(Continued from "The Arbiter")
His hands bulged with the iron blood in their veins as he towed the massive rope, the width of an average man's arm but
Grum was no average man. His powerful arms pumped and strained as the sweat poured from his face. He and two dozen men behind him continued to move slowly, one resounding simultaneous stomp at a time bringing the massive airship into dock. A prize of the baron's within its hold.
"Pull you bastards!" Grum commanded over his shoulder. The splintered hull, burnt out and exposed holds and crumbling decks were only the surface scars of the battle it had escaped. Now disabled and unable to fly, The Arbiter had to be brought in from sea, manually.
"Three quarters you worthless dogs!" he yelled. The rope hardly showing slack with each choreographed step. The hull of The Arbiter cracking and straining with ocean swells crashing unforgiving against her bow. Sea water erupting from the deck washing down in an unwelcome rain upon the backs of the sailors and dock workers. Each centimeter of slack meant another thirty of water in The Arbiter's hold and another 500 kilos of weight.
"Argh!" His teeth clenched and his body ached and burned. Men failing, loosing their grip behind him. It wouldn't be long before they'd start to fall.
"Attach the winch!" he barked and immediately the four strong men behind him broke position and grasped the brief length of slack drawn by Grum's hands while the first mate held his ground and tugged the now open rope past his shoulders. The men wrapped the rope about the tall column, locked it in place and took their places around the wheel, grasping the long arms and pushing with all the stamina they had left while the winch clicked and locked each meter of rope. Four clicks, six, eight. The ropes from the sides of the ruined vessel finding purchase as well in additional winches in similar fashion. Grum's dark eyes shifting between them.
"Drop!"
The men on all three ropes let go at once. The weight bearing lengths snapped with a resounding 'clack' and the water soaked up within them fired out in all directions. Some looked fearfully up at the ship, fearing the strain would break the ties right off the massive hull but Grum merely grinned with pride. He had no doubt she could take it.
The men caught their breath and took turns on the winches as the ship slipped into the dry dock with a bit of added ease. Grum nodded in approval as he stood there watching over the work.
"Captain?" called out a messenger. A short, squirrelly character in noble uniform, now damp with sea water. "I have greetings from the baron."
"Huh?" Grum replied, pulling the sweat from his face with one large hand. "Oh right. Yeah, I'm the captain. Just not used to it yet."
"Captain Karset?" the messenger asked with uncertainty.
"Ah, no. The good captain died in the attack. Our engines suffered some damage, the captain saved a lot of lives sacrificing his own to keep er going til we hit the wet."
"So, he's uh, dead then?" replied the messenger with a doubtful expression.
"Look 'ere. If'en yer sure yer message is fer the captain..." Grum acknowledged with a little nod, "ye kin find the good captain in the engine room if'en ye like, but I'm afraid he's a bit a of mess at the moment. If'en ye find the other half of 'em, let us know, alright?"
"Uh, no thanks. You must be First Mate Grum then." the messenger did his best to keep his composure despite his cheeks turning a little green with thoughts of the ill fated captain.
"Ai, ye speak the truth," Grum nodded, clearing another soaked hand from his face. The men around him working tirelessly to finish bringing The Arbiter in. The vessel gradually bearing down on the two men talking directly in front of the creaking bow.
"The baron has heard news of the attack and is grateful for your courage. You and no more than six men are to deliver the cargo to the baron's estate, but only you will be allowed within to present yourself the baron personally. He'd probably like to see you anyway under the circumstances."
"Ai! Such refined gratitude! I shall wear my finest evenin' dress," Grum chuckled to himself. All nobility was the same to Grum. He'd only met a few in person since he'd been promoted to first mate, but they all seemed the same. Fat, bloated with money from the people and their main concern was making sure everyone suffered under their girth. Karset had always spoken highly of the baron, but Grum had his doubts.
"The baron apologizes he cannot host your crew for dinner, but..." the messenger began more humbly.
"No, no, tis fine. We'll bring the baron 'is plaything within the hour if'en we can." Grum turned to stare up at the sad state of such a fine air ship. "The sooner we can part with 'is mess the better."
"Perfect. I'll inform the baron." The messenger gave Grum a brief salute and swiftly turned on his heels to head out of the dock, but a heavy hand clasped his shoulder and quickly swung him back around.
"Befer ye go, would ye like to shake hands with the good captain?" Grum used his other hand to rummage through his back pocket. He saw the messenger start to vomit a little into his mouth.
"Ha! Just giving ya a pull! We never found 'is hands neither!" Grum laughed as he watched the messenger quickly pull himself away and hurriedly leave only to vomit against the side of the dock.
"Argh, these noble-types ain't got no respect for the dead. Serves 'im right," Grum mumbled before turning towards his crew. "Alright you sons of balls!" cried the boisterous new captain of the Arbiter. "Let's git this fine baron 'is prize."
A pair of orange eyes stared out from behind smoked lenses at the city of Argenstrath below, a city they no longer recognized. Furnaces burning deep below a city with a sinister secret. Vibranni walking the streets each day full of new promises and dreams, that is if the poor souls made it a week in the jagged, razorblade alleyways entwined in nightmares. More of the baron's power was taken from him each day as the people forgot his name. Gearford turned the screws, but the streets were being handed over to those hiding in the shadows. He had been given this position of power so many years ago, but knew even then that this gift of the technocracy would be a gilded cage.
"My baron," a deep, refined, clear voice spoke from the open doorway leading inside from the balcony. The baron's head turned slightly to catch what would follow. A long black tail extending from his waist wafting back and forth idly against the legs of his suit. A rare sight only revealed to those who had access to the estate's inner grounds.
"I have the..." the commandant began only to cut himself off. He knew that there was no point in formalities when it came to addressing the baron. "The final count was thirty seven."
The black tail gave a quick flick though the baron remained otherwise motionless.
"True," John Clay continued, adorned in uniform decorated with two rows of brass from breast to belt and a long black moustache pressed to his cheeks, his officer's cap clutched under his arm. "We do suspect the real figures to be roughly four times this due to the unreported disappearances of Vibranni, falsified documents and I'm afraid to say it, but I have greater reason to believe there is an issue with corruption within the Gearford ranks."
The baron's tail flicked a bit again.
"I've noticed a link between the local technocracy and the menace in our streets. I've already begun a full investigation."
The baron lowered his head in contemplation for a moment, looking down at the entranceway to his estate deep within the heart of the city. The power plays and infighting surrounding his infection with the Cascade Virus had only erupted into a powder keg upon the rumors of his death and later disfigurement. A year on now since events unfolded that would render the baron unable to walk his own streets, confining him to the closed grounds of his crumbling estate. Few were allowed within those walls which now seemed to be closing in around him, inadvertently becoming a grim reflection of the state of affairs in Argenstrath.
Delgado turned about, removed his glasses and cast his eerie gaze through his breath mask upon one of the most faithful members of his inner circle. Clay nodded and patiently awaited the baron's response. The baron grasped a leather bound notepad and pen from the adjacent ledge, scribbled a brief response, tore the page out and handed it over to Clay. Nester then stepped past and headed back into the drawing room.
"Thank you John. Any news from the crew of the Arbiter?"
"Yes baron," the Clay replied lowering his head, folding the paper idly in his fingertips. "Nester, Karset was killed in an ambush. Apparently he gave his life willingly in the attack. I'm so sorry."
Nester lowered his head for a moment and sighed deeply. Inside his heart was aching for his fallen friend, a man he'd grown up admiring and adoring. He had known the stakes were high when he'd sent to ship to Kuu, but now the baron contemplated if it was even worth the great cost.
Clay took a moment to collect himself before he continued. "His first mate, Bellefonte Grum, will be here shortly. I, dispatched a small host of Black Sleeves to keep an eye on him." The baron nodded approvingly and his tail gave another swift flick before clearing a tear from his eye.
The tail movement was a mannerism Clay had grown accustomed to understanding that it meant the baron's mind was at work. Though Clay had only known the baron for a short time, he had learned by watching that tail that the baron was a deep thinker and a very emotional creature.
The baron sat down at a small table and turned his gaze up to the eyes of the commandant, lifted one hand up with the palm facing towards himself and tapped the back with a finger.
"Again, I'm sorry Nester. We had several Black Sleeves get close, but Thyous has since...disappeared."
Delgado sneered and shook his head. Leaning against the table, he sighed and laid his chest down upon it, chin resting in his folded arms. His eyes lifting, still blindly searching memories of the lost captain.
"My thoughts exactly," Clay responded with a humble nod. "I've taken liberty in putting Lieutenant Fairbanks, of the public regiment, on this. He's done good for us in the past and I have faith he's our man." Though Clay wasn't as stone faced as Tiberius, he was always the gentleman and had a habit of putting business ahead of emotion.
Delgado's head turned with concern. He flicked his tail a bit before reaching for his notepad and scribbling something down. He tore the page free and handed it over with a look of grave seriousness in his eyes.
"Yes, I understand my baron, but he's the best shot we have. I'll assign a Black Sleeve to watch his back." Clay folded up the paper and palmed it with the other to destroy later.
Nester had already started writing down what appeared to be detailed instructions just as Claremont opened the door with a humble bow.
"Sir, Commandant, Field Marshal Tiberius to see you," he announced and quickly stepped aside. A white haired and deeply scared face walked into the room carrying his helmet in hand, his cowl fluttering behind him.
The days of military prowess were well past for Argenstrath since it had fallen during the revolution, though the tradition of the Black Sleeves carried on. Their numbers were little more than a couple dozen, but their cunning and skill on and off the battlefield was well known.
Taller than the baron himself, Tiberius stood with power in his stance, not unlike a stone wall, in his burgundy and black colors. It was clear why he had been given the nickname "The Brick." The rumors of his exploits in battle were all true. If the baron had a thousand men like him, he would be able to conquer the Prush in a week or even shake the technocracy to its knees.
"Greetings my baron. Commodore," Tiberius nodded humbly to them both, Delgado and Clay nodding back in respect. "We have secured the artifact from Kuu. My men are securing it in the vault as we speak. Shall I escort in the captain of The Arbiter?"
The fox tail swished a bit and the baron nodded humbly in appreciation. If the baron's appearance made Tiberius uncomfortable, it was impossible to tell. The field marshal nodded and swiftly turned back out the door. Clay quickly adjusted his uniform and Delgado stood up beside him to greet the new captain. They could both hear Claremont briefing him outside the door on the baron's appearance, how to act and that revealing anything could be considered treason.
Tiberius returned shortly thereafter and took up position just inside the door. Behind him walked in a burly, gruff looking man. His face covered in sweat and grease and he wore an ill fitting captain's uniform with the Delgado family seal upon the chest.
Grum nodded to the host, but seemed disappointed after examining the baron before him.
"Is something the matter?" inquired Clay.
"Oh, just expectin' something else I guess," smirked Grum.
"You'd do well to ignore rumor," chided Clay before giving the ship's captain a glance of knowing expectation.
"Ah, right, just new to this stuff is all," Grum said before lowering his hulking shoulders in a bow. "My liege, Commodore, I am Bellefonte Grum of The Arbiter and 'er crew. I come bearing yer, um, package and...no, that sounds wrong. I have yer, thing?" Grum sighed and stood back up with a shrug, rubbing the back of his head nervously. "Sorry baron. I was never good at this sorta stuff."
Clay was dumbfounded, but quickly hid it as he turned to the baron who seemed to be calm beneath the leather covering the greater portion of his face. Delgado nodded and rolled his hand for Grum to continue.
"Ah, right," Grum replied. "Well, teh make it short and sweet," he began as he adjusted his jacket, "We had a uneventful trip to Kuu. The Black Sleeves there didn't leave us waiting, that's fer certain."
Clay's eyes widened, as did the baron's.
"There are no Black Sleeves there," Clay scolded soundly. His words coming out clear in their intent that no news of Black Sleeve activity was intended to be spoken by anyone.
"Oh, Aye. And ye be pleased to know only teh cap'in and I had words with, uh, the uh..."
"Delegates," corrected Clay.
"Right. Only the captain and I met the delegates and we kept it teh ourselves as he instructed we did."
"And the attack?" inquired Clay with great interest.
"Happened only a couple hundred kilometers off the coast it did. Two ships came in from above and neither had colors flying. We hurt one pretty bad, busted the bow of the other, but not before we took a bad hit and started losin' altitude."
"I heard Captain Karset gave his life to save the ship," Clay added with sympathy in his tone.
"Aye," Grum sighed heavily with some sorrow. "Pretty much threw himself into the mains he did. Held it together long enough to touch the wet, but the damn thing burst in a hundred pieces when we did. There was no saving the good captain after that." Grum lowered his shaking head solemnly.
"He was a good man," noted Clay. Nester nodding and flicking his tail a little in seconding the sentiment before turning his back to the them both and looking out the balcony towards the horizon.
"You did well to bring the ship in as you did," Clay continued. "If Karset had appointed you his second, then you've no doubt proved your measure. You'll likely be the new captain of The Arbiter. I do hope the damage wasn't too severe."
"She'll fly til the day I have to stand on deck and flap my arms to keep 'er going."
"I have no doubt of that," Clay grinned slightly. "Oh, and please get a new uniform."
"Aye!" Grum replied with a light chuckle, still a bit choked up about Karset.
"What have you done to my ship!" barked an angry female voice that sent shivers up Grum's spine.
"Wh-yer ship!?" Grum swiftly turned to retaliate. "She's my ship now missy an you'll do good to remember that, ye'will!"
"Your ship!?" the young girl was nearly floored. Her eyes wide in shock. "You gave the ship to him!?"
"Please, please!" Clay interjected. "Samantha, Karset...is gone. Grum is captain now."
"Like hell he's gonna be captain!" Samantha shouted, tears forming at the corners of her green eyes. "My granddad built that damn ship and if anybody is gonna..."
The room froze and all ears perked up to hear a piece of paper being torn, then another. The baron stepping into the group and handing the papers to Clay before returning to his seat.
"We lost a great man today," Clay read aloud. "I remember first meeting him when he was captain of The Manticore. We flew together to Titania to seek aid during the war, just as The Arbiter was being completed. His selfless act saved many lives and his efforts, from the revolution to today, remind us that any ship is only as good as her people. Willhelm often spoke highly of Bellefonte which is why I have no doubt he shall make a fine captain. I..." Clay broke off, reading over the rest of the page in a short pause, looked at the girl.
Samantha was silent for a moment as her eyes began to glisten. She opened her mouth to interject, so Clay continued to read, "I understand your role in this as well Samantha. You are my head engineer and your blood is in every inch of that ship, but it is still my ship."
Clay folded the page in with the others as he solemnly lowered his head. Grum cleared his throat, brushed himself off a little and straightened up. Samantha crossed her arms across her belly and cleared a tear from her eye.
"I'm sorry Nester," Samantha replied softly.
Nester stood and moved to her with open arms which she swiftly embraced. She held him tight and buried her face in his shoulder. Listening close, she could barely make out a soft, harsh whisper from beneath the baron's mask.
"I'll miss him too. He was a good friend. We'll all miss him dearly."
Samantha pulled away and nodded with an appreciative smile. She cleared her tears once more, her eyes darting back and forth between Clay and Grum before snapping quick at attention.
"I'll see to the repairs promptly my baron!" she nearly shouted, taking Grum by surprise and sending the lumbering man shifting back a bit. "I understand from the early reports that a weak point in the starboard stern was breached, causing extensive damage to the rear rotor differential which lead to a chain reaction resulting in over burn. I'll see to it this can never happen again. Also, I've had some ideas in regards to changing up the differential to a new system that would reduce friction and increase overall torque."
Nester waved his hand dismissively with a slight grin, nodding to his engineer rather humbly. It was a sign that what she was saying was over his head in terms of comprehension, but he trusted her judgment to make the needed changes.
Samantha bowed gratefully, took a step back and began to leave. She stopped though and turned to Clay.
"What will..." she started, her eyes asking more than her words.
"He will be given full honors of course," Clay replied with pride and sympathy. "The baron has given me a list of instructions for what appears to be a ceremony. Perhaps once The Arbiter is aloft again." Clay turned back to Nester for approval of this statement to which the baron gave a solemn nod, a soft smile and a flick of his tail.
Samantha smiled a bit and seemed satisfied with that answer.
"Thank you, Nester," she said softly with a bowed head before turning again and leaving the room. Tiberius, who had barely moved this entire time, shifted his gaze just as she passed. He could see the girl's eyes filling once more with tears.
The hiss of steam broke through the whimpers and screams of so many lost souls who would never again see the light of day. The experiments of Professor Reginald Thyous, the Dead-Eyed.
Pale and lithe with a fire in those diluted, milky white pupils, the mad doctor walked along with a strange reptile following close behind him. The creature had the body of an alligator though it walked on two legs. Tubes and wires running through the thing's skull would deliver information and vital fluids.
The pair moved past a series of steel doors that were damp with the same cold metallic sweat that dripped down from the vents, gears, rotors and pipes running in all directions overhead. Some of the mechanizations around them churned and delivered various elixirs to the occupants of the prison they would never escape.
"Yes. This one is coming along nicely." Thyous' stated as a matter-of-fact as he peered through a porthole into one of numerous cells. The Vibranni within panted against the metal floor, a blue fluid dripping from his open mouth. "Give him another fifty of narcoxic and two of ether."
The creature at his side jotted down Thyous' demands with a specially curved pen on a large pad of paper attached to a thin plank of hard wood. Without a thumb, it managed to use its wrist and arm movements to create vague letters and numbers. Its eyes darting up and down in swift repetition following the doctor's every move.
Thyous moved along to the next porthole. He leaned in and peered inside. The innards of some poor soul, likely an immigrant, were spread out against the floor. A wolf-like creature with an asymmetrical musculature hunched over, greedily devouring the remains.
"I like his aggression. I want him dissected and his composition recorded." Thyous paused for a moment, almost hypnotized by the gruesome display of flesh being strewn about. "Don't clean this cell. Keep it just like this and put two fresh Vibranni inside. Should be interesting."
The reptile clicked and grunted out a few times in succession. It scribbled down the instructions and hobbled along on two stout legs with a heavy tail dragging against the ground.
Thyous frowned as he peered into the next cell. Inside was a ragged looking woman, huddled into a corner and weeping into her hands.
"How long has she been like this!?" he barked turning to the creature. The reptile shook his head a few times, flipped through the pad of paper with a claw and presented the appropriate data to his master, tapping on the number with his claw with emphasis.
"Give me that!" Thyous barked, snatching the pad away with a gloved hand from the sniveling creature. "Hmm, looks like she's been hesitant to eat for....two weeks? Perhaps she knows it's poisonous. Kill her for me Pif."
Pif took back the paper pad and scribbled the order down before flexing his back and stretching his dark green arms and legs. He gave another grunt and then hobbled after his master once more.
"Oh, and Pif?"
The creature stopped in his tracks and blinked with those bisected yellow pupils of his. He was evidently puzzled by the interruption, and therefore nervous.
"If you don't eat her and dispose of her properly as I ask, perhaps I'll teach you to talk," Thyous grinned wickedly.
Pif nodded and clicked a few more times.
"That is all for today Pif. I've seen enough." Thyous gave a brief, dismissive wave of his hand and the reptile hurriedly turned himself around and began to go to work.
Thyous then began to remove a pair of black leather gloves from his hands. Beneath one glove, his hand was a sickly yellow green. It was not the flesh of a human, but closer to that of a snake. As he flexed those sickly fingers repeatedly a few times, they began to grow and stretch in length until they were twice the length they should be.
The man known in the shadows of Argenstrath as The Dark-Eyed Doctor passed through a doorway and was greeted by four eager creatures. Each one appeared quite similar to the one known as Pif, but they were smaller in stature and the look in their eyes seemed to lack the same level of intelligence.
One such creature slipped a fresh elongated glove over the doctor's scaled fingers and then one over his normal hand. Another assistant wrapped a mask around the doctor's pale and sickly thin visage as he approached the operating table. The furred creature laying upon it had the marking of a Yeti, but no longer resembled anything of the sort. Now taller and perhaps feral in appearance, the patient was breathing slowly as its coarsely furred chest rose and fell. Thyous nodded in approval to the creatures. They drew the curtains closed, surrounding the mad doctor as he lowered a scalpel to the Yeti's neck.
Pif made his way back to the cells and carefully looked over his notepad once more. Lacking a normal short-term memory, Pif had been thoroughly instructed to check his special pad before doing anything. He tapped the paper, then tapped the cell containing the starved woman. He peered inside the porthole.
The lone woman, huddled in the corner slowly raised her eyes to the creature staring back at her.
"Come in here," she whispered. "Come in here and just try to eat me." Concealed beneath her rags was a carved bit of bone. Just enough to kill if she was fast enough. She could already feel what little energy she had inside herself forming into fiery adrenaline. "I'm right here," she whispered. "Eat me."
Pif grunted and pulled a lever. A massive fire engulfed the cell, sanitizing it in an instant. He clicked a few times into the porthole. Soon he would learn to speak.
Citizens Of Antiford 