Chapter Four: Traverse City
The mellow greens and soft yellows of dawn found Serge and Kid at the edge of Fossil Valley. They had crossed through the plains and forest in the mute of pre-dawn, keeping a wary watch for the dragoons that they had encountered the night before, but they had encountered nothing but the waking of the world, dew on the tall grass, and a cool, misty air. When they approached the entrance to the valley, they saw that a small camp was made up in a spacious plot of dusty land between the massive curves in the mountainside.
A soldier sat next to a fire that was nothing more than embers. When they came close enough, they realized that the dragoon on guard duty was asleep. This made their passage through the entrance to the ravine much easier. The sleeper was decked out in the uniform field plate of the two from the night before, copper-colored armor, tanned leathers, and white cloth beneath it all. He had a cloak around his shoulders, effectively hiding his head in its folds as he dozed. In his lap rested a pale blue flower.
Kid looked at Serge and grinned. She made her way into the encampment, tiptoeing her way around scattered posts and debris. Serge grimaced as he watched her, unable to call out. In a hoarse whisper he tried to call her back, but to no avail. She moved through the thicket of pots, pails, and scattered poles. She made a beeline for a small tent that was propped in a corner. She disappeared behind the flap and Serge was forced to wait out the time being in a near panic.
He crept into the outer edge of the encampment, keeping himself at the guard's back, incase he woke up. He snorted and started a couple times but remained asleep, which gave Serge the jitters, stopping his heart with each sound the dragoon made. After what seemed like an eternity—which had only been a few minutes at most—Kid reemerged from the tent, first peeking around the flap before coming out into the open. She looked at Serge with a grin as she pussyfooted her way back through the camp, pausing at the guard long enough to pick the flower from his limp hand.
Serge breathed in irritation as he rolled his eyes at the lass. She couldn't seem to help being a nuisance; her penchant for rabblerousing and thievery was going to get them into a lot more trouble than they already planned on making. She passed him by and he turned to follow her, casting one last look at the camp.
When they went around the curve in the makeshift road, Kid became giddy and flirtatious like a schoolgirl. "Guess what I got us, stud," she whispered breathlessly.
"A pretty flower tuh match yer blue eyes," responded Serge, releasing his tension through his words. "But ye' woulda done better wit' a flytrap; bettuh suits yer personality."
A punch to the arm stopped the rest of his comments as she jingled a leather pouch in front of his face, her breath heady. "Monies, ye' dote. I gots us some dough so ye' can spoil me."
"Bun in duh oven good, too?"
Kid punched him hard across the cheek with a free hand he didn't remember her having, and for some reason this was really funny to him. Serge started sniggering and choked in an attempt to keep his voice down as he rubbed his aching jaw.
"Serves ye' right, ye' ass," she whispered fiercely, transferring the sack of coins back to her empty hand. "Yer lucky I don't gutcha."
"Sorry, but dat was funny; ye' set yerself up fer it," Serge retorted quietly as he touched his jaw tenderly. The girl packed a punch.
The further into the valley they went, the more they realized how it had gotten its name. Scattered throughout the mountains were gargantuan skeletons embedded in the stone, but the way that they were situated, as well as the way they were worn down by weather, suggested that the range wasn't being excavated. From higher up, a true valley of skeletal structures littered the floor and mountainsides, but down in the ravine that was the natural road between the northern and southern parts of El Nino Archipelago, only a hint of Fossil Valley could be seen; a spine that was the tail of a large beast wound its way down the rocky cliff towards the road, and an empty eye socket shroud by the maw of a giant skull peeked over the edge further down the cliff. A small rise of land made way for a ladder that led up to the skull of the monolithic, long-dead creature.
It was an ominous sight. The playful banter ended and discomfiture set in. Every now and then streams of tiny bones crossed their path, and they had to walk over them, closing their eyes and bracing themselves as each step made a resounding, sickening crunch. Since the sun wouldn't touch the ravine until midmorning, the dusky shadows caught them off-guard more often than not, especially when their imaginations were given too much freedom. Every time they finished crossing a patch of bones Kid would shudder, looking like she was about to vomit.
Time and time again Serge heard her muttering to herself, saying "Never again," or "Gotta get outta here." He wasn't in a joking mood and he honestly felt the same way. The place had an eeriness about it that set his nerves on end. He wanted nothing more than to pick up the mantra Kid had started.
Sunlight peeked gently around the next turn and in the shadows they saw another encampment before the other end of the ravine. There was more activity at this end. Two dragoons were walking around, entering tents and setting fires. As Kid and Serge crept forward, they tried to get a sense of a pattern from the guards, but there really wasn't one. So stealth as well as luck would play a large part in their getting past the guard post unnoticed.
Kid led the way, crouched forward and running lightly on the balls of her toes. She waved Serge to a stop as a guard looked like he was about to turn in their direction. The dragoons' distraction allowed the young duo to slip behind tents and move along the edge of the mountains while the guards were preparing for the day. Anxiousness caused by the valley passage only made the hide-and-go-seek game that much more agonizing. When a guard entered the larger tent that probably held the other sleeping dragoons, Kid made a break for the grassy knoll just a few hundred paces away, with Serge close on her heels.
A hard bank to the left led them into a small copse of trees. Serge was breathing hard and had his hands on his knees, doubled over, but Kid had the presence of mind to check the outpost to see if they had been spotted. Since no extra commotion came from the encampment, she visibly relaxed. As she walked by Serge, she slapped his rump.
"Done already?" she chided.
All he could do was give a breathy laugh.
Termina was a port city and had the largest cluster of residential and business areas than any place in El Nino, with its many shops and hundreds of homes that spread from the port itself into the fields and forests on the outskirts of the city walls. The docks and stone piers backed up against a hill, where the city walls took to the sky, utilizing many stairs, ramps, and curvaceous walkways that wound around entire sections of the city, which allowed many homes to be built on top of each other, housing as many people in as small of an area as possible.
Since Termina was built up and in, Serge and Kid saw it long before they reached it. Its size daunted Serge, since this was the first time he had seen the city since he was a small child, and the place was overwhelming compared to the tiny, twenty-hut Arni. Serge whistled as he beheld the city by midmorning. It seemed thick and unrelenting to him, more impersonal than the wooden shacks of his home village.
"Iss huge," muttered Serge as he looked at the ziggurat tower over the trees.
Kid dropped her pack and fished for her waterpouch. As she took a drink, she looked at the peak of the city, and then handed the pouch to Serge. "Naw, that ain't nuttin'. Dis is more like a town than a city, least by the way we look at it on d'mainland."
Serge savored the cool water trickling down his throat. Corking the cap again, he handed the pouch back to Kid. "Yer from d'mainland?"
"Aye. Not much tuh rave about, 'specially when yer driftin' 'round like I've been," Kid said, shouldering her pack. "Com'n. We've got lots o' work t'do once we get to Termina."
A long flight of stairs led up to Termina proper. Sandstone and granite surrounded them when they reached the very top of the staircase. Stone pylons were erected at both sides of the stairs that were topped with what looked like bell statues. Banners fluttered from both bells where they would normally be mounted. Metal rods ran along the short walls of the pavilions on either side of the entry well and through the bells themselves, bending upwards and forming an intricate awning that was laced with flowers and small banners.
The sheer magnitude of the place forced Serge to stop and take a good look around. To the right was an entranceway that had a sign of two fish twining together in mid jump. It had the look of either a tavern or an inn to him, and as he looked further along the wall that ran past the platform, he saw a group of windows that looked like it ran two stories down, not up. On his left, he saw an elderly lady selling flowers and delicate plants, a soldier was speaking with the saleswoman inquiring about bellflowers. Loud conversations and joyful shouting could be heard mixing with the bartering of sales people further up the stairs a dozen paces ahead. Drunken men were making a ruckus on the next platform while kids ran by at breakneck speeds, seen only by the bobbing of their little heads until they reached the stairs.
Kid grinned and touched Serge's arm. His awestruck eyes turned her way. "Close yer mouth," she said. "Yer gonna catch flies like dat. Com'n, I'm hungry. I've heard about this amazin' Squid Gut Pasta all d'way from the mainland." She dragged him up the next flight of steps.
Kid looked around quickly, her braided blonde hair bouncing around lethally. More than once Serge was belted in the face or neck by it. "Oi, where is it?" She saw a woman walking with an infant in her arms nearby. "'Scuse me, this place sell dat squid pasta?" she inquired, jerking a thumb over her shoulder towards the establishment that had a wooden carving of a barbed lizard's tail hanging from the wall by its door. "Really? Great!"
And with that Kid was lugging Serge through the swinging doors, breaking his examination of a compass carved in the stone ground of the second level. A few tables lined the long hall, each capable of seating a dozen people. On the back wall there were lanterns behind old-fashioned cages that were common in churches, but the stained glass pieces were missing. Chandeliers hung above each table, brightening the scene but making the room almost as hot as it was outside.
Kid went towards the back, where a woman could be seen behind a counter. Serge followed her part of the way and then decided to find a table. Most were occupied, so he settled for a smaller table for four near the back of the establishment. He unclipped his Swallow and leaned it against the edge of the table. Kid took a few quick paces and a couple of skips to reach him; it seemed like she had a lot of pent-up energy but she didn't come across as being childish.
"They 'ave it! I'm so excited. Anyway, the wench shoul' be by soon." Now she took a moment to look around and get a feel for the place. "At least it's cooler further in. Lots o' people talkin' funny stuff, too. I guess there's a concert or summat goin' on. Guy's been on the mainland a few times, but I ain't ever bothered with it."
Serge leaned back and listened to the people conversing at a nearby table. "Aye, villagers be makin' a ruckus 'bout them bein' on duh Zelbess—well, back home anyhow."
Kid looked back at him and reached her hand across the table to pat his. "S'alright, bub. We'll get these bastards an' getcha home." Turning around in her seat so she could look around, she continued, "Sooner we get inta duh manor, the better. Ooh, he's cute—in a creepy kinda way."
She tipped her head towards the bar, singling out the rather slender man who had a long silver braid going down his back. He was flamboyantly dressed for a man; he wore white pants tucked into black boots. He wore an opened black dress shirt with a white coat that flared out drastically at the cuffs. Serge cleared his throat and looked away, but before Kid could offer an inquiry, their server approached. She was dainty, nondescript, and weary.
"Squid Gut Pasta, if ye' will," Kid said. "An' an ale."
"Ale. Ye've brown ale, aye?" asked Serge, when she nodded in concurrence, he nodded in satisfaction. "Den dat'll do."
As their server departed, Kid rubbed her hands together briskly, like a kid in a candy store. "Ye' ain't gonna eat?" she asked as their ales arrived.
He shook his head. "Naw. What ye' ordered woul' make me lose me stomach."
"Bah! It ain't as bad as that."
With a laugh, he said, "Suit yerself. I ain't gonna be touchin' dat wit' a ten-pace pole."
"Awe, an' I wanted ye' to spoon feed me wit' yer—" she didn't finish her statement as she took a drink and gestured to his weapon. "Whatever dat is."
"Dat's a Swallow. Me pa made it when I was a pup. An' spoon-feedin' ye' ain't gonna happen, not since ye' shot me down."
With a wag of her finger, she chided, "That's 'cause yer 'spectin' play wit' no work. Me?" This was followed with a dramatic gesture to herself. "I'm worth a lotta work, d'kind of muscle-achin', sweat-buildin' labor dat'll keep a girl goin' crazy. Oooh, yeah."
Serge gave her an incredulous look that suggested she was clearly insane.
Her food came and she tore into it with such gusto that it left Serge just as baffled as it had when she was vulgar. Kid emitted small sounds of enjoyment as she ate; never having her mouth empty for more time than it took for her to shovel more pasta into it. From what he could tell of the dish before it was obliterated was that it had linguini noodles, a white cream sauce that he thought had mushrooms and asparagus in it by the smell, and chunks of cooked squid stomach. The aroma was appealing and it did look rather tasty…that is, if the patron didn't know where the foodstuff had come from.
And so while Kid devoured her food, washing it down every now and again, Serge eavesdropped on the nearby conversations.
"Ugh, I lost me job today. Dunno how it really happened, but I'm back on the market for somethin' else."
Another man at the table sighed a bit heavily, saying, "Again? Can ye' not keep a job for more than a season?"
"Season work is what I'm good at," countered the first man.
"Yeah, well…ye' have tuh work, man. It's the only way you'll make money."
"Actually," began the jobless man again, almost breathless with excitement. Serge could hear the scraping of a mug as he made room to get in closer, "that's fancy ye' said that, Jock, 'cause I heard that the Frozen Flame's somewheres nearby. Me bet's at the manor along wit' that demi-human feller."
In aspiration, Jock asked, "Frozen Flame? Treasures and gems and jewels? Can't ye' jus' work for a living?"
"No, no, ye' don't understand. If I can get me hands on this, I'll be richer beyond reason!" he said in a husky whisper. "It's rumored that those blokes, the Radical Dreamers from the mainland, are lookin' for it, too, and that they're here in El Nino! But I tell ye', they won't see it, not if I can get to it first."
Their conversation ended momentarily as he heard the server's quiet voice. "Hey, Jock, I'm really tight for monies; can ye' buy me this next round?" A pause, then: "Thanks."
The serving girl came over to Serge and Kid's table and asked if everything was alright. Kid was still in rapture over her disgusting feast, but she grunted around a mouthful of food and wiggled her mug. Shaking his head and swallowing laughter, Serge looked up at the girl and gave her a nod when she asked if he wanted another round. He finished his drink and continued listening to the other conversation.
"Do ye' honestly believe this is a jewel or gem? If ye' ask me, 's prolly a creature of some sort—or weapon—an' maybe ye' shouldn't go lookin' for trouble. Get a job an' call it a day. The Festival should be lookin' for workers. Ye' can get a job wit' one o' them."
"Ah, hell, easy money's what I'm 'bout, Jock. The Terminian Dream, that is!"
Serge shook his head and watched as the flamboyant man took down a shot of amber liquor and snatched up his staff, heading out. Their second round of drinks arrived and he began to drink while Kid scraped up the last of the chunky sauce onto the fork.
"Oi, that was good!" she said, sitting back and placing her hands across her stomach as if she was bloated.
Lofting his entire brow, Serge looked at her. "Yer disgustin'."
"Hey, tha's a fine cuisine dish if I ever 'ad one, bub. So mind yer manners." She took a heavy pull out of her mug.
"Manners?" Somehow the image of her eating just then and her comment made him laugh at the audacity of it all.
Kid finished her second drink and urged Serge to do the same. "Com'n, hurry. I wanna check this place out summore." At her request, he finished his drink quickly, paid for the meal and drinks, gathered their belongings, and then left in a flurry.
The heat and light outside was as suffocating as it was blinding. Both of them made sounds of distaste as they made their way towards the bridge where the tents were set up. They passed by a few women talking heatedly about Nikki the Bard and how amazing he was both visually and vocally; three men were huddled together outside a permanent shop that had a sign shaped like a jewel, talking about mushrooms and their rarity.
That last conversation made him smile somewhat forlornly, having reminded him about the many similar conversations in Arni about fish and shells. That train of thought led him down the path of what had happened to him recently and his good mood had evaporated as quickly as ice melting in the summer sun. What he was going to do was anybody's guess. Kid had the right idea, he supposed, and finding out why this had happened seemed like a shot in the dark, but he had to try. He had to do something.
With a start, he looked at Kid as she stopped him with a hand on his chest. "Let's just look out over the water for a minute or two," she said in a dreamy sort of tone that puzzled him, but he was distracted and obliged without complaint.
After a moment or two of looking out at the water run under the bridge, he realized that Kid wasn't seeing the beauty of the place; her attention was elsewhere, and as he glanced around, he saw the silver-haired man in white talking to a short woman with a cowl wrapped around most of her head. Serge propped himself against the ledge of the bridge with his elbows and looked down at the ground a pace in front of his feet, listening to the conversation. After a few interchanges between the man and woman, it dawned on Serge that Kid wasn't ogling the man: she was listening to the conversation that had to do with the manor.
"Guile, Guile, Guile. It's impossible, just accept it," the shrouded woman said. She was so short that she only came up to the bottom of his chest. Her neck was craned to the point where her wrapped head cradled in the hood of her robes.
Guile, who was the man from the bar, replied, "No; there is trickery to all mysterious magic; there is no such thing as an impregnable fortress."
The woman gave a raspy sigh that made her seem old. "I know naught about these fickle things as trickery and deceit, my good sir, but you must believe me when I tell you: 'tis impossible. The guards flow like water there, they are ever-moving and in abundance."
"I said I would get it, and I will. Something as small as the medallion should pose no real problem, except from inside, because getting in is but a minor inconvenience."
"If you insist! The bet, then, is still on and you've three days left to not only enter the manor but to come away with the token," crooned the heavily-garbed lady. "Time is ticking, as they like to say."
"I simply wish my prize when I return victorious," said Guile in an oddly neutral tone.
"We shall See," said the lady a bit haughtily.
With a clack of his staff upon the ground, Guile snatched it up and said sternly, "Work your magic elsewhere, milady. I've a date with Lady Luck."
As he headed back towards the direction of the Dragon's Tail tavern, the old woman shook her head and sighed heavily. Suddenly, she harked, "Fortune-telling! I shall read your fortunes for a coin!"
"Oi, these people!" cried Kid melodramatically, feigning a swoon.
That attracted the attention of the fortune-teller and she approached them, "Ah, I see something special here." Her eyes were only on Serge, and he didn't realize it immediately. It took Kid shoving an elbow in his side for him to look up.
"Fortunes can be good; fortunes can be bad; I can do anything from reading your destiny to searching for the missing. You, boy, would you like your fortune read?"
Kid snorted. "Come off it, lady."
"No, no," started Serge, somewhat lackadaisical. "Lesse wha' she's gotta say."
The blonde lass was a bit disgruntled but remained quiet nonetheless.
The fortune-teller cleared her throat and closed her very large brown eyes. Humming to herself, she raised her hands towards Serge and began to sway. After a moment she said: "Well, isn't this interesting? You're not dead, are you? Has somebody called you back from the great Beyond?" Her brow furrowed in consternation and even though Serge couldn't see it, he imagined that her mouth was contorted into a grimace. "You…you just might have the key to the destruction of this entire planet. I…Huh, well, I cannot say for sure, but it seems that Fate has a great task for you, boy." As her eyes opened again, she visibly relaxed. "Be careful, not just with yourself, son, but with the choices you make."
A burst of snorted laughter came from Kid. "Whatta bunch o' rubbish! What the hell kinda' shite ye' feedin' people? Key to destruction an' Fate has a great task? Hah! What a joke. Com'n, Serge, lets get outta here."
Anger burned behind those murky eyes as the fortune-teller squared her shoulders to Kid. Her eyes snapped shut and she extended a palm towards the taller, younger girl. When she opened her eyes, she said: "You there! Within you I perceive both the look of beauty and the look of a beast. Be mindful not to bring about your own end, my dear, or those of loved ones. A dream lies in wait, reaching out to engulf you."
"Surry, mum, but I dun believe in fortune-tellin'," snapped Kid. She slammed a fist against her chest to accentuate her next statement. "I make me own future by meself."
"Lass," sighed the old fortune-teller, seeming to sag under the weight of her wisdom, "just once you should listen to the advice of others."
Kid reached out and grabbed Serge by the arm and tugged him along angrily. "Heh, I dun give a damn, lady. Com'n, Serge."
Kid was so wrapped up in venting about the fortune-teller that Serge just listened to her as they walked along the bridge blindly. There was a lanky boy with a Mohawk throwing rocks at a few kids around a covered tank while the shopkeeper was shouting angered remarks to him.
They went down a steep set of stairs, passing by people who barely got out of the way of Kid bowling over them. Bitter remarks followed them down. When they reached the bottom, Serge stopped Kid and turned her to face him.
"Listen tuh yerself, darlin'." Serge stared at her downcast eyes. "Iss okay. We be fine. No need tuh get worked up over nuttin'."
Kid sighed and looked up and met Serge's eyes, they were twinkling with unshed tears. She swallowed down and looked grim. Blinking back tears, she gave a forced smile. "Sorry, man. Got carried away."
"Iss alright, lass," said Serge affectionately. He ruffled her hair a bit.
When Serge looked around, he saw an elevated shack half-shroud in trees and surrounded by low streams. They were shaded from the sun by the great walls of Termina and the air smelled fresh and clean. There were small rafts and a few canoes drifting along the river that led out into the sea, and above all, it was exceptionally quiet. It started to occur to Serge on how they had ended up there.
He decided that they should leave, and guiding Kid, Serge led her back towards the steps. The young man who was talking to the shopkeeper of the flower shack was descending the staircase. As he made to pass them by, his gaze caught on something Kid had. There he stopped Serge politely.
"Excuse me, sir," he said with a nod to Serge, "Miss," he gave Kid. "I see that ye' have a bellflower. I was wondering if ye' would be kind enough to part with it."
He was only a few years older than Serge and already had the scars and hard lines of a tough life beneath his belt. He had dark green eyes, and his sandy-blonde hair was a bit flyaway if only for the weather. He looked immaculate and simple at the same time, wearing earthy tones which contrasted greatly with most people in Termina—either commoners or travelers.
Serge looked down at the bellflower tucked loosely in Kid's belt. They made eye contact before he slipped the flower from its place and turned back to the man. "Sure."
"How much would ye' wish for this?" inquired the man, reaching for his coinpurse with his free hand.
Kid opened her mouth to barter, but Serge pinched her hipbone, which resulted in her squeaking. "Nuttin'. I saw ye' lookin' fer 'em, an' ye' cun find a betta' use, methinks."
The man lifted his eyes. "Thank ye', kind sir—" and then to Kid—"milady." Before he left, he said, "I shall remember this kindness."
Now alone, Kid backhanded Serge on the elbow and whispered fiercely, "Whatcha do that for? We coulda got a pretty price off that flower!"
Serge pushed her up the first few steps and retorted, "Ye' need tuh see when generosity benefits, Kid. Up ye' go. We gots a thief t'catch an' a plan t'hatch."
"Stop it," she grumbled as she caught her footing and ascended the steps. "Yer makin' me all flustered."
He couldn't help it; he really liked that woman.
They made a hasty retreat by the fortune-teller who was, thankfully, engaged with a small cluster of customers. Kid looked as if she swallowed a frog as she hid on the other side of Serge as they flew by the old woman. Once they were off the bridge and back in Termina proper, they made their way to the Dragon's Tail tavern and ducked inside. The afternoon was already peaking and the heat was so unbearable for most people that they had crowded indoors. The tavern was no exception.
Serge scanned the heads of the customers; he had kept command of the situation since Kid seemed a bit out of sorts for the time being. Guile was easy enough to find since he was about a head taller than most of the other patrons. Serge guided Kid first by the arm and then by the waist as the establishment became much more crowded the further in they went.
Guile was standing at a table, bent over and talking quietly with a well-endowed blonde woman that had her corset so tight it looked like she was about to either spill out of it or burst its seams. She giggled at something apparently witty that the silver-haired man had said, and something inside Serge was silently grateful that the other man's preference was known.
"'Scuse me," Serge said as he stood just aft to Guile.
Guile turned to look sidelong at Serge, which was almost at eye level despite being bent over.
Serge answered the look of inquisition with a rueful expression, "Miss Luck offers 'er condolences."
That bit of witticism was met with a sly smile from the graceful man. Looking back down at the woman—her breasts when she wasn't looking, her eyes when she was—and said with sadness that wasn't faked, "I regret, Olivia, that our wonderful conversation will have to wait for another time. You have my most sincere apologies—"
Serge was already walking away, but since his adrenaline was keyed up, he could hear everything as he moved for an empty table towards the back.
"—Do I have your consent to depart?" Guile already had her hand cradled in his as he paused with her knuckles just a breath away from his lips. She giggled and said something—probably anything to get that kiss, Serge assumed—to which Guile feathered her hand with the briefest of touch of his lips before heading over to where Serge and Kid were seated.
"Whiskey fer d'board, doubles fer Miss Luck's health, an' ales because iss hotter dan hell outside," Serge said, gesturing to an empty chair. Guile sat down fluidly, not speaking until after the drinks had arrived.
The commotion was uproarious, nearly impossible to think through, but the three looked from one to the next, and Serge opened up the conversation, the noisy din a good cover despite the armored dragoons scattered throughout the place. "M'name's Serge, dis is Kid."
"My name is Guile," he said. "It seems that you have a just proposition for a gambling man." It was a statement, not a question.
"'Pose I offered ye' a way tuh get whatcha wan', an' all we be askin' fer in return is a bit o' help wit' ours?"
"And praytell what that might be."
Serge lifted his shot glass and waited for the other two to do the same. When everybody had theirs raised, he offered, "Tuh Miss Luck."
The toast was echoed and they threw back their shots of smoky whiskey and then Kid got down to business. "Ye' need a way inside the manor an' we need a way onto the property. I think we can help each other. If we work together, both sides can get what we need, eh?"
Guile seemed a bit perplexed, and when he spoke, his words were slow and careful, "How do you propose we get inside, provided I can get us onto the premises?"
Serge put his two cents worth in, "An' how'll we get ontuh duh property?"
"To the backside of the manor, where it faces the sea, there is a pathway of sorts up the cliff wall. Not to mention that I have elements of use to us that could get us on the property without much worry," Guile said as he propped an elbow onto the table and wagged a finger, looking first at Serge and then to Kid. "But here's the catch, we need to get a sea-worthy vessel and a solid enough sailor to not only guide us through the treacherous rocky shore, but someone who will not speak of where or what we are doing…ever. Now, your turn. How do we get in?"
Kid smiled and said, "Through the front door."
Guile blinked.
With a look of mischief that spoke volumes about her, she added rather than amended, "I have me ways."
"This is interesting. And what about you?" the long-haired man inquired of Serge.
With a shrug as response, he simply said, "Imma 'long fer duh ride."
Sitting back, Guile scrutinized the pair as he nursed his ale. Finally, he said, "And about transportation?"
Kid wagged a finger at him and smirked. "Now dat I ain't tellin' until we're ready t'leave. Deal?"
With a look of consternation, Guile replied, "That is one hell of a risk."
"Ain't wantin' ye' to be runnin' off on yer own when ye' find out our way in, now would we?" chided Kid after a hefty gulp of her drink.
"Your point is well taken. Where and when? I have but a small window in which I can work."
"How's 'bout tomorrow afternoon?" Kid inquired.
"That works for me."
At this point, Kid went for the throat. "Now…ye' gots any monies tuh chip in?"
A smirk crept up on Guile's lips as he eyed the woman. "That can be arranged."
"Good. Now dat's settled, bub, let's drink."
It looked like Lady Luck was with everybody that night; and Serge reflected on that as intoxication started to sink in. They drank a few more rounds and Serge couldn't keep his eyes off of Kid. She did so much swindling by the end of it that Serge couldn't help but admire her—truly admire her.