Nocturna League (Episode 2: The Mist Hour) (5 page)

“
YOU WERE NOT OF THE
NOTICING? I WAS OF THE THINKING IT QUITE OBVIO-”

“
No, Boris. Of course I
know he’s nuts!”

“
BUT YOU WERE OF THE SAYING
TH-”

“
It’s called sarcasm,
Boris, shit.”

“
OH, I AM NOT ALWAYS
GETTING OF THE FUNNY WORDS.”

“
It’s cool.”

“
I AM GLAD THIS IS OF THE
COOL, BECAUSE I WOULD BE OF THE WORRYING IT BEING
TOO MUCH
OF THE COLD. BUT
I AM OF THE DIGRESSING. I COME TO JOIN YOU AGAINST THE CAPTAIN. IF
THE GANASTERES ARE NOT OF THE REVEALING, THE KALAMESTS WILL BE OF
THE DOOMING, AND THE JUSTICE WILL NOT BE OF THE
SERVING!”

Colette raises a brow. “Well you’re
right there, and if we do nothing they’ll have no chance. The
Captain’s gonna be sorry he messed with me. He trained a true
killer.”

Boris is quiet a moment. “ARE YOU OF
THE MEANING THAT YOU’D BE HURTING OF THE CAPTAIN?”

Colette’s quiet too. “I certainly am.
I’m going to shut down his parade. I’ve grown a lot since I’ve been
on this ship, and I’ve watched him a good deal. I know how to take
Old Salt alright. He’s a better shot, and a better fighter, but I
have my head, and that’s the most important asset one can
have.”

Boris shakes his entirety. “I AM OF
THE DOUBTING, THE CAPTAIN IS OF THE UNMATCHED IN THE FIGHTING. YOU
MUST HAVE A PLAN OF MUCH GOODNESS TO BE OF THE STOPPING OF
HIM.”

She glances to the windows, half
expecting a looming Captain to be staring at them. “I do, now that
you’re here. What’s his weakness, Boris?”

“
I… I AM NOT OF THE SURE I
SHOULD BE OF THE TELLING.”

“
Come on, Boris. Lives are
on the line. The Kalamests’ll probably get killed for crimes they
didn’t commit if you don’t.”

Boris takes a deep breath. “VERY WELL.
THE CAPTAIN IS ONE OF MANY WEAKNESSES, I SHALL TELL YOU OF THE ONE
I AM KNOWING OF THE BEST. TAKE A BANDAGE OF HIS, AND TIE IT IN A
KNOT. ONCE HE IS OF THE EXERTING, HE WILL BE IN FOR THE
SURPRISING.”

Colette hums. “What sort of
surprise?”

“
YOU ARE UNDERSTANDING THAT
THE BANDAGES ARE OF THE CONTAINING FOR HIM?”

“
Yeah.”

“
AND SHOULD EVEN A SMALL
SPIN OF THE BANDING BE OF THE FOUL, HE IS OF THE
DANGER.”

“
Yeah? So? He can just wrap
himself back up like he usua-”

Boris reaches into his cloak and
places a long roll of bandages upon the table.

Colette’s eyes spark in ambition and a
large grin forms across her face as she handles them. “Boris, you
sly shellfish.”

“
THE CAPTAIN IS OF THE
UNAWARES WHEN ASLEEP. I WAS OF THE TAKING OF THESE,” Boris says,
his deep aquatic accent sounding strangely melodic to Colette for
the very first time.

She nods, but there is a sudden wave
of suspicion that washes her features. “So… If you were in his room
and you swiped his bandages, why didn’t you just go ahead and tie a
knot?”

Boris raises a claw. “ARE YOU OF THE
THINKING I AM HAVING THE DEXTERITY FOR SUCH?”

Colette nods. “A-ahh, right, and it
would be bad if you woke him up and he found you out
anyway…”

“
SO, YOUNG FOOD, WILL YOU
BE OF THE DOING?”

Colette strokes her chin in a
Captain-like way, and nods. “I’m your woman.”

Boris gurgles in joy, producing a mess
of foul-smelling bubbles that stream onto the table. The bartender
cringes, and decides to pour himself a drink.

“
THIS IS OF THE PLEASING TO
BORIS. HE IS UPON THE THIRD FLOOR IN THE FIRST ROOMING TO THE RIGHT
FROM THE STEPINGS. YOU MUST BE OF THE SNEAK AND BE OF THE MELD TO
THE SHADOWLIES. YOU MUST BE SIMPLY OF THE PULLING OF ONE OF HIS
TIES, MAKE IT OF THE KNOTTING, AND BE ON THE WAY OF YOU. OF COURSE,
I SHOULD NOT EVEN NEED BE OF THE TELLING WHAT COULD BE OF THE
HAPPENING IF HE IS TO BE OF THE WAKING.”

Colette nods, hearing the Captain’s
black-sand knuckles crack in her mind. “Y-yeah, definitely
not.”

“
I’D BE OF THE RECOMMENDING
THAT YOU SNEAK IN THROUGH THE ROOF, THERE SHOULD BE JUST ONE OF THE
GUARDINGSMAN POSTED. ALSO, THE CONSIDERING OF STEALING THEIR MIST
GAUNTLET, ALONG WITH THE STOLEN KALAMEST GAUNTLET, MAY ALSO BE A
PLAN OF THE GOOD.”

The spark in her eye ignites into a
fire and then she takes up from her seat. “Alright. Let’s get this
ball rolling,” She says, stuffing the bandages into her pocket and
then cracking her knuckles ambitiously.

“
I AM WISHING YOU OF THE
LUCK… AND I AM OF THE THINKING YOU WILL BE A GREAT
CAPTAIN.”

Colette leaves before she can respond,
but the thought is charming to her- a great captain. As she walks
through the pitch morning streets of the port, she does her best to
keep herself focused, but in the back of her mind, she envisions
the image of The Captain’s hat upon her head. It takes only minutes
of stepping through the lantern light until she reaches the
Ganastere estate. She peeks behind the gate walls carefully, and
spots two men armed with dress swords, the steel glinting
carelessly in the red Ganastere light. She takes a single moment to
check the bullets in her enchanted revolver, a present from The
Captain, and she holsters it with confidence.

She goes past the gate, scales the
wall with relative ease and lands on the other side. The Ganastere
architecture is almost identical to that of the Kalamest estate, so
it’s a familiar, swift ascent. The night’s taking its toll on her,
however; she knows she won’t have much left in her so she’ll need
to avoid conflict if at all possible. She finds a man on a stool
enjoying a smoke. He’s leaned into himself with the tiredness of
many years; he looks to Colette to be an easy mark. She prepares
the extendable baton she received as being part of the crew, and
taps the dude on the shoulder.

“
Nice night out,” she says.
The turned man flinches and reaches for his knife just as Colette
cocks her gun inside its holster, stopping him immediately. “No
need for that, sir. I’m just a little pastry looking to find the
local bakery- and
you
have the key. Hand it over,” she says, tapping the steel baton
against him with each word. The man nods, calmly reaches into his
boot, and pulls out a key. “Right, also where are you keeping the
gauntlets?”

The man stutters. “I uh… I don’t
know.”

She pushes the baton deeper into him.
“Yeah, you do.”

“
No, I really don’t! I
swear! Only one of the Ganasteres would know!”

Colette hums suspiciously, and shrugs.
“Fine. Sweet dreams,” she says. The last thing the guard remembers
for the night is a length of steel being smashed into the back of
his neck by the strength of an overworked eighteen year old. The
guard goes down, and Colette unlocks the door to the fourth floor.
She sneaks with light, fleet steps, ghosting through the hall in
perfect silence. She goes down two floors, and reaches a room with
snoring coming from behind the door. The Captain doesn’t snore, so
it must be a Ganastere. With practiced stealth she silently glides
across the floor, just like all the times she had to sneak by Boris
to eat every day the Captain said “You didn’t do the job right. No
dinner for our lazy cupcake, Boris.” A moment later, and she gently
resets the hammer of her revolver to produce an obedience-creating
*click*.

“
Wh-who’s there?!” And old,
male, frightened voice rings out.

“
A ghost, dumbass. Where do
you keep the gauntlets?” She says to him, resting a tight hand
around his throat.

“
P-please. They’re
priceless! W-without the gauntlets we’ll be unable to-”

She pulls the trigger. *Click* “I’m
pretty sure the next one has a bullet in it. Want to find
out?”

“
Oh, please! By your honor
please don’t take our-”

“
Mmm?”

“
In a room on the third
floor, the one in the center. The lock on it is enchanted, though,
you’ll need the password!”

“
Which is?” she asks,
smiling in the dark.

He sighs. “Uh, it’s
lemonscratch
.”

She tightens her grip. “You understand
I’m going to knock you out after we talk, right?”

“
Uh… Uh I
guess?”

“
So you won’t be able to
call any guards.”

“
Yeah… Okay?”

“
So if the password’s
wrong, I might just come on down and visit agai-”

“
It’s
Ganastere Pride
! I’m
sorry!”

Colette scoffs.
“…
Really?
Ganastere
Pride
?” The old man in the dark mutters in
terror, and Colette sighs. “Heh, cool. Goodnight,” she says,
smacking the man right where The Captain trained her. He enters
dreamland, and she travels next to the climax of the mission- The
Captain himself.

She creeps into the room Boris told
her of - no breathing coming from inside, just like The Captain.
Though confidence has surged to this point, she stops at this
moment. Her hairs stand upon her arm and a sense of impending
powerlessness overcomes her, like throwing oneself into the cold,
black salt of the ocean night. The Captain is silent both when he’s
awake, and asleep, so if he’s conscious, this could be the end of
her- she just needs to tie the knot if she can. She enters the
room, and spots the Captain’s dignified lump motionless in bed. She
creeps forward, moth-like and gentle, poised like a tiger. With
each step she imagines an abrupt “Miss Ketiere, what could you be
here for?” and that deep, stomach-churning sound of his knuckles
cracking to punish her. Colette is not deterred, however, and
steals up to The Captain’s bed.

This is it.

Envisioning a bandaged hand to jut out
from the covers and end her existence, Colette does the
unthinkable, and grasps one of the long, slightly adhesive bandages
wrapped around his arm. With poise undisplayed by her till now, she
ties a tiny knot into the notch of his hand, a slight amount of his
black sand slipping out. She pauses, just to see if he’d wake up
and then leaves the room. It’s done.

Colette finishes by using the password
to gain entry into the secret room, and stealing both gauntlets.
One minute later she’s out on the roof, the deep night still
encouraging sleep. With the gauntlets hidden in her coat, she makes
her way back to the bar.

A great big Boris has just received
his order of hot wings from the sleep-deprived
bartender.

“
Here,” the bartender says
with a tone containing the coldness of hell.

“
OH! I AM OF THE THANKING
TO YOU, FOOD-MAN OF THE BAR.”

“
Yeah,” is all he says
before turning back and slumping into a corner of the back room,
deciding to sleep until he hears Boris do something else that’s
completely expected of Boris.

Colette steps forward with a smile and
much fatter coat pockets. “Heya.”

Boris’ stalk-like, obsidian eyes spark
with intrigue. “WERE YOU OF THE COMPLETING?”

Colette peeks one of the gauntlets out
from a pocket, her grin measured, but enthusiastic. “Let’s just say
Ol’Salt’s gonna’ have a start when I draw my gun.”

Boris nods. “THEN IT MUST BE OF THE
BEING,” he says with a solemn, grave tone, which, for the ears of a
non-seasort, would actually sound like laughing.

Colette is able to grab a wing before
Boris slams his face into the table for the last time, finally
splintering the rough wooden legs and sending it to the
floor.

A groan of contempt can be heard in
the back room.

She nods as she licks her fingers of
the wing salted with the barman’s theoretical tears. “Right. I
doubt he’ll even show up tomorrow. Once he figures out his bandages
are gone and he’s got nothing else to do but fight me, I’ll bet
he’d just go back to the ship.”

Boris stares woefully at the remaining
wings splattered on the floor, and then looks up. “ARE YOU OF THE
CERTAIN? THE CAPTAIN IS OF MANY THINGS, BUT CERTAINLY NOT BEING OF
THE COWARD.”

Colette’s smile does not fade, though
she knows it’s true. “Bah, you worry too much. With the gauntlets
there’s nothing the Ganasteres can do. The Captain can fight plenty
of people, but not a whole town.”

Boris looks away, gargling
contemplatively. “I AM OF THE SUPPOSING. YOU SHOULD BE OF THE
RESTING THIS NIGHT. THE FIGHTING WILL BE UPON US SOON.”

Colette nods and stretches, “Yeah,
I’ll get some shut eye. I’ll have to think of a safe spot
somewhere… around here,” she says as she looks around.

A foul foam spits from Boris’ mouth in
something resembling the excitement one gets when they’re being
helpful. “I AM OF THE KEEPING YOU SAFE. MY SHELL HAS THE SPACING
FOR MYSELF AND ONE OTHER!” Boris says. At that, the front of his
exoskeleton opens like a machine, to reveal a horrific, unspeakable
mess of organs, bile, and partially digested food, all spilling out
festively. There’s enough space inside for a person about her
size.

Colette stares blankly at Boris for a
moment. “Uh, actually there’s a back room. I think I’ll just relax
in there,” she says, watching Boris’ internal horrors dangling
about and dripping with what could be any manner of
unpleasant-smelling fluids.