Book 3: Chapter 22: Conspiracy

Book 3: Chapter 22: Conspiracy

A soft breeze blew at my back, coming from the western mountains. The air swept along its currents had a hint of sweetness, my senses also detecting notes of wood, earth, and decaying leaves. The ocean lay before me, its softly lapping waves kicking up sea spray that joined the other aromas.

I closed my eyes and breathed deep, allowing the surrounding fragrances to whisk me away.

When I opened them once more, the moon was high overhead, illuminating my shores. What I saw there made my soul rejoice. Lined up and down the rockwall, dozens of people had rods in hand and anticipation coloring their bodies. Each waited patiently for the next bite, most having already caught a fish.

On our way out of New Tropica, we’d told everyone we came across where we were going. The blacksmiths had been the most excitable, practically ordering their apprentices to tag along. They stood next to Ruby and Steven, whose fledgeling tailors were also lining the rockwall.

“Fish on!” Duncan yelled, the following high-pitched giggle at odds with his baritone voice.

As he fought the hooked blue fish, Maria squeezed my hand.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, cocking her head and making a strand of hair fall from behind her ear.

“Wonderful,” I replied, sweeping the hair back into place. “It’s even better than I imagined.”

“One step closer to converting everyone to your heretical ways, huh?”

I grinned, picturing even more people lined up, so numerous that they spilled onto the shore and stretched out toward Tropica. “A few dozen down, the rest of the world to go...”

The next few days were a joyous experience.

Each morning, the cultivators returned. A few of the more enterprising would already be fishing when I woke up, smiling out at the world with one finger held to their line. Peter had set up permanently on my back deck, arriving at the crack of dawn to start cooking people’s fish as soon as they were caught. He had a few apprentices with him, those keen to learn the craft of cooking from the most experienced of our number.

On the fourth day, I woke to a crab under one arm, an otter under the other, a rabbit sleeping in the crook of my neck, and a Chihuahua sniffing my chin.

“Good morning, Borks,” I said, scooping him into a hug.

He collapsed atop me, rolling on his back and looking at me from upside down. I snorted at how goofy he looked, my smile only growing as the rest of my animal pals slowly woke. Snips blew happy bubbles, peering up at me. Claws leaped atop Borks’s belly, lounging on his stomach just as he lounged on mine. Cinnamon, clearly deciding it was too early for all this noise, retreated beneath a pillow, disappearing from sight.

Maria had been staying at her home since we returned. We’d decided not to antagonize Roger for the time being, both of us hoping I could win him over for good in the coming weeks and months.

I stretched my arms high, deciding to stay put and absorb as much physical touch as possible from my animal companions before starting the day, but a rhythmic knock came at the door, making Borks bolt upright, his ears alert.

“Yoohoooo!” a beautiful voice called with singsong intonation. “Anyone home?”

Recognizing who it was, I sat up slowly, extracting myself from the cuddle puddle. “Coming!”

Everyone came with me, even Cinnamon excited to see the person that had come knocking. When I opened the door, though, Maria wasn’t alone.

“Oh! Hey, guys. What can I—”

Maria rushed forward, squeezing me so hard that the words faltered in my throat.

“Hello, Fischer,” Sharon said, grinning at her daughter.

Roger grunted by way of greeting, which was, astoundingly, an improvement.

“Hi,” Maria said, her voice muffled by my chest before pulling back and looking up at me. “Did you sleep well?”

“We did,” I replied.

“Er... we?”

Claws and Cinnamon flew past me, slamming into her hard enough to throw her off balance. I snatched her outstretched hand, keeping her upright.

“Good morning, ladies!” she laughed, hugging them both tight as Borks and Snips joined in, rubbing against her legs.

As we rounded the headland and the rockwall came into view, my steps grew energized. Despite the sun not yet having risen over the eastern horizon, there were already five other cultivators there. Two were the smiths, both of which had a fish hooked. They hooted and hollered, Fergus’s stoic attitude having been ground down by Duncan’s infectious excitement.

As the two smiths fought with what appeared to be mature blue fish, I led Roger and Sharon down to the communal tackle boxes we’d set up. There were four spaced out along the rockwall, all stocked with everything we could possibly need. Well, except for proper sinkers, I admitted to myself, but we could take care of that when the seasonal fish were no longer about. For now, rocks worked just fine.

I passed a rod to Maria, Roger, and Sharon, then opened the tackle box.

“Okay. This is how you set up the line with a hook and sinker...”

***

Back in New Tropica, a man strode between buildings. Though he projected a facade of relaxed indifference, his mind was anything but calm.

Nathan fought down his body’s desire to run—to expend energy—relying on almost a decade’s worth of intense training to take each measured step. Light bled down into the village, the sun threatening to rise over the trees and rooftops at any moment. It made him feel revealed, his mind accustomed to operating beneath the shadowed cover of night.

Though the building he entered was bathed in magical light, it made his sense of unease partially retreat. The stone walls and iron bars, despite being more confined, reminded him of home. It made his steps come easier and his airways feel clear. Striding further along the stone corridor, he found his quarry.

Nathan nodded at his fellow cultivator. “Your watch is over.”

“Thanks, Nathan.” He stifled a yawn. “What time is it...?” When he looked out the window, his eyes went wide. “Dawn? Glaucus’s scaled form, I’m missing the golden window for fishing!” He sprinted down the hallway, yelling his thanks.

Nathan shook his head. He’d never understand how most of the cultivators in New Tropica had been so easily convinced that anything water related was a good idea.

“Damned heretics...” he muttered, his lip twitching.

“Is that you, Nathan?” came a soft mutter.

Before he replied, Nathan extended his ability. A bubble of silence sprang into being, surrounding him, the corridor, and the opposite cell. “Yes, lord.”

Tom Osnan Jr. raised an eyebrow at him.

“Forgive me, lord.” Nathan averted his eyes, able to do at least that. “Showing the requisite respect could lead to discovery.”

Tom Osnan Jr. snorted. “Very well. How is the plan progressing?”

“It’s going just as planned. Our number and influence grow by the day.”

“How long?”

“If I were to hazard a guess, I’d say weeks—”

“Weeks?” the lord bellowed, so loud that Nathan shrank down, expecting the alarm to be raised despite his sound-dampening abilities. “Not good enough. They could change their mind and slay us at any moment. We need to return to the capital within the next few days, not weeks.”

“My lord...” Nathan licked his lips, not looking forward to the words that would come from his mouth. “If we move too soon, we run the risk of the plan falling apart—”

“So plan better! This is not the time for subtlety!”

Nathan knew that to be objectively wrong, yet it wasn’t his place to say so. “Yes, lord. Of course. You know best in these matters.” He gave a swift bow after checking the coast was clear. “I will endeavor to speed things up.”

“Good. Now leave me.”

“Yes, lord.”

Though serving the younger Osnan chagrined him, it was a means to an end. Nathan had to get back to his master in the capital, and he’d kiss every noble ass on the way there if he had to.

He strode down the hallway toward his imprisoned fellows, intent on relaying the events of the last few days.