Chương 100: 17. Not Again

"Ah, Ranger Draga," Maari says once she composes herself.

"And Sheriff Rania—our sincerest apologies for the disturbance, but there's nothing to be alarmed about." Draga frowns, glancing between her, Talla, and Allie.

"We heard what sounded like alchemical arms fire. And screaming."

"Oh, that? We were relaxing here by the riverbank after dinner and Miss Allie decided to demonstrate her rather impressive skill by skipping rocks across the river. And I do mean across!" Talla sighs miserably. She specifically told Allie not to do that, but Maari kept egging her on.

"First one went [sploosh] though!" Allie giggles, slowly stumbling to her feet and brushing herself off.

"Had to try again."

"And the screaming?" the sheriff insists. Maari coughs awkwardly.

"Me again—sorry." Allie pulls Nipper out from under her cloak, causing the sheriff to back up a step at its disturbing appearance.

"Nip-nip [spooked] her!" she declares, snort-giggling as though nearly causing a noblewoman to faint is the funniest thing in the world. Alright, admittedly, it was a little funny.

"Indeed—it rather surprised me," Maari admits.

"I was so startled that I tripped over my own hooves, then you arrived—with remarkable haste, I must add."

"We were in the area," Draga replies drily.

"And why, then, was Allie on the ground too?"

"It was [super] funny," Allie declares matter-of-factly. Draga pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath. Talla feels a bit bad—she's rarely seen him so stressed.

"So you're all okay? No injuries, no attack?" Allie makes a gesture that looks like it might be some sort of salute from her world.

"Yes sir! Um, gotta pee, though—where's the [bathroom?]." Despite the last word being spoken in Allie's native language—as half of her speech is currently—Maari picks up her meaning by context and points down the pathway.

"There's an outhouse down that way, dear. Try not to fall in." Allie sets her pet down on the grass and pats it gently on the head.

"[Mommy] will be right back. Be a good Nipper, okay? No Nipping!" She giggles once again at her own words, then goes stumbling down the path. Talla is very tempted to join her just to make sure she doesn't actually fall into the river, but first she has to smooth things over with Draga and the sheriff.

"How did your investigation go?" she asks. Judging from the way the sheriff goes stiff and Draga grimaces, not too well.

"No new leads on our suspect, as expected," he reports.

"But we might have found out where they're getting their weapons." That draws Maari's attention, and she shifts from hostess to mayor so fast it's as if the night of drinking and feasting never happened. Probably a skill.

"Not from our town, I should hope," she says, frowning.

"Please explain."

"Not necessarily from here specifically," Draga hedges, glancing back at the conspicuously silent sheriff.

"In fact, Sheriff Rania's diligence in cataloguing the local armory would suggest that none have come from here since she took office, at the very least." The look of barely restrained relief on Rania's face is a familiar one. Draga has a talent for invoking it in people, and Talla is certain that she's made that very face multiple times since he allowed her onto his team despite Mira's attempts to blacklist her. He's covering for her.

Probably not for anything egregious—he's too serious for that—but there's probably something else he's not mentioning.

"Good," Maari says with a nod.

"I'd expect nothing less from my sheriff. What did you discover, then?"

"Old military supply lines that were abandoned at the end of the war," Draga explains.

"A decade old and almost entirely undocumented. Most local militias would be hesitant to touch anything belonging to the army, so goddess-only knows how much of it has been sitting in harbor warehouses untouched for the last ten years."

"Until now, huh?" Talla sighs.

"Blood and acid, that kind of smuggling takes organization. Inside information, too. They'd need to know where these abandoned supplies are and how to access them. This might actually be something bigger."

"Exactly," Draga confirms.

"And—" A high pitched shriek cuts through the air, interrupting him before stopping as abruptly as it began.

"Godshit!" Draga swears—a rare profanity from him.

"Not again!" Rania brandishes her pistol as she, Talla, and Draga immediately start rushing towards the source of the scream.

"If this is another false alarm, I'm shooting her myself," the sheriff growls.

"Not if I do it first," Talla mutters darkly under her breath. * The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. My entire body shakes with fear. A strange man's hand covers my mouth, a gun to my temple and my skirt around my ankles. Despite the adrenaline, my thoughts are still sluggish and heavy, and through the drunken haze, multiple thoughts occupy my head, each voice jumbled with the others as they vie for my limited cognitive ability.

Please please please let this just be a kidnapping or robbery. Asshole couldn't even let us pull our fucking clothes on? Oh, goddess—not again! Shut up! Stupid thoughts. Useless thoughts. Reasonable, but unhelpful. I have to focus! What do I know about my assailant?

"Stop squirming!" he grunts, struggling to pull me away from the outhouse despite his much greater size, in part because we keep tripping over our own clothing. He's male. Stronger than us, but not by as much as someone like Draga. Uh. My thoughts grind to a halt, unable to come up with anything else. Where's Nipper? Left behind. Candles? The car. Draga? He should have heard us. He'll be here soon—he's fast. Is he fast enough? Can't take that risk. Think. Think! My head is fuzzy. Drunk. I hate being drunk.

I've always hated it. Why do I always do this to myself? No—focus. Gun! Not a matchlock—I don't sense fire. Or it's just not lit? Can't tell just by looking. Not taking that chance. We've seen matchless designs—the gunman in the priestess' group. He forgot to load it. He was just a scared child and we killed him. No! Stop! This isn't the time. Spear. Also back in the car. Wouldn't do us any good anyway. I don't care—I'm never letting it out of my sight again. Skills? None that would be faster than a gun to my head.

Uh. Um. Begging?

"Lemme go!" I whine pathetically.

"I don't speak demon, creature," he responds, still struggling to drag me along.

"Now stop fighting me or I'll shoot!" Well, I tried. If he thinks I'm a demon, why hasn't he already shot me? He finally realizes how much of a hindrance our dragging skirt is and tries to kick it away from us with his hooves.

"Fucking pervert!" The words aren't mine, but they definitely came from my mouth. They weren't in his language, but something about my tone must have struck a nerve because he sighs and takes a step back.

"Blood and acid, I don't have time for this," he groans, pointing the gun at me.

"Get dressed and come quietly, or I swear by the Goddess that I will shoot you." I finally get a look at him. Unfortunately, he looks like just about every other Fa'aun I've seen. Brownish fur, horns, hooves, cloak, kilt. Nothing I could use to identify him. Does that make me racist? Why does my useless drunk brain keep coming up with these idiotic thoughts? As much as I'd like to stall for more time, his patience is clearly wearing thin and I don't think his gun is a bluff.

It's got the same type of firing mechanism as the rifle wielded by the gunman that we— The same kind. It didn't need a match to fire, but it still blew up when set alight. Not quickly, though—and we don't have that kind of magical power without the candles. Do we? Bad time to test it. He pushes the gun forward and his shoulders tense up warningly, forcing me to hastily pull my skirt up and tie it securely to my waist.

At least that's one worry abated—not that I expect we'll enjoy whatever this guy has in store for us.

"Good," he sighs, not quite relaxing as he approaches to grab us by the wrist.

"Now let's move before—" A resounding bang interrupts him, causing me to shriek and duck—covering my head as his erupts into a gout of blood and gore. Before I have time to process what's happening, someone grabs my wrist and pulls me to my feet. A woman I don't recognize, Fa'aun, smoking gun in hand.

"Are you alright?" she asks.

"Y-no?" I respond in confusion.

"Where Draga?" My Fa'aun isn't up to par with the others when sober, and while the adrenaline is slowly starting to overcome the hazy fog of alcohol, that's still the best I can manage.

"Busy," the woman replies tersely.

"There are more. Come on, let's move!" She doesn't wait for my reply, pulling me along behind her as she rushes off towards... somewhere. Who is this? Wait, there was a woman with Draga, wasn't there? They both came running after we used our skill to skip rocks. That was so stupid. Why did we do that? I hate this. I'm never drinking again. I wonder who she is. A girlfriend? No, that makes no sense. Where did that idea even come from?

Whoever she is, the woman drags us along behind her until we finally arrive somewhere familiar. The stable—where our car is already loaded up with all our stuff, despite the mayor saying she'd have it unloaded. The engine is running and the woman pushes us into the back of the vehicle before jumping in behind us.

"Go!" she shouts.

"What about—?" the woman in the driver's seat starts to protest, but the other one cuts her off.

"Not coming—just go!" The car lurches forward, and I furrow my brow. Something isn't right. Why are we leaving without Draga? Shouldn't we regroup and make sure everybody is okay? What is even going on right now? An odd feeling scratches at the back of my mind. Like a tiny voice that's trying to push its way in, but there's not enough room for me, it, and all the alcohol.

Plus, I'm starting to crash from the adrenaline rush of almost getting kidnapped at gunpoint, and it's hard to resist the urge to just close my eyes for a moment. I'm sure I can trust Talla to take care of us. She's always looked out for us before. Just a quick nap and then we'll get her to explain it all for us. I try to close my eyes, but the feeling just gets stronger. My skull starts to pound and throb, but it's far too early for a hangover.

Like something inside is trying to break out, hammering on the door more and more insistently. It just won't stop!

"What's wrong with her?" someone asks. Her voice is like an icicle through my skull, and I groan in pain.

"How should I know?" a woman responds.

"She's probably just drunk."

"Can demons get drunk?"

"Shut up and drive!"

"That's not fucking Talla you dumbass!" The fog evaporates from my mind like an explosion just went off in my skull. My eyes shoot open, and realization floods through me. The woman driving isn't Talla. The woman next to us isn't the one that showed up with Draga. Both of them are dressed in clothing that looks like Maari's serving staff, but older—more worn. Enough to blend in from afar, but not up to the standards of a noble lady. Imposters. I'm still being kidnapped.

The woman with the gun has already noticed my sudden change in demeanor.

"Godshit!" she swears, twisting in her seat to level her gun on me. I have no time to think. Only act. I have to stop the car so that Talla and Draga can catch up to rescue us, and I know one way to do that. Something that comes naturally—something I've spent the last week practicing, albeit in reverse. My spell—the one I invented the proper way, with Talla's help. [Thermodynamic Conversion] Transform nearby energy.

"Don't—" the woman with the gun warns me, her finger already starting to squeeze down on the trigger. I push every last bit of power I have into my spell, and in a moment of inspiration, I even pull more out of the sack of candles that my kidnappers foolishly stowed me right next to. Except instead of cooling the engine down, this time my goal is to heat it up—to force the breakdown I spent so much time and effort preventing. What happens next, Maggie will never let me live down, I'm sure of it.

What did I expect a sudden and rapid increase in temperature to do? The car explodes.