Nocturna League (Episode 2: The Mist Hour) (3 page)

“
Well done, Miss Ketiere,”
he says in a voice more tender than his usual. “Now stop wasting
our time and get your ass to the Krillemolest estate,” he says in a
sudden shift of sternness.

Colette nods, gets up from the table
and starts out of the bar with a slight gait, like she’s about to
throw up.

Boris looks to The Captain, his black,
dreamless, crustacean eyes locking on with impunity. “ARE WE OF THE
GOING NOW?”

The Captain nods, ushers up Boris and
gives his goodbye to the helpful man. On the way out The Captain
chuckles under his breath, and says “Drinking vinegar. She really
doesn’t know me at all...”

At that the uniformed Captain and the
towering red fortress of Boris make their way down the rain-soaked
cobble of the cove to the Ganastere estate- glowing red against the
gloomy forest surrounding the town.

Chapter 3: Boris Ends up
Being Useful and Colette has a Less-Vinegary Night

The Captain and Boris step through the
salty, chilly streets just past the midnight hour. They approach
the fortress-like Ganastere estate, and The Captain gives a
sensible tap upon the large steel-enforced wooden doors. A dog
barks in the distance, and the two moons bend slowly through the
sky - no answer.

The Captain gracefully motions Boris
to the door. “Good chap?”

With the force of a battering ram
Boris slams his claw into the door, the sound reverberating out
through the entire town. “WE ARE OF THE BEING HERE. MUCH THANKING
FOR THE OPEN DOORING,” Boris says with a polite, delicate tone-
such a shame only another seasort could come even close to picking
up on that politeness.

A rush of steps approach from the
other end, and the doors shift open via a mechanism to reveal the
lavish interior of the home, and a man pointing a loaded crossbow
right at Boris. “So it’s come to this, ha-” the man stops once he
sees them clearly. He puts aside the weapon. “Terribly sorry. I
thought you were someone else. Who might the two of you be?” The
well-dressed, balding man says with an inquisitive raise of the
brow as he takes up the cup of coffee he has on a side table just
behind the doors.

The Captain steps up. “I’m The
Captain, captain of the M.S. Nocturna. We’ve come t-”

The man, in the shock of realization,
promptly spits his coffee in The Captain’s face, says a very nasty
word and shuts the door. The Captain and Boris listen to the man
lock the door and then frantically pace off somewhere.

“
Quite a peculiar fellow,
that one,” The Captain says. Boris nods.

Just before The Captain decides to
give the order to break in and strap everyone inside to tables for
interrogation, the man returns and opens the door with an
apologetic look about him. “Eh, terribly sorry about that. It turns
out the master would quite like to see you,” the embarrassed
servant says, bowing for entry.

“
Thank you for the warm
welcome.” The Captain steps in with the gigantic Boris lumbering
behind him on his many, shelled legs.

The two are led through long halls of
gold and rose. Suits of armor, paintings of snooty-looking
ancestors, and trophies of the hunt line the walls on both sides,
providing a much-needed artistic sound for the otherwise silent
hall. They approach a set of fancy doors, and a pair of maids open
them to reveal the office of the current head of the Ganastere
line.

He’s really quite plump, and this
excites Boris more than most people upon seeing a plump
person.

“
Why
hello
there
!”
the graying, short-bearded man says between sips of wine. “The
name’s Varr Ganastere.” He presents his hand to The Captain and the
two shake hands. “How can I help the
prestigious
Captain this fine
evening?”

The Captain adjusts his cap to perfect
straightness- a sure sign he’s been successfully flattered. “Well,
your legacy, we wanted to look into the disappearance of one of our
crew members- captured by an assailant made of mist, it
appeared.”

Varr squints an eye. “I suppose you’ve
heard of the recent upsets with the Kalamests, then?”

The Captain nods as Boris starts
smelling the air. “We have. I suppose it was not misinformation
that they’ve been suspected with the kidnappings, and have not
dealt with the matter publicly?” The Captain asks, looking about
the room to spot paintings, whitewood furnishing, and an old
grandfather clock.

“
I am of the smelling,”
Boris states in a tone he considers a whisper, but in fact is a
bold decibel to any common ear.

The old, red-cheeked Varr laughs.
“It’s quite true; and by all means my friend, go to the kitchen if
you’re hungry. Is it true, dear Captain, that this is the one and
only Boris?”

The Captain shoos Boris away, and
turns back to Varr as the giant lobster seasort lumbers away on his
massive bright red legs. “He is. I suppose you’ve heard the
rumors?”

“
That you were betrayed by
the Duke of Whales and abandoned in that Vuru forsaken
reef?”

The Captain helps himself to a chair
and kicks his leg up upon the other. “That’s right.”

Varr draws back in repose
as he takes another sip. “Oh my. I’ve heard stories- I’m just
shocked they were true. I must apologize for my doorman’s rude
demeanor earlier. A man o-…
commander
of your caliber would of
course have all sorts of distasteful rumors surrounding him. I am
curious though, if I may pry.”

The Captain switches legs. “You may
not.”

A breeze blows outside, whistling
through the window, and then Varr laughs. “O-of course! Pardon me!
Straight to business, then.”

The Captain nods. “Thank you. Are you
certain that the kidnappings were by the Kalamests?”

Varr nods back, his
eyebrows raised in a drunken attempt at composure. “Well, as there
is only
one
gauntlet of mist, it is either them that have been doing it,
or someone that stole it.”

The Captain caresses his bandaged
chin. “I see. And you’re planning an assault on their
manor?”

“
It seems we have no choice
in the matter. They refuse to discuss what’s been going on, and so
we, with the townspeople’s help, must act in their stead. We could
use some stalwart sea-folk like Boris and yourself. What say you.
Will you help us?”

The Owner of the Nocturna delivers a
suave hum, and then nods. “Yes, I feel we can be of some use,” he
says as Boris storms in, sausage links strung around his neck
festively as he crunches down his fourth raw chicken
breast.

“
MISTAKEN, I WAS,” Boris
says after chewing down the chicken.

The Captain turns to Boris with the
utmost of poise. “Is that so?”

“
I AM OF YES. I WAS OF THE
THINKING I SMELL ANOTHER FOOD, BUT NO, JUST THE FOOD OF
THIS.”

The Captain squints an eye as Varr
makes a wide, uncomfortable grin. “Well, you win some and you lose
some,” The Captain says.

Varr nods. “Yes, well, we’re just
about to start the assault- I suppose you would be the finest to
lead considering your… reputation as a person of action. Will you
have the honor?”

A smile crosses the Captain’s
bandages. “I shall take the honor.”

“
E-excellent… But there’s
something I suppose you need to be told before we go
ahead.”

“
Don’t worry, my dear sir.
I’m already quite aware of the situation. Would you mind if I got
some food from the kitchen?”

Varr’s breathing picks up in
decibel.

Meanwhile, a far less comfortable
Colette has reached the far side of town, and overlooks the
Kalamest estate in front of her. It is a tall, solid, elegant
building- windows, doors, and all points of entry hatched down with
metal. The sailorette scowls, sighs, and stretches a moment before
she leaps for one of the windows, latching onto the bars. The weeks
of jobbing on the Nocturna, though proven unpleasant and soring the
first few days, have developed a rather competitive set of muscles
for her in comparison to other ladies her age.

She scales the bars with gymnastic
ease, pulling up ledges, other bars, and any outcropping she can
grasp to pull her way up to the top of the roof. A cold,
ocean-bound wind blows freely up top. She shivers but once before
she buttons up her long shipman’s coat and puts on her brown gloves
made from the leather of some monstrous beast the crew encountered
on the island of U’ellawat. Colette checks for any sort of entrance
into the manner, but finds nothing. She then goes to the back of
the manor’s roof to check for a balcony she could drop down on, but
instead finds something much more interesting.

A suspicious looking figure steps out
from the first floor backyard door, locks it behind him, and starts
off into the backwoods. She snuffs in the cool air, and quiets her
breath as she descends the keep and enters the forest.

It is a dark, tombstone gray in the
wood, only the light of the two moons providing any light to travel
by. Colette sneaks with light steps across the moist ground,
following the clear trail of the figure’s clumsy, frantic footwork.
She spots that the tracks are consistently deep, as if the person
were very heavy, or very tired. In just minutes of walking, she
finds a silhouette slumped over, panting in exhaustion.

She cocks her revolver, and the figure
flinches. “Good day,” she says as if she met him down a street at
noon.

The wind howls. “Y-you… shit. You’re
with that crew that arrived.” His voice is young, pure- about her
age, actually.

She squints an eye. “How would you
know that?”

He scoffs, “We’ve banned guns
here.”

She clears her throat. “Ahh… My turn.
You’re a Kalamest.”

“
What’s left of
one.”

Colette reasserts her posture;
straighter, as if she owned the place- like The Captain. “Am I to
believe that you just decided to abandon your fortress at a time
when the whole town was raring for your head?”

The figure gets to his feet, trained
perfectly under Colette’s sights. “The manor’s defenses won’t hold.
Didn’t hold last time, won’t hold when they decide to come,
either.”

Colette exhales a puff of steam. “Last
time?”

“
Our heirloom, the Gauntlet
of Mist, was stolen from us two weeks ago.”

Colette listens to the wind a minute.
“And just how did the person get in?”

The man pauses, shakes his head.
“Spose it doesn’t matter now. Everyone’s out of the manner, so I
guess I might as well tell you. We weren’t expecting so much force
at once- someone got in during the changing of the guard. It had to
be an inside job; not that it matters anymore.”

Colette nods her head a bit to the
side. “…So this happened two weeks ago. When the kidnappings
started?”

“
Yeah.”

“
And no one believes you, I
guess.”

“
Of course not. No one
could steal something so well guarded… unless they also had a
gauntlet for themselves.”

“
What do you mean?” She
lowers her gun.

“
I suppose you’ve heard
about the kidnappings, how the person did them?”

“…
Yeah?”

The figure shakes his head. “There’s
two gauntlets.” Colette’s quiet, and the man sighs. “I’m guessing
you haven’t heard the whole story… I suppose I might as well. Come
on, I’ll let you into the Manor and I’ll fill you in- I can’t very
well take you to the family hideout,” he says as he turns to a
stride.

Colette holsters her gun, and enters
the large manor. She’s let in by the man, and she’s met with the
deep warmth of the Kalamest manor, its boiler running by the
constant upkeep of the very same man that allowed her entry. He
offers to take her coat, she denies. She then takes a seat in the
sitting room before he offered to do so, and once he offered to
give her some tea, she denied again. For the sake of not keeping
her waiting, then, he takes to the opposite chair and sits
politely, quite unlike his almost sulky demeanor in the forest.
“Yes, well. You see, for generations the Gauntlets of Mist have
been safely in the hands of the Kalamests and the Ganasteres. The
man who wielded both was none other the intrepid captain Skellson
of legendary repute. He forged these gauntlets from the soul of a
warlock who terrorized the island. The warlock, you see, had powers
over the mist- so much so that he could create, manipulate, and
transform into mist at any time.”

“
Huh,” a relaxing Colette
mutters, cozening up to the corner of her chair.

“
The gauntlets, when
separated, display only a fraction of the warlock’s power, capable
of being used during a single hour, the witching hour.”

“
Midnight.”

“
Precisely. But together,
they achieve the full extent of their power- a perfect mimicry of
the warlock’s magic. Skellson, not needing the power and being a
good captain, decided to split the gauntlets between the warlock’s
two sons, Ganas and Kalam, one for each. From those boys we get the
Ganastere and Kalamest families- but it seems like the balance of
power is all going to end soon.”