Chapter IX

"Damn Tricky Business"

The contents of the little pot in front of Glenn bubbled and sizzled as he gingerly stirred it. The alluring scent of the stewed chicken filled every crevice of the tiny room and he began to salivate in anticipation as he swirled the dark brown concoction around in the earthenware vessel. Leena sat across from him, knees tucked against her chest and her eyes focused absentmindedly on the tendrils of flame that licked the sides of the container. She threw a wayward glance at the figure that leaned against the wall at the far end of the room, partially obscured by the shadows cast by the dying light outside, and flashed a weary smile.

"So," Leena began, "how did you come to find yourself in Choras…Kid?"

The young woman with the ponytail nodded and walked over to the small flame situated at the center of the almost cell-like enclosure. She collapsed onto her rear with a gruff sigh and crossed her slender legs, contorting them with the ease and grace of a skilled gymnast or, as Leena was beginning to suspect, one whose dubious labors relied upon a top physical constitution.

"Lookin' for adventure mostly," Kid replied with a shrug. "I'm also in search of someone." She brushed a few stray blond strands from her face and tossed her head. "Just not sure who it is."

"How do you hunt for something when you don't know what you're searching for?" Glenn asked as he laid the wooden spatula on the lid of the pot. He rapidly swept off the smattering of dust that covered his breeches and took a seat beside Leena. His hand accidentally brushed against hers and she turned to him, beaming. Glenn grinned weakly and cleared his throat as he tried to direct his attention back to Kid.

"Don't know, mate," Kid said. "I just wander around and I'm guessin' that when I see this person I'll know what do." She removed the dagger that hung at her waist and sliced off a helping of bread. "How about you two? You never told me why you didn't have yer papers. Why would they ask you for 'em anyway?" She narrowed her eyes mischievously and smirked. "Didn't get caught playin' hanky panky in public did you?"

"Oh, goodness no!" Glenn exclaimed as he felt the blood rush to his cheeks. "It's nothing like that!"

Leena snickered and playfully nudged her companion. "He's too proper to do anything like that. If anything, he'd probably want to wait until—"

"Leena!" Glenn stammered, horror struck at her bold and candid behavior.

Kid giggled and held up her hands as a gesture for order. "Okay, okay. We'll leave yer private life out of the discussion," she said as she looked at Glenn. "But really now, why the big fuss over missing papers? These Porre blokes will just report you and you'll get fined. Happens all the time."

Glenn shared a momentary glance with Leena and shifted awkwardly. "You see, there's more to it than just not having papers. It's one part of it, but—" He sighed. "It's a long story."

"And I have the time," Kid said, "so spill it."

Glenn slowly recounted the course of events that led to his and Leena's arrival at Choras while Kid listened intently, her eyes widening at every passing detail. She pursed her lips in anger as Leena described the fall of Guldove and Arni and the murder of the two fishermen and the village elder. Fire burned in Kid's eyes as tales of brutality and revulsion unfolded before her and her fists clenched and unclenched in resentment. The particulars of Glenn's mission, however, sparked in her an unquenchable interest.

"I think I can help you two out," Kid said after Glenn had finished his narration. "You want to get onboard one of those supply ships going out of the West Cape, right?"

"Ideally," Leena replied, "it sure beats having to swim to Porre and I don't think there's any other way seeing how the whole island chain is under blockade."

Kid nodded. "You won't get far on a civilian ship. But let's say I get the both of you there. What's yer plan once you set foot on enemy soil?"

Glenn shrugged and chewed his lower lip. "I'm not entirely sure. I'm operating in the dark, so to speak. The General did not provide me with enough intelligence information before my departure. But it's understandable, what, with the Porre crisis and all."

"This is what you'll do," Kid said resolutely, "Once you reach the mainland you'll have to haul yer asses to Truce. There's a major resistance cell there that might be able to give you two a hand with this Norris bloke. Personally, I haven't met any of 'em, but I hear these things through the grapevine. These guys are well entrenched and supposedly a large number of 'em are ex-Guardia Royal Army soldiers being led by ex-Royal Army officers. Can't fill you in on much, but as far as I know they're reliable."

"It won't be easy," Leena remarked.

"I never said it would be. It might even be near impossible to leave this island. It's a damn tricky business, that's all. If you two have to find this Norris you have no other choice. The mainland being occupied territory, you'll literally have to face the entire Porre Army. I don't know about you, mate, but I don't like those odds one bit."

"It's a risk that we'll have to take," Glenn replied. "Besides, they're unaware of my mission and our movements."

"Not yet anyway. I wouldn't count on remaining anonymous for long. Chances are every town you'll be going to will be crawlin' with spies. Nothing escapes the Porre scum and you can quote me on that."

The lid from the pot began to rattle slightly as the contents came to a rapid boil and began to seep out from the corners. Glenn quickly threaded a wooden pole through the wrought iron handle and delicately lifted the scorching object from its place on the open flame. He settled the smoking black vessel onto the floor and carefully pushed the cover off.

"Dinner time," he said with a grin.

"How do you plan on getting us onto the ship, Kid?" Leena inquired as she skewered a morsel of chicken. "You said before that it might be impossible to leave Choras."

"Impossible for some, but not for me," Kid replied with a smile. "I'll think of something. Just leave it to me."

* * * *

Dario, Zoah, and Marcy stood in silence while General Viper restlessly strode around the interior of the cavern. All around the soft moans of the wounded settled uneasily upon the handful of survivors from the catastrophic battle of the previous week. Off in the distance, winding through the tunnels hewn from the red granite of Mount Pyre, the screams of men being treated by field surgeons seared an indelible imprint in the minds of those fortunate enough to escape the implements of army doctors.

Viper ceased pacing and slowly turned to his Field Marshals. "Our numbers?"

Dario looked at the General with mournful eyes. The brave leader that had inspired the last stand of the Acacia Dragoons had ostensibly evaporated in the wake of the retreat from Viper Manor that had turned into a rout. The old man's eyes were dull and listless; his imposing frame drooped with fatigue and, without a doubt, sorrow after having lost one of his best commanders.

Marcy and Zoah remained motionless, their gaze resting on Dario, waiting for him to deliver the dreadful news. The Army had disintegrated into an armed rabble during the withdrawal from the Manor and what was left was no longer fit for battle. Men had thrown down their muskets in panic and gunners had abandoned their artillery when the Porre infantry broke into a mass bayonet charge. Thoroughly demoralized, the Acacian troops fled in terror. Only a desperate and ultimately self-sacrificing charge by two reduced squadrons of mounted dragoons kept the attackers occupied long enough for the General and his Staff to escape.

"Our numbers, Dario?" Viper repeated, "What of our numbers?"

Dario shook his head forlornly. "There is no army, Milord," was all he could say.

"And Karsh? What about Karsh?"

"Missing in action, Milord," Dario replied despondently. He swallowed the lump that formed in his throat and fought back the tears. "And presumed dead."

General Viper waved his hand and silently dismissed his officers. Once they had gone, he sank to knees, buried his face in his hands and wept.

* * * *

The Sergeant eyed the soldier and his prisoner warily. He pulled out the passenger manifest and scanned the list of names briefly, the pencil in his hand running across the creamy parchment and leaving soft grey marks. He frowned and stuffed the wad of paper back into his tunic.

"I don't see your name here," the Sergeant said, "and there's no record of any 'living' cargo being authorized by the Governor." He glanced at the fiery young captive and snorted.

"I have my orders from General Ulrich from the mainland," the private replied. "I must bring this dangerous resistance fighter back to the Republic for a trial. I cannot take responsibility for failure to do so, Sir."

"Ulrich? I haven't heard of a General Ulrich before." The officer looked at the pair circumspectly and clicked his tongue.

"A member of the General Staff, Sir!"

The Sergeant pulled out the manifest again and made a few marks on the last page. He grunted and waved the private and his detainee through. Within minutes, the gangplank leading up to the cargo steamer was withdrawn, the whistle on the R.P.M.S. Herbivilion blew twice, and plumes of white smoke billowed from the stacks as the vessel set out from West Cape.