Chapter 24: Friendship
The preparations for their infiltration to the Endeavor had finished as sun dipped down on its journey. Leaving the three to reinforce the planning in their minds until moon rose and night with it.
Plan went to motion as the three, clothed only in linens, dipped into the harbor's waters. It chilled to the bone, even in spit of summer warmth and some worry was spent that they'd clatter teeth before rising.
But there was no retreating from this; though the plan had just began its execution 'twas no other one to replace it.
They swam towards the Endeavor; darkness their ally, moonlight their enemy. The Gryphons had assured them no vessel was clear for departure but they still gave wide-enough distance to the anchored ships.
The Endeavor came to light, patrols on dock, on ship all carrying torches. It made it clear where each and every one of the people they needed to avoid was.
Their reinforcements came into view not long after. One holding torch, five Gryphons and a Templar marched towards the ship's ramp. They drew all attention all eyes. Fire above turned and looked at the commotion of the script playing below them.
This was the time.
The three swam over to the ship, below the ship's gallery. There was one guard above, facing way of the dock. Raised voices in the night covered their approach well.
Now was the tricky part.
With Isilud's insistence he was "no ninja" they needed to be clever with their entrance.
Luck smiled on them, as they had access to deep funds and a trade city. So they settled for the next best solution.
They rose Isilud on their shoulders, difficult as it was, for him to step off and float.
The winged boots worked perfectly.
With some semblance of land to work off of, Isilud leapt unto the veranda with little sound. Brandishing a kunai, he impaled the man's throat, holding the man and torch as he bled, and died. He may not be a ninja but he knew their blades.
Isilud tied rope around railing and tossed it below, the two left to swim climbing up after.
Good so far. But now was the difficult part.
They retrieved the spare equipment they carried aboard in small, water-proof trunks and wrung out their clothes as best as able. A potion and phoenix down apiece; mage's cloak for Ramza and eleven cloaks for Delita and Isilud. Mythril shields, headbands and jujitsu gis worn by all. In addition to a pistol to serve as the spark to send the Gryphons to war.
A normal battle would naught require such specific arrangements, simply knight's plate, but 'tis far from ordinary this.
Gear settled, Isilud tied the torch to rail and propped the body to mimick the station. The three crept inside the room.
No one.
Not a surprise with their attack going unnoticed, but 'twas a worry still.
They followed the ship's prints etched into their memory. Leaving the room (carefully checking for enemies as they did) and slipping down the nearest set of stairs. Water trailed behind them, but 'twas little to be done about that with all the haste demanded of them. Shouts would rouse any sleeping crew well-soon enough, dulled by hull and walls or no.
They reached the belowdecks where the prisoners were presumed to be without any further incident, but a peer around corner caught first sight of another man.
Coming this far made clear the majority of the ship's crew must be absent to understaff the halls thus far. It gave some semblance of hope their foemen would be easier to hold, at least.
Though that was for its due time. Now they an enemy at the far end of the hall to eliminate silently. Doors lined each side, rife with dangerous unknowns. Small advantage he faced away. But with shouts dulled inside as they were, chance ran higher of him hearing their approach.
Ramza cursed himself for not learning the repose spell to induce magickal slumber during his mystic training. He'd have to relay on more permanent solutions now.
He indicated 'twas his alone. He crept into the hall, slow at first, with muffled footsteps. What little sound made covered by shout and ship's rocking.
Halfway through the man indicated a turn—Ramza burst into a sprint. The sudden heavy steps spurred his turn—sighted him, eyes widen in surprise, mouth open, hands fumbling for dagger at side.
"In—!" Ramza punched the man in the mouth. Meaty crunch replacing warning. Sloppy footfalls the man fell back, holding to his bleeding mouth whilst Ramza struck again. He tackled the man to the floor, knocking the dagger away, covering mouth and throat.
He struggled and gurgled—attempted to bite him even. His feet beat heavy against the wood but he found no relief from the grim man strangling him. His eyes fell heavy, and a physical repose was imposed on him.
He'd done it.
Ramza pulled himself off the man and checked the bite marks on his hands. They'd not broken skin but stung with the man's crooked teeth imposed on his flesh all the same. He may need a wash of antidote to cleanse himself of any toxins in the man's fetid mouth. Was more a weapon than the dagger laying nearby.
But with that on mind... Ramza retrieved the fallen tool and used it to end the man's life with a quick stab through the throat. Using the man's clothes to staunch any bleeding from leaving a trail.
A dirty execution. For all his attempts at high morals things like this were a necessary at times. They could waste no time binding him for when he regained his wits.
It did not make swallowing any easier.
Delita and Isilud came up behind, nods and grim stares like him. They helped move the body to a dark corner nearby before they all took path back to their goal. Lives to save mattered more than one endangering them.
Ramza kept the knife.
No other guards were along their path. 'Twas too good luck. Something was amiss, all three agreed.
They remained alert as they neared the presumed slave holds. Yet no more met to them. Simply a door—locked, of course. But required no key to open. 'Twas but a simple latch.
Ramza undid it, and slowly pried the door open. Shields raised, flank covered. This was it.
It hit him in the face like a punch and he nearly fell flat on his back to stop it.
The smell.
He'd never sniffed something so vilely terrible in his life and it took everything he had not to add to it with some vomit of his own.
It was every festered wound, open latrine, rotted corpse and unwashed sweat-filed body he'd ever borne displeasure to smell combined.
Thrice that and he still couldn't accurately describe it.
Delita and Isilud soon joined him in barely keeping their dinners down.
Whatever inhumanity within awaited was already poisoning them.
They moved their headbands down to cover their noses as they popped open the door some more.
Hell lay inside.
People stacked like cargo, nigh-naked all of them, starved thin, far down near as the ship was long. Blood, sweat, tears and worse dripped from the rows they were lashed and chained too.
Gods above, who could do this to their fellow man?
The few closest looked at them, eyes empty of any hope. They did not even condemn them. Empty and lifeless, more so than undead he and Delita had faced in the siedge weald on their return from the Sand Rat's Sietch.
The stench was even worse as they entered the room, if such a thing was possible. Isilud manned the door while Ramza and Delita searched the prisoners for their old friend.
'Twas difficult, with the various cruft ruining hair coloring, the emaciated frames and many not even bothering to look up.
What vile profit could be worth such torture? Whom would even survive this madness! Many were simply dead already!
Let Deitrich not be among them.
The people grew healthier, as much as they could, as they moved further. Some manner of muscle or fat still clung to them, their movements were a tad swifter, some even attempted to speak.
Encouraged by this, they reached the end.
These soon-to-be-freed people were in the best compared shape. Some of them struggled with their bonds. Some looked like they'd only been taken recently, their mouths gagged to prevent screaming for help.
One among them was finally familiar.
"Here," Ramza called out, drawing Delita over.
Deitrich was bloody and bruised, his head buried, his limbs shackled and his mouth gagged with a fetid cloth. Ramza pull it free, checked his friend's breath—alive!
"Deitrich, Deitrich can you hear me?" Ramza goaded him. But he remained unresponsive. While Delita worked on the manacles binding him, Ramza infused his body with chakra to mend what wounds he could. This drew curious eyes elsewhere.
But Ramza was more focused on making his friend's eyes open.
Slowly, but surely they did!
He blinked a few times with those sea-blue eyes of his, but he saw, widening them in surprise. "Ramza?"
"Aye, Deitrich," he breathed a sigh of relief. "You're safe now."
The chemist looked around, finding even more surprise at Delita's face. "Delita?" he chocked out, his voice still raspy from being choked.
"You'll be free in a heartbeat, Deitrich." He was halfway through the shackles now.
"The barge of the dead is hardly safe or free," he moaned. "How'd you end up in this glamorous hell Ramza? I must have shunted off in the voyage."
"Nay Deitrich, you're quite alive as is."
The man choked out a bitter laugh. "'Tis a terrible dream to tempt me with freedom then."
Delita sighed. "You're alive, Ramza's alive, and I'm alive." He popped the near-final manacle.
The words were a splash of cold water on Deitrich, his vacant expression washed away completely. "Y-you survived? For true? And Tietra?"
Her brother shook his head.
"I am sorry."
Delita freed him from the shackles. Ramza pulled him out and stood him up. Unlike Delita's recovery, Deitrich had not been laid long enough to be infirm. A tad wobbly, but he could stand.
"What's the plan?" asked Deitrich.
"Can you fight?" said Ramza.
"Do I have a choice?" Ramza pushed the dagger into his hands. "Surely I'll make all the difference here."
'Twas time to start the siege. They returned to Isilud, with introductions, and the beginnings of their plan. They barricaded the hall outside with nearby clutter, rent the door's outside lock and arranged a blockade on the inside.
Ramza layered protect, regen and shell on their foursome and took to the only window with the gun. Unsteady finger on the trigger, he pulled.
The gunshot echoed into the night and battle was on.
Author's Note: I'm editing past Chapters, two a day. A meager improvement.
Thank you all for reading and have a wonderful day.