"Does this one need a refill?" the Khajitt bartender purrs, motioning toward my empty bottle of brandy.
"Without question," I reply.
The cat-woman restores my supply of alcohol dutifully, bows, then moves off toward the end of the bar.
I look around the cramped quarters that is the lower deck of the Cathana. It has been an hour since I boarded this ship, and it will be at least one more until we pull up alongside the dock in Seyda Neen. Between the creaking, the rocking, and the stale air, I need to get outside.
Only seconds pass before I am lifting the heavy, metal trapdoor and climbing out onto the top deck.
The late evening air is cool and fresh, a perfect contrast to the oppressively humid air of the past day. Masser and Secunda are putting on a spectacular show for everyone in the night's sky; I cannot recall ever seeing the moons quite so vivid. The gentle lapping of the water carrying the ship, as well as the soft whacking of the sails in the wind which propels us forward, provides the soundtrack for this perfect evening.
Underneath the black and purple firmament, I take a seat at one of the tables and attempt to quell my racing thoughts. I am unable to do so, but at least I worry in style. The waiter — another Khajitt — brings me a few appetisers and takes my order for a meal which is delivered almost immediately; the guar-hide chairs are wonderfully well-cushioned (a rarity in Vvardenfell); and I am in the company of several notable faces, the most notable being Duke of Ebonheart, Orvas Dren.
With a few extra septims in my pocket after winning that bet with Albecius last Loredas, I figured I'd spurge and jump on one of the passenger-vessels bound for Blacklight. It was a good choice, despite it adding an extra forty minutes to the journey.
I watch Dren and his stunning, large-breasted companion with a wary interest. I wonder what business takes the Duke to Blacklight. Probably none that is good for the people of Blacklight, if the rumours are to be believed.
As I watch the pair, I notice movement in the corner of my eye. A dark figure to my right, and very close.
I turn my attentions toward that figure, now standing over me. It is a woman — an Imperial in her mid-twenties like myself — with dark hair and equally dark eyes. Her lips stretch into a small, attractive smile, and the woman's face, superimposed against the red and white orbs in the heavens, is truly a sight to behold.
"Is this seat taken?" she asks in a voice that is a perfect mix of softness and depth.
I motion toward the chair in question. "It will be if you sit down."
Taking my cue, she does so, throwing one leg over the other and covering it quickly with her dark robes. She makes no move to speak, but, instead, merely looks out toward the Ascadian Isles slowly moving by.
"Breathtaking, isn't it?" she says, and I cannot help but agree. Far across the water, the call of the familiar Grand Pharos lighthouse beckons us closer, guiding us home to my town.
She turns to me, then, and looks down at my plate. "Your meal is getting cold."
"Well spotted," I respond. I notice that her side of the table is distinctly uncluttered. "Would you like anything?"
"No, no," she says, and I drop the hand I had raised for the waiter. "I dined earlier."
The woman's voice is authoritative but in a gentle sort of way. Her tones are somewhat mesmerising, and I find myself wishing she would use more words.
"A drink, then." This time, I do call the waiter.
She cracks a smile. "Very well."
It feels strange to eat while my extremely forward companion does not, but I do, for I have not eaten since the morning. As well, I've never found the meals at the Black Shalk Cornerclub to be particularly sustaining.
"Where are you bound?" I ask the woman across from me as she sips her mug of Shein in both hands.
"A small village by the coast called 'Seyda Neen'. Have you heard of it?"
"I have indeed," I say, "though, sometimes I wish I haven't."
The woman eyes me with an amused curiosity, her dark hair fluttering in the breeze. "Oh? What makes you say that?"
"It is a small town," I answer, taking a bunch of my own, blonde hair in my hand and placing it into an impressive ponytail. "A tiny, insignificant speck on the map of a world much more interesting than anything that has ever happened in Seyda Neen."
The woman sits back, relaxing into her chair. "And how does one of the Empire's Knights end up stationed in a tiny, insignificant 'speck on the map' like Seyda Neen?"
"The Census and Excise office," I reply, sitting back myself and placing my feet atop an unoccupied chair nearby. "The tax agents there need a lot of protection."
"I can imagine they do," the woman says, taking another swig in that cute, two-handed way of her's. "Where would be your preferred posting?"
"Up at Fort Buckmoth." My answer is given without hesitation.
"Why do you say that?" the woman leans forward slightly now, looking into my eyes expectantly, seeming genuinely interested in my answer.
"Ever since the Ghostfence came down, the Imperials at Buckmoth have been assisting the Temple's forces in containing the horrors that are now free to roam about the land there. They're also helping retake Red Mountain. Tomorrow, I could be part of the team that is cleansing Endusal. Instead, I'll be wielding a pen rather than a sword, as well as tracking down some maniac with the weirdest form of kleptomania I've ever seen."
That catches her attention. "Kleptomania?"
I've said too much. Loose lips. "Let's just say, I wouldn't stay in Seyda Neen too long. As a matter of fact, if you can get to wherever you're going via Gnaar Mok, I'd give Seyda Neen a miss entirely."
"Why do you say that?" she asks in that smooth, deep voice. "If something is afoot in Seyda Neen, I would like to know."
"Where are you headed?" I ask.
"Balmora," she answers. "I am not due there for a week, but my intention was to rest up for a few days before making my way out there. It has been a long journey here, and travel is starting to disagree with me."
The familiar trees of the Bitter Coast are now on display as we make our way past the small island just a small ways out from Seyda Neen. The Grand Pharos is now close enough to cast its light over the entire ship, bathing my companion in a warm, golden light. The bellow of the Silt Strider nearby heralds our approach, the dimensional sound vibrating the deck of the ship ever so slightly.
"My advice would be to delay your rest just a few hours longer and lodge in Pelagiad," I tell her. "The Halfway Tavern there can be a bit rough for reasons of its own, but it is by far your best option given the current state of affairs."
Her eyes are wide now. My words have obviously troubled her. Behind her, the Census and Excise office becomes larger and larger. The Cathana carefully parallels the dock, and slowly comes to a stop. The captain yells at a crewman to drop the anchor and the man quickly obeys, dropping the large, angular piece of metal into the water on the starboard side.
The woman and I rise, the look of disquiet still strong on her face. "I need to fetch my things from below. Will it trouble you too much to wait for me? I am not certain of my way around here."
"Of course," I say, and bow slightly to the woman, who is, like everyone, much shorter than I.
She descends through the trapdoor and I make my way around to the port side of the vessel. The Census and Excise dock is bright. The lanterns on the foremost pylons have been lit ahead of our arrival, affording the crew enough light to extend the walkway out and allow passengers to board or alight.
I wonder why nobody is out here to greet us, a mystery soon laid to rest by the appearance of Ganciele Douar in the office's doorway. Light from inside that office spills out onto the soil, and disappears when Ganciele closes the door behind him.
"Fear no longer, Ganciele," I say, leaning on the ship's guardrail and opening my arms wide. "Your illustrious commander has returned." Given the plummeting morale around the barracks recently, and in light of the hit that morale is about to take when I let them in on what I learned in Vivec, I figure I'll try to keep things as light as possible.
While Ganciele usually revels in banter (it gives him an opportunity to openly insult his superiors and get away with it), tonight he does not bite.
"What's wrong?" I ask, finally noticing his grave expression as he nears the ship.
The sound of the large wooden door to the office smashing against the wall prevents Ganciele from answering. All heads turn to the source of the sound.
At first, it isn't clear why the door opened. Then, the reason becomes clear.
Adraria Vandacia bursts from the doorway, walking determinedly toward the ship. Socucius Ergalla is in hot-pursuit of the woman, pleading words issuing from his mouth.
Socucius spots me when he and Adraria are halfway down the dock. "Knight Errant Caecilia, could you tell this woman that she cannot simply abandon her post and leave the village. Adraria, please listen to reason!"
Adraria — an officious, overbearing Tax Agent to whom I've never taken a liking — stops before the ship's captain and extends a large cloth sack toward him. "I would like to board this ship. Whatever your rate, this should cover it."
"I move toward the woman and put up my hand in front of her. "Adraria, what's going on?"
She turns to me, her face hard with anger. "You are useless. Albecius is useless. This town went to Oblivion when you took over, Caecilia. Say what you want about the man, but Sellus Gravius would never have allowed this to happen. I'm done." She drops the sack at the captain's feet and moves past me toward the ship's trapdoor.
The scrape of sword against scabbard stops her dead in her tracks. Slowly, she turns to me.
"If you wish to leave, Adraria, I cannot stop you," I say over my broadsword. "But not without my approval, and most certainly not without notice."
I rotate to face Socucius. The bearded Breton quivers fretfully, quite a departure from his usual demeanour. "What's going on here?" I demand.
"Draren Thiralas was attacked in his home as he slept not twenty minutes ago. The assailant tore an eye from Draren's socket before the Dunmer woke and made off with it before the guards arrived."
"And where were you this whole time, Caecilia?" Adraria's scolding voice sounds from behind me. "Why were you not here to protect Draren? Where were you during the other attacks? You are a disgrace to the Legion."
Adraria is obviously distraught so I will give her a pass for that remark. Even so, I raise my sword in her direction. "You are not leaving Socucius to run this office alone. If you leave aboard this ship, what I do to you will make Draren's attacker look like St. Olms in comparison."
Adraria stands rooted in place, and she begins to shake visibly.
I again turn to Socucius. "In what direction did the attacker flee?"
"Nobody's sure," the Breton says urgently. "But Tandram Andalen thinks he saw something moving up the hills on the road to Hla Oad after the attack.
"Very good," I say, sheathing my sword and descending the walkway. "Ganciele, you're with me."
