. Got shot down in the harbor. Comet's Flight— a single-masted sloop."

"You're sure your cargo didn't sink?" I asked. Berry deflated.

"Can't say we know for sure. It's in a chest that looks like one of those," he motioned toward a stack of steel-banded chests. My head bobbed excitedly.

"Pick up your box from Comet's Flight —sure. I'll check it out."

"Careful, don't let the Under Chassis eat you," Booru snickered. I froze.

"Hold up, what now?"

"The Under Chassis," Berry sighed.

"It's the construct that sleeps under the Boneyard. It's almost never awake, but it can be territorial. Best be quiet when you enter the Boneyard." I swallowed.

"Oh, don't scare him," the Brownie scolded.

"Big, strong, talls—they'll be fine." I shifted to Bianca.

"So, you want to, uh—" I trailed off.

"Let's do it," she said, nodding.

"Ship repairs won't be done until evening, anyway." I shifted to the three small gunsmiths.

"Alright, we'll check it out." The Brownie clapped her hands three times.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you! We worked hard on those models."

"Don't thank me yet," I chuckled.

"If you don't hear from me again, it'll probably mean I'm dead." The highest masts in the Boneyard peaked over the Sparklock Cousins' hill. I watched them as Bianca and I started down.

"We should probably let Naomi know where we're going," I said.

"Done," Bianca said. I glanced at her as we took a fork in the path.

"You have a mind link?"

"What? No, I sent a message."

"A—message?" She stopped, gawking at me.

"Yes, a message. You know you can send party messages through your terminal, right?"

"I didn't take that feat." She just stared at me, and I got three steps ahead before I realized she wasn't following. I looked back.

"Oh, Tony." She shook her head, laughing. I went very still.

"I mean," I stammered, frantically opening my terminal. I dug through the menus until I found my messages. <<15 unread messages>> I groaned, and Bianca laughed.

"Messaging isn't its own feat. All users can do it. We all assumed you had something against using it. Or maybe you didn't want to talk to us." <<Naomi Myrkrath: Sounds good. Be safe, guys, and check in if you have any trouble>> I tried to force the heat from my face, but I'd probably be pink for days.

"Thanks for your help," I said after a moment.

"Now," she said, clapping her hands together.

"Let's get you your guns."

"Sorry," I said, motioning back at the shop.

"I get carried away. You probably think my dependence on weapons is silly."

"Not at all," Bianca said, squeezing her sketchbook tighter.

"I think it's artistic."

"Artistic?" I echoed.

"I mean, I'm practically no good without something sharp in my hands. You—you are the weapon."

"Please," she said.

"What I do is brute force. Close the distance. Maul the enemy," she shrugged.

"Your sword forms, drills, and technique—there's so much more to that." Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

"Think so?" I asked, considering.

"When you're standing next to a psionic, a winter mage, and a shapeshifter, it's easy to feel like just a guy with a sharp stick." We passed a field where four cinder goats watched us suspiciously, eyes reflective orange pinpricks.

"So," I said, nodding toward her sketchbook.

"Any new drawings?" She gripped it tighter.

"What?"

"You sketch what you dissect, right? Anything new?"

"A tilapia," she said with a shrug.

"Took the bones from the galley."

"Can I see?" I asked. She hugged the book tight.

"It's just a fish."

"And you're a really good artist," I said. She didn't answer right away. The path dipped, and I wove around a mud patch.

"I have other drawings," she said at length.

"They're—" she shook her head.

"What?" I asked.

"Never mind," she said too quickly. If it had been Ingred, I would have insisted—told her now she had to show me, but Ingred knew me since we were kids. I didn't know Bianca like that. We took another half-dozen steps before she sighed.

"Fine." I blinked, my pace faltering. She flipped her book open, paging through.

"They're dumb, but I'm getting better." I caught a glimpse of a few biology charts—a frog's organs, a warg's bone structure—then she opened to a section in the back. The sketches changed. Rather than charcoal, she'd drawn this creature in pink and blue pastels. Mottled patterns spread across its skin. It looked like a feathered stingray with a tail capped in three teardrop-shaped fins.

"Whoa," I said.

"What is this?" She flipped the page, exposing a blood-red bird dangling jellyfish-like tentacles.

"They're not real," she said, paging over to a horse analog with heavy vulpine forelegs.

"Ideas. Templates. None of them work. I've tried.

"These are—" I turned the page to a hybrid of a Feykin and an Eagle Foul-kin, threaded with a touch of a Terra-Primord.

"These are beautiful." She huffed softly.

"They're just broken ideas." She started to close the book.

"Hold on," I said, flipping the page.

"Are there more—" I froze. She jerked the book from my hands, blushing profusely. It had been a sketch of me, performing a sword sequence on the deck of the Silver Zephyr, my windmill form leaving trails of system light.

"Sorry," she stammered, unable to meet my eye. My fists curled, jaw locking. The likeness was incredible, down to the details my mutagens kept hidden. Not my rashes, but what they'd become if I missed my dose. Somehow, she knew what they really were. Not a rash, not a scab. Something else. My fingers touched the back of my hand before I realized they were moving. Patchy. Rough. Like sandpaper. Not me— him. And she knew.

"Why do you hate them so much?" she asked gently. My throat tightened.

"Because they're filthy," I said, and then I started forward without another word. She followed, suddenly silent. In my mind's eye, I saw him, smiling as he came home from work. I rushed to him, and he plucked me up, hurling me into the air, squealing with delight. Brown, curly hair, lean face. He didn't have the black growths on his cheeks and jaw, but he gave them to me. Dad. Traitor. Spy. I didn't realize how heavily I'd been breathing until I came to a stop at the mound of masts, hulls, and shattered decks.

Bianca fell into step beside me. Wood groaned somewhere within the ship graveyard, and something small scuttled in the shadows. I exhaled, forcing myself out of my head. I glanced at Bianca. She stared ahead, her finger lightly grazing the charm on her choker.

"So," I said.

"This—Under Chassis is probably sleeping. So let's be quiet." She nodded in agreement, and we stepped onto a quarterdeck that angled upward. The Sparklock Cousins said it was a sloop, so I ruled out the larger hulls. Additionally, it was heading to Raft Town, so it wouldn't likely be a Paradise make, unless Pirates had stolen it. I ducked into an Ophidian Empire Venom Lance Galley, keeping an eye out for the chest, but more interested in seeing the serpent vessel up close.

For a society that called itself an empire, the Nagas hadn't even secured their home island, and still relied on rows of oars rather than harnessing wind power. My finger traced a carving etched into an altar on the master's deck. It depicted Lizard-Kin in chains and serpentine priests bowing to Jorg. I sifted through some dusty crates before turning back and plunging deeper into the graveyard. A pile of oars stopped me. Each one had been lined up on a deck from smallest to largest in a neat line.

Beyond them, half a dozen anchors were neatly piled, then beyond that, launch craft and long boats lay upside down, lined by size, and beyond them, a pyramid of stacked rusted cannons tilted on the uneven deck, biggest guns at the bottom and smallest at the top. Apparently, someone had organized things here. Bianca met me between two collapsed hulls, her eyes scanning for any sign of our ship. Her finger brushed the white charm on her choker.

"That charm," I whispered, nodding at her choker.

"Does it do something, or is it cosmetic?" She met my eyes.

"Functional," she whispered.

"If I'm not paying attention, my forms can start bleeding into each other." Her hand lowered.

"It's uncomfortable. A reminder to maintain my true form." I nodded slowly, feeling the ping of guilt for how I'd blown her off. I'd been a baby about my physical anomalies. She had to focus to keep herself from melting. Maybe I could benefit from being a tad less dramatic. I opened my mouth to apologize, but I stalled.

"Oh," I tilted my head.

"There it is." Comet's Flight hung across a mostly flat steel deck, the words hung upside down. A good portion of the ship had been ripped open. We glanced at each other, then started across the plate. Four steps in, and the ground heaved in short, jerky waves. Timbers creaked and hulls scraped. My cutlass was out in a moment, and I stumbled, searching for the threat. A mast shifted and dropped, crashing down. Bianca leaped, catching onto the rigging. I staggered, boot plinking against metal.

Steel slid apart beneath my foot, exposing a glowing red lens. It was an eye. Not a thing of biology, but a construct. The red light behind the crystal swiveled towards me, and I screamed.

"Tony, get off the metal!" Bianca cried. I leaped, grabbing a handful of sagging sail before throwing myself onto an overturned longboat. The shakes slowed, then stopped. The mechanical red eye slid toward me, then toward Bianca. My grip tightened on the handle of my cutlass as I searched for a weak point—anywhere I could strike.

"Don't!" Bianca hissed, dangling from her rigging.

"The Under Chassis. The construct that sleeps under the Boneyard—that's what they said, right?" I hissed.

"Yes," Bianca said, waving nervously at the lens. The glass eye shifted to her, a vibration coursing through the Boneyard as it did, but it otherwise remained still.

"Guess they failed to mention that the Under Chassis was the Boneyard!" My chest heaved as the steel floor suddenly resembled the plating of a colossal crab. Bianca's hands tightened on her ropes.

"I think—I think your feet tickled it."

"Tickled it?" I sputtered, eyes still darting wildly.

"It's solid steel."

"It's solid living steel," she corrected.

"And you're light on your feet. To it, your boots must be like feathered down." I swallowed, gaze drawn to the glowing eye.

"Guess we know how these ships all got here. No cranes or hoists in the port. I think this thing's a collector."

"Hello!" Bianca called.

"Mister Under Chassis, we need to get over there!" she pointed to the Comet's Flight. The eye slid in that direction.

"Is that okay with you?" she called, drawing out the words as speaking slowly added any clarity. The eye swiveled back to her, and she nodded once.

"I'm going to try not to step on you!" she declared before swinging over to a splintered segment of shattered decking. She climbed deftly, moving her weight with practiced ease. The world remained still.

"Tony?" she called. I cursed under my breath before sheathing my cutlass. Springing forward, I landed on a mast, balancing my arms to my sides as I used it to cross the Under Chassis's shell. I jumped to the other side, and Bianca caught my hand.

"This is good," she said, pulling me from the edge.

"Until he decides to squish us!" I hissed back.

"No," she glanced back at the eye.

"I've got a good nose for sniffing out monsters. This isn't one." I glanced back, not so sure. She shrugged before slipping into the Comet's Flight. Searching inside, I found another mostly intact gun locker. They were useless; rust and rot rendered the weapons more trouble than they were worth. Then, under an overturned table, we found it. The chest had identical corner caps to the others in the gun shop, though considerably more battered.

Tempted to see what kind of firepower it contained, I frowned when I discovered it was locked.

"Tony?" Bianca asked. I sighed.

"No doubt whatever's in here is worth a lot more than they're going to pay us," I said. I rubbed the scuffed wood mournfully.

"But a deal's a deal." The edge of her lip tugged up, and she grabbed the loop on the chest's side. Hefting, we carried it back towards the Under Chassis' eye. Lens elements shifted in the optic and it locked on the box. It let out an angry grumble.

"What now?" I asked, irritated.

"It won't let us take it?"

"You said it yourself," Bianca said.

"He's a collector. How would you feel if strangers walked into your home and helped themselves to your stuff?"

"So what do we do? Make a break for it?" The Under Chassis grumbled again.

"Think he understands our words," Bianca said.

"At least a little." She bit her lip, considering for a moment.

"How about a trade?" The eye shifted to her, lenses shifting as they focused. The chest thumped down, and she sank to her knees. I glanced around, ready for this thing to crush us between splintered timbers.

"We need this box," she said.

"I know it was in your collection, but it also belongs to our friends." The lens twitched, giving the impression of a lidless blink.

"Is there anything we can give you?" The eye shifted, focusing on her sketchbook.

"No way," I cut in.

"I'd give it my cutlass before I let it have that."

"You're not giving your cutlass," she said.

"I know how much you love that thing." She met my gaze with a fond smile.

"Well, we're not giving it your book; I can give it my socks." The Under Chassis rumbled angrily.

"Easy," I said, waving a hand.

"Take a joke."

"We can't give it something we need," she said.

"And we don't want to insult it by giving it something without value." She tapped her lip. Then her eyes widened. She reached back and unfastened her choker.

"Now, wait," I protested.

"You said that was functional."

"Please," she said, lowering it to the plate.

"It's a crutch. I'm strong enough to remember my true form on my own." The eye blinked once, plates sliding shut before grinding open again. Then it pivoted to me.

"What? You want something else?" I demanded.

"Tony," Bianca said softly.

"Don't give it what you need. Could you sacrifice something that's holding you back?" My brow climbed; that was an oddly specific thing to say— Her eyes darted to the irritated patches on my hands. She knew. My hand found the hidden pouch on my belt that concealed two metal vials.

"No," I said, determined.

"Tony, you don't need them."

"Yes, I do," I insisted.

"The second we sail away from Scourched Rock, I'm using them."

"It's not you."

"It is!" I said, edge eating into my voice. Her lips pressed into a tight line.

"I saw your sister," she started.

"At graduation, she's not hiding it. Do you really want her to bear it alone?"

"She's not a Cousin," I pressed back.

"When people see me, I need them to recognise someone they trust."

"Don't you think you'd be more trustworthy if you didn't hide behind a veneer?" She winced after the words left her lips. My eye twitched.

"No, no, I wouldn't. That's why I needed to find a permanent fix."

"Tony." I met her gaze. She watched me from her knees, searching my face.

"Will over blood. I am deliberate. I choose who I am," I said. Lance's words, drilled into me over the years.

"Then the mask shouldn't matter." My jaw locked. It shouldn't matter, but it did.

"Tony, you can do this." My fists tensed, and a bounding throb started behind my eyes.

"I can't." Bianca's lips pressed tight.

"You're sure?" My head bobbed once. She watched me, then nodded. She shifted back to the eye.

"Will you accept my offering alone?" The Under Chassis' eye shifted to me, then returned to her, and blinked once. Bianca glanced at me a final time and smiled.

"Ready to get this back to the Sparklocks?" My throat worked soundlessly as my thumbs brushed over the vials on my belt. Then I nodded. <<Time to Seal Collapse: 04: 02: 02: 02: 40: 43>>