Nocturna League- Season One Box Set Page 6

  “Shoot her, Colette! Shoot! She’s armed!” The so-called Captain cries in growing desperation.

  Colette hums. “Hey, Salt.”

  The Captain wheezes in shock. “Y-yes?”

  “You haven’t called me a pastry since we met here.”

  “Eh- yes, but-”

  “And I…” Her gaze slickens in realization. “You haven’t cracked your knuckles… and where’s your rifle?” She looks over to Grancis. “Why does Vuuya have it?”

  “I…” The-Obviously-Anyone-Can-Plainly-See-Captain trembles in his boots. “It’s an illusion… I swear.”

  Colette steps away from him. “Hey, Vuuya?”

  Grancis looks over to Colette with a relieved smile. “Yes?”

  “You know how to use a gun, right?”

  Grancis takes aim at The Captain. “Yeah,” Grancis says with disgust on her features.

  “W-wait, wai-” The great witch Vuuya’s voice is drowned out as her deception ends, and the shot from The Captain’s rifle, fired by Grancis, tears fully through the illusion and through the book, mascaraed with a hundred deceptions. With a bang and a huge, arcane flash, the mirages are dispelled, clarity is returned, and Colette sees Grancis for who she truly is.

  Rings of light and magic spill and twist from the rifle, spelling out ancient words for only a fleeting second before disintegrating into the ether alongside the gunshot.

  Colette and Grancis turn simultaneously to the islander, only to see him keeled over on the floor pathetically.

  Colette scoffs in annoyance. “What the hell is your problem? You’re free now.”

  “I… I failed…” he mutters. “Diana… Johannes… I will not see them… ever again…”

  Grancis and Colette share a glance, both think of words to say, something that would refocus him on reality, but they come up short.

  “Let’s go back to the ship, Gran,” Colette says, flipping her revolver smoothly into her holster.

  Grancis stares at the man a moment more as he breaks out into sobs. “Alright,” she says. “Let’s go.”

  The two pal up and leave the home, travel back through the swamp, and pass the town. The cheers and laughter are replaced with sobbing, screams, and even the single plop of a person who sent himself flying off a roof to his death. While the illusions have been destroyed, so have the conventions of the island’s society, created by Vuuya for the sole purpose of protecting and serving her.

  It weighs heavily on the hearts of the two young girls as they pass by the townspeople, too blinded with the shock and horror of their decrepit, grey reality to even acknowledge them. They step down the small hill to the port, round the trees, and The Nocturna is full in view. The Captain is having a chat is Dunklestein.

  “Wait… what?” Grancis says in blunt disbelief.

  The Captain Debriefs the two on an Unsuccessful Mission

  "Why, good day you two! Was your little trot into the swamp productive?" The Captain says, bowing his head in greeting as he pops his pipe out of his mouth to speak, though the girls are both reasonably certain he doesn’t really need to. They’re quite certain he doesn’t even have a mouth for that matter, his words just sort of materialize from him.

  Grancis stares awkwardly at The Captain as Colette squints an eye in suspicion. "I thought that you n' Gran went-"

  "We had a wonderful time, sir. Thank you," Grancis cuts in.

  Colette glances over to Grancis as the Captain nods again.

  "And that’s just as I said,” he nudges Dunklestein, who is visibly surprised. "The two can handle themselves just fine."

  "Eh, Cap," Dunklestein starts, lifting the lit cig from his mouth and motioning The Captain aside.

  The Captain raises his finger to the two girls to give him a moment and turns aside with Dunklestein. "What is it?"

  "You really didn't do anything to help?"

  The Captain takes a smug puff on his pipe. "No."

  Dunklestein’s' teeth curl into a long, massive frown. "I find that pretty hard to believe."

  "Well I don't pay you to believe, Mister Dunklestein. I pay you to keep people in line."

  The shark man looks aside to the two girls, Grancis wiping down the rifle to make it look as presentable as possible before returning it. "Roger that, sir," he says.

  The Captain promptly reaches up and taps Dunklestein’s' shoulder, like a powderpuff on a face "Now be a good lad and go do something manly while I debrief the two ladies, please."

  Dunklestein salutes with a rigid scowl. "Got it, sir."

  He steps off and The Captain swings around the greet the two anew.

  "Your rifle, sir," Grancis presents, a faint glow still visible from the barrel's core.

  The Captain takes up the rifle, inspects it a moment and nods in approval. "Yes, this is indeed my rifle and not an illusion.” He scoffs as if it were good humor, but the two girls just stand around awkwardly. "I'll have you both in my study for the debriefing."

  "Gotcha," Colette says.

  "Yes sir," Grancis says.

  It's a short march up to the upper decks, past the medical bay and before the stairs leading up to the helm and the locked room that's never opened and is labeled "enforcement closet". Matter of fact it opens quite often, but most people just don’t notice its inhabitant coming and going.

  The Captain opens the way into a cozy, sleepy-looking room with a fireplace already set and consuming wood eagerly. It’s a bit dark; even with the fire, the window and door portholes being the only other sources of light in the shadowy room. The two girls are presented with a pair of chairs, and The Captain sits behind his official-looking desk, covered with paperwork written in a language that neither of the girls can make out.

  "So," The Captain starts, "How was it? Seeing as you're both here, and judging from the wailing coming from the town, I can only assume you destroyed the book."

  Grancis mulls over her answer, but Colette's faster than that. "It was good, sir.," she says. "I was... well, deceived, but believe it or not it was Gran that took the shot for the book. She’s got aim, Captain."

  "Very good," The Captain says, "Well, marginally good. At least you two survived."

  Colette squints an eye. "What?"

  "You do understand we were trying to retrieve the book, yes?"

  "Wh- Are you actually blaming us for shooting it? It was trying to kill us!"

  The Captain shrugs. "Dangerous missions have danger involved, Miss Ketiere. It shouldn't come as a great surprise to you."

  Colette hums in the way a cat would growl. "Yeah, but what were we supposed to do?"

  "Well, you could have recognized the book's mirage and instead of shooting it when you identified it, you could have just grabbed it and dragged it back."

  Colette sighs. "But the book took your form, Cap. I was freaking out!"

  "I appreciate you're willing to practice humility and admit your mistakes, but that does not excuse incompetence. I assume that while you, Miss Ketiere, were under full effect of the illusions, Miss Vereyrty was not?"

  Colette clears her throat. “Yes, sir.”

  “Then you could have ended up doing anything. You weren’t in control of your situation much at all, were you?”

  Colette inhales sharply. There's a part of her that wants to emphasize that it was Grancis that shot the book ultimately, but she knows she would have done the same thing. Also, The Captain doesn't like it when people shift blame—she'll play it safe. "Yes, sir. My mistake."

  "Indeed," The Captain says. "The mission was in your hands, and you both failed. What’s more, you, Miss Ketiere disobeyed a direct order to return to the ship. I'll be taking the appropriate action to ensure you don't forget your mistake too soon. Expect extra duty."

  “Yes sir,” Colette says, her eyes slant and gazing aside.

  The Captain draws back a bit and joins his hands. “You’ll be hearing about that later. For now I’ll need you off so I can debrief Miss Vereyrty specifically.”

  Colett
e perks up in what could be suspicion, but Grancis assumes is jealousy. “What’d she do?”

  “Nothing you should concern yourself with. Just a little… good housekeeping, if you will.”

  Colette looks away as she gets up. “Roger, and sir, I’d appreciate it if you’d stop calling me pastry names,” she says as she turns to leave.

  “I’ll call you what I damn well please, cupcake— now shoo,” The Captain says, nodding firmly.

  Colette sighs, steps off and closes the door behind her in a considerate hush. Grancis knows well by now that Colette is only quiet when she’s either sneaking or in thought, and she’s not sneaking much at the moment.

  “Well done, Miss Vereyrty,” The Captain says in a calmer voice.

  She smiles awkwardly. “Well… done?”

  “Indeed.”

  “Implying that I did something right?”

  “Yes. I figured in the temple that it was too dangerous to bring on board. If you hadn’t done it then I would have. I assure you I’m much more relieved that the two of you are safe than that you brought some silly book along with you. Even so I’ll have you punished by the precedent of it, even though you did a pretty fine job all things considered.”

  Grancis hums. Every now and again she gets a glimpse of her father in The Captain. This is one of those times. She’s not sure if it’s comforting or creepy. “Well… thank you, sir.”

  The Captain nods. “Of course.”

  “May I ask a question, sir?”

  He nods again.

  “Why did you make such a big deal about it with Colette?”

  “Because she still lacks the discipline to follow orders… well, I believe you have this problem as well, but you’re willing to do more than she is at the moment; the mark of a good crew member, I say.”

  She’s not sure she can interpret this as a complement. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Indeed. Now go ahead.”

  She draws back. “What?”

  “I’m sure you have something more pressing to ask.”

  Grancis sighs. “I thought you died, sir.”

  He looks at his hands as he presents them over the desk playfully. “Well, I didn’t.”

  “Yeah, I can see that. But how? You were torn up… and eaten.”

  He taps the table in curt condescension. “I certainly was, and my answer to that is that you simply do not need to know yet. There you have it.”

  Her gaze scans over a shelf of small baubles and curiosities across the room. “You wanted me to ask just so you could say you can’t tell me?”

  “That about sizes it up.”

  Her gaze slants. “Need to know basis, huh?”

  “That’s right. I wanted you to ask it just so we could be clear that there’s no need to be snooping around where you’re not needed. Perhaps I wasn’t with you the entire time, certainly, but even then you must keep in mind I had your best interests at heart, working from the shadows for your benefit. You understand?”

  She eyes over the cracked black horn on the lowest shelf of his baubles. “I do, sir. I’ll keep to myself… I still have questions, though.”

  The Captain leans back. “Ask away.”

  “If you didn’t die, were you helping us like you said?”

  He smiles under his bandages. “Not really; watching, mostly. I wanted to see how you two would do under the stress of perhaps killing your best friend. Not only did you see through the illusions, you also pulled out Colette. I’m marginally pleased… but of course you didn’t actually see any of the illusions, did you?”

  Grancis hums as she thinks back. She’s not even sure what one of the illusions would look like. “I couldn’t say, sir. I wouldn’t have known if I did see any. Vuuya did look a lot like you in that house.”

  She can see a smile form along those bandages; knowing, thoughtful, menacing. It’s almost as though he’s implying volumes by only speaking little sentences like the rest of the crew. “I’m quite certain you didn’t,” he says. “Glad to see you have your head on straight.”

  “So, sir. If the illusions didn’t work on me, was there a reason for that?”

  He shrugs. “Who knows.”

  She nods. “Yeah… who knows….” She takes a breath and redirects eye contact. “Sir?”

  In a rare movement, he takes off his spectacles and begins polishing them with a cloth from an open drawer. “Miss?”

  “Will the people on the island be okay?”

  “Probably not,” he says, producing a squeaky rubbing sound with the cloth and the glasses between his fingers. “The masses of them came to the island so that their wishes would be granted, probably to regain a loved one or something else of inconsolable value to them. If they were desperate enough to sail through The Eversea to get to the island, then they must have been incredibly reliant, or perhaps, demented would be the better word here. I imagine those that don’t kill themselves will probably attempt to create some sort of functioning society, as you likely noticed they had no vessels to travel by. The majority will likely live out the rest of their days on the island, doing whatever they may have for themselves. I doubt a happy day will pass on that island for some years to come, if ever.”

  “Didn’t they all sail there for that, though? Couldn’t they just build another ship?”

  “I rather doubt they’d be successful. Vuuya’s hold over them for so many years has caused a gradual, but strong mental reliance on her illusory magic. I highly doubt any of them would still possess the mental faculties to build anything of merit. What’s more, is that the island has few resources to use for sea craft, and what knowledge the people might have would matter little in spite of them losing, at least emotionally, the people they had cared about a second time… well, perhaps that’s too grim. Maybe an eldritch abomination will move in and take care of them or something—who can really say?”

  Grancis is quiet as she stares down at her lap.

  “There’s nothing we could have done. I wouldn’t be apt to invite potentially unstable, soul-bearing humans to join the crew. It would be bad for business and risky to boot. You’ve seen parts of The Sea in your time on board; you know that even killing them would be better than what might happen if they were to get taken below. I do feel for them, but first and foremost I understand my duty as the commander of this vessel is to my crew, and not to the populations we may visit. So, yes, while we did for better or for worse destroy their entire society and leave them to pick up the pieces, we have also freed them to once again make their own choices in life. We restored meaning to them, whether or not they wanted it. As a commander of men, it is my understanding that there are times in which I must move people out of their area of comfort and turn them to greater things, however painful those things may be. You just stared down some severe unpleasantness, and yet you persevered. That’s the prime, and greatest human condition, so congratulations on being willing to not only survive, but to survive for the sake of others…” He looks over to her. “Am I rambling?”

  She snaps back to make eye contact. “No sir, not at all,” she says in a rush.

  “Not quite interesting enough for you?”

  “N-no, sir. I promise; it was very interesting!”

  The Captain hums insightfully and finishes with his glasses before replacing them. “Well pardon me. I think I have just the thing for you.”

  “…What’s that, sir?”

  He leans forward with a rare sass. “Do you like cleaning pots?”

  Grancis smiles, and it’s not her happy smile. Proceeding is The Captain’s send off for Grancis, in which she’s instructed to meet back with Chef Boris, “personally” volunteer to wash all the dozens upon dozens of dishes, dry them, and then set them all neatly in time for lunch, which will soil her work only a minute after finishing, in which she will then volunteer to do it all herself over again. She salutes half-heartedly, turns about, and leaves The Captain’s office.

  He scoffs, impressed with the two ladies, each for different r
easons. He stretches out in his chair a moment before laxing back into his professional slump on his desk. Gently, he clears his throat, and speaks.

  “Monsieur La’Coss.”

  From what seems to be shaded air: darkness from no source: umbral nothing, a cloaked figure defines himself from the nether.

  “Captain,” he says in a voice that sounds altogether crude, yet wise in the way a killer is wise at his single craft. A cold, wintery sort of tone; simultaneously horrifying and considerate.

  “If you please,” The Captain says as he outstretches his hand to the side where Mister La’Coss is standing.

  From his enigmatic shroud, La’Coss produces a small jar with a swirling spirit inside. It’s pulsing faintly as if attempting to talk, but it has no voice to do so.

  The Captain nods. “Wonderful. Perhaps The O.E.L. will reward us even so. I’m sure they didn’t care all that much about the ‘book’ part of Vuuya anyway. Keep it safe.”

  Marcus conceals the bottle back within his worn midnight. “What are you planning?” he asks.

  The Captain looks over. “Planning… with what?”

  “The girls. They could have died.”

  “Not a big deal. It’s not like that would terminate their contracts or anything. My designs will not be upended by simple mortality of all things.”

  Marcus hums in disapproval. “You’re telling me you’re just going to put them back together? Pretty sure there’s a few laws that forbid that.”

  The Captain is unmoved. “Why, yes! You’re perfectly right, and I suppose it’s you who will have to fight them all off once they come to arrest me, won’t you?”

  Marcus sighs.

  “Unless, of course, you were planning on terminating our little agreement,” The Captain says.

  “…No.”

  The Captain straightens his glasses. “…No?”

  Marcus tightens his fists. “I have no choice.”

  “You always have a choice, Monsieur La’Coss, but no right ones.”

  “Just get on with it.”

  The Captain nods pleasantly. “Wonderful. Be on your way. We all have things to do.”

  “What do I have to do?” Marcus asks.