Chapter Eleven:
No Good Deed Goes Unpunished
"Oh what a tangled web we weave,
When first we practise to deceive!"
…
Molly was a flirt.
Caleb knew this. Probably half of the bartenders in Wildemount knew this.
Additionally, Mollymauk Tealeaf was attractive.
Caleb didn't really view that as his subjective preference, but more of a universal truth.
Molly objectively was attractive.
He had a symmetrical face, a charming smile, and an enticing demeanor that surpassed gender and convention, all punctuated by a perfect set of dimples.
Caleb may have been able to bend reality to his whims, but that still, apparently, didn't give him immunity to being flirted with by an attractive, available colleague. In all fairness though, it would fluster most people. It was a rational reaction.
And that was all there was to it.
Next up was the Nott situation.
Their frozen procession marched back from the hot springs to The Tipsy Seal, snow crunching under their boots. Red lanterns fought off the midnight blue dark.
Nott walked ahead with Jester, exchanging conversation he couldn't hear. It'd been several hours since their earlier fight, and all she'd done since was shoot him sad, wounded looks. He didn't know how many more of them he could bear.
Beau kicked the inn door open, and the party fell once again into the cozy glow of The Tipsy Seal. Patrons lingered around the bar where Valentine refilled tankards, and a violist sat near the large hearth in the back, filling the air with a lazy tune.
They collapsed into the seats around the corner table, and Nott wedged herself between Yasha and Jester, straight across from Caleb.
"Well that was...eventful," Fjord said.
"Hey that snot-nosed brat had it coming, alright?" Beau said with a frown, covering the dark bruise on her bicep.
"Caleb, any word from our friend?" Fjord asked.
"Not yet."
The conversation returned to their disastrous hot springs visit for several minutes until Caleb caught a flash of pink in his periphery.
Love bounded up to their table, apron tails whipping around behind her.
"Oh my gosh, Valentine told me everything," she said, dropping a platter of food on the table. The pale fished on it jumped as if alive before flopping back down, glassy eyes staring straight at Caleb.
"I mean that's so unlucky can you believe it? I mean if you guys had only been a couple hours earlier, just, wow," Love said, shaking her head. "So are you guys going to do it instead?" She asked, cocking her head with her tail swishing behind her.
The group looked to each other in uncertainty.
"It is a possibility," Caleb said at last, trying to sound as hesitant as the group looked.
"Oh, you should, you should!" Love said, eyes bright and bouncing on her heels, "That would be so much more fun than me just helping Lox. Oh, plus you'll get to go to the party and—"
A nearby table called out to her for drinks.
"Ah, we'll talk about this more in the morning," she promised and let her duties pull her away.
"So we're seriously considering this, huh?" Fjord said.
"I think it's a really good idea," Jester said, stabbing a bit of the fish with her fork.
"Because it's a good idea or because you want to go to a fancy party?" Fjord asked.
"Both," Jester said and took an experimental bite of the fish. "I mean, we are pretty sneaky after all."
"I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm running a little low on funds myself," Caleb said. The rest of the party grimaced as they thought of their own coin purses. "And we still have to pay for food, any more supplies we want to pick up," he started to list off.
"The boarding fee for the horses," Molly added.
"Boarding fee," Caleb repeated, "inn when we get back to Zadash, boarding the horses there, food, more supplies—"
"Okay, okay, we're poor again, got it, Caleb," Beau said, through a mouthful of fish.
"He's right though," Fjord said, "if we don't take the job we'll need to pick up work somewhere in Ice Haven to pay for the trip back."
"As much as I don't particularly like tangling with the Empire, I wanna see what our friend offers us for our services," Molly said with a grin. "After all he's in a pretty desperate position right now which gives us the bargaining power." He leaned back in his chair. "I'd do it for the right price."
The rest of the party hummed their agreement.
Caleb fought down the urge to convince them further, acutely aware it would only raise suspicion, so he volunteered to grab their drink order from the bar to distract himself.
"Caleb, wait up," Beau said, catching up with him.
"Is there a problem?" he asked as they reached the bar. The mob of patrons kept Valentine pinned at the other end.
"I mean, seven drinks is a lot for one person to carry," she said, rubbing the back of her neck and looking away.
A cheer erupted from the crowd, and they turned to see Love hopping over to stand next to the violist, a wooden flute in her hands. "Just one, just one," she called to the crowd as they cheered her on. She shared a look with the violist, who readied his bow. She brought the flute to her lips, blowing a single sonorous note that silenced the room. She shot the violist a mischievous grin as she inhaled a second time, then flew straight into a jaunty tavern tune, with runs and trills so quick her fingers danced over the keys in a blur and the violist struggled to keep pace. The crowd cheered once more, some of the drunker patrons trying and failing to clap in time.
"Sorry for the wait," Valentine said, coming over to them and wiping the sweat off his brow. "What can I get for you?"
"Your daughter's very talented," Beau said over the noise, nodding to Love.
"Daughter? Oh, no, Love's not my kid, I just work here," he said with an easy grin.
"Oh shit, sorry," Beau said, "I just thought? With the names? That this was like a family thing?"
Valentine shrugged. "The last bartender was named Dove, and I kinda thought if I didn't have a matchy-matchy name they wouldn't hire me."
"You changed your name just to get a job?" Beau asked.
"Yes?"
"That's kinda fucked up, man. They're not, like, forcing you to stay here or anything right? We don't need to rescue you or anything?"
"Nah, it's not too bad of a gig. Interesting people. Keeps me fed at least," he said with a shrug.
At the other end of the bar, a patron vomited on to the counter.
"Actually, yeah, rescue me right now," Valentine said, wincing. He sighed and wiped his thin hands off on his apron. "Before I handle that, what can I get for you guys?"
Valentine whipped up their assorted house malts and fruit ales, handing the tankards over before going to address the vomit problem. He put a hand out, extracting the mess from the counter with a clumsy Prestidigitation that made the air ripple.
After years of facing down powerful casters, and throwing around fire and lightning with ease, it was easy to forget the more mundane applications of magic. Most of the magically inclined never made it past cantrips, and only a handful in history ever made it to Caleb's level.
That was probably for the best.
"Caleb. Caleb. Caleb Widogast," Beau called, leaning back against the bar and watching him, drinks in hand.
"Sorry."
"Hey, I've been meaning to ask you," she began, voice dropping so he had to strain to hear over the music. "Is everything alright with you and Nott? You didn't say anything shitty to her, did you?"
Caleb grimaced. "I—why do you think that?"
Beau shot him a cut-the-bullshit scowl. "Oh, I don't know, maybe because usually we have to unpeel her from you? But she's been avoiding you for, like, eight hours at this point?"
Six and a half.
"It's…being dealt with," Caleb said at last with an air of finality. And he was going to deal with it. He didn't know how, and he didn't know what he was going to say, but it was going to be dealt with. Hopefully.
Beau looked unimpressed. "I'm not gonna ask what you did, but whatever it was, Caleb, fix it." With a last, dissatisfied look at him, she turned to head back towards the table.
He grabbed the last of the tankards and fell in stride with her. "Thank you, Beauregard."
She blinked in surprise. "Uh, yeah?"
"For looking out for her," he said, looking ahead to where Nott chatted with Jester, back to them. "She deserves…" the words caught in his throat, "…more."
She gave a small, crooked smile at that, elbowing him gently in the ribs. "Just be there for her, dumbass."
"Yeah."
They returned to the table to find several platters of food had arrived and been nearly devoured in their absence and the rest of the party was in a heated debate as to whether they were kicked out of the hot springs for violence or nudity.
Caleb passed around the ale and whiskey, settling back into his chair and keeping one of the weaker drinks to himself. As much as he wanted to lose himself in something strong, he needed to keep his head on his shoulders tonight—especially for his talk with Nott.
The fruit ale tasted bitter at first, but the deeper he got into his tankard the sweeter it became, leaving a cherry aftertaste and sending a tingling warmth to his thawing fingers and toes.
Their debate wound on as patrons filtered around them, filling the air with the roar of laughter and conversation in foreign tongues with the reckless music rising above it all.
Love ended the current tune with a final run, and the violist caught up a beat later. Love snickered, bending over to whisper something to the violist, who looked relieved. She brought her flute back up, looking to the violist, and with a simultaneous nod they began together this time. The melody jumped to life and a cheer passed through the crowd. More patrons attempted to clap along, and a particularly rambunctious band of half-elves started pushing tables out of the way to clear a space while Valentine watched them with dismay.
Molly slammed his drink down and pointed at Jester. "You owe me a dance."
In a moment the tieflings were on their feet, weaving through the tables then spinning out on the impromptu dancefloor in a flourish of colorful fabric.
The half-elves cheered at the newcomers, welcoming them in their midst. The half-elves and other Ice Haven natives fell into a fast dance Caleb didn't recognize, full of spinning and bouncing, and the crowd drew thick around them.
The remaining Mighty Nein pushed out of their chairs, and Yasha plowed them a path to the front. The sound of Jester and Molly's laughter bubbled above the music and noise. Around Yasha's thick arm, Caleb could see the tieflings along with several other tourists, trapped in the middle of the dance, stumbling around but having the time of their lives doing so. The music keened, and their jewelry flashed in the firelight.
Jester spun Molly too vigorously, sending him stumbling through the native dancers and almost colliding with Yasha. Laughing, he took the opportunity to drag her out onto the floor where they fell into a familiar, practiced routine.
At Jester's encouragement, Nott darted out onto the floor and into Jester's arms. They spun together, not a drop of rhythm between them as they tried to navigate the height difference. He could hear the sound of Nott's laughter muffled by her mask. He owed these people so much for being so good to her.
Before he could ruminate further on debts he could never repay, Jester returned for her next victim. She grabbed at Beau, who shook her head and sunk back further into the crowd, so she turned her bright violet eyes on Caleb.
He let himself be extracted from the mob, taste of cherries still warm in his mouth, and joined Jester in her improvised dance. Her skirts whipped around them, long sleeves smacking into Yasha and Nott as they twirled by, and he couldn't keep the grin off his face. Jester said something to him with a mischievous sparkle in her eye, but the music drowned out her words. Before he could speak, Jester spun him out of her arms and across the floor. He passed a wide-eyed Fjord in the same predicament before colliding with Molly, sending the two of them stumbling back several steps.
Caleb grabbed on to Molly's upper arms to steady them both. And before Caleb could mutter his apologies, Molly shifted, resting a hand on Caleb's side and lacing the other through Caleb's own with an eyebrow raised in question. Caleb mirrored the posture, blinking away his daze. He could feel Molly's rings, cool between his fingers, as they started to spin.
"Something the matter?" Molly asked over the noise, smiling too innocently. The alcohol dyed his cheeks and nose a faint fuchsia.
"No," Caleb said, falling in time with Molly. He let him lead, finding it so much easier to focus on the rainbow vision before him than the unpredictable, syncopated rhythm. He focused on keeping his footing, on the familiar golden pendant bouncing against Molly's scarred chest, the wet curls peaking around his pointed ears, and the light hot press of his hands against Caleb's own tunic.
They spun apart then back together, continuing the dance. Mollymauk regarded him with an expression Caleb couldn't place—something between humor and confusion. Caleb took the lapse in Molly's concentration to twirl him around.
"Something the matter?" Caleb asked as they returned to their original position.
The music swelled. A thrown tankard knocked the chandelier—sending it spending and illuminating the frantic blur of bodies around them.
"Quite the opposite," Molly said with a slow smile that Caleb couldn't help returning a shadow of.
More and more couples flooded the floor, pushing them closer and closer out of necessity until the foot of space between their chests became eight inches, then six, then four. Molly's hand slid from Caleb's side to between his shoulder blades. His glossy horns caught the light of the hearth in their ridges. He smelled like lavender and whiskey.
Caleb lost the resolve to meet his gaze, hyperaware of the shrinking distance between them.
A thought bubbled up from his twisting gut:
In another life…
Safe in its resignation but treacherous for the fledgling desire it labelled.
The melody crescendoed to a close—letting the musicians regain their bearing for a moment.
"Thank you for indulging me," Molly said with a little laugh as they untangled from each other.
Cold sank into Caleb in the vacuum of space where Molly once was, and he fought back a shiver. "Uh, yeah, yeah anytime," he said, looking around to regain his bearings on the chaotic inn.
"Promises, promises, promises. Be careful or I might just take you up on that," he said then turned his head. "I think Nott headed towards the bar if that's who you're looking for."
Caleb thanked him and escaped the dancefloor before the next song could start. He wove through the crowd, eyes down, trying to swallow his misgivings.
Molly was attractive, yes, but he was attracted to him, which was several degrees worse. This was fine. He'd had these fleeting attractions before, and his ambitions won out every time. This didn't change anything. It might make that final break worse, but after all he'd done to these people he deserved every ounce of pain that last separation caused him.
In his distraction, he walked into Nott, sending her stumbling back, almost spilling the brimming tankards in either hand.
He sighed in relief. Suddenly the conversation with Nott had become the lesser of two evils.
"Sorry, are you alright?" he asked, steadying her.
"Caleb, I—I got this for you," she said, reigning in the sad expression on her face to offer up one of the tankards.
"Ah, thank you," he said. He hadn't intended on drinking more, but he didn't dare reject her.
"Can we—I think we need to talk," she said, rewording it to be more resolute.
"Ya, I think you're right."
They left the loud belly of the inn for their room where Caleb sat on the bed, tankard clasped in both hands.
Laughter and muted music leaked up through the floorboards. Frost covered the dark window, lit by the subtle red glow of the street below. Frumpkin curled up by the smoldering hearth, watching them through a cracked amber eye. Caleb took another swing of the fruit ale, glad now to be having this conversation buzzed.
"Sooo," Nott began, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. "How's your day been?"
Caleb chuckled. "Oh you know, full of ups and downs. But that's the usual for us."
"Cool coooool," she said bobbing her head. She quirked her mouth as if chewing on a thought, so Caleb took the opportunity to speak instead.
"Nott, I—I wanted to apologize. I shouldn't have snapped at you. I just—"
'Forget the Sharkfin Syndicate. Complete the mission and I'll double the payment.'
Caleb froze, eyes going wide.
"Caleb?" Nott asked.
"It's the Gentleman," he said and pushed himself up to step towards the door. "We have to get everyone."
"Caleb, I don't—" Nott started as she came up beside him, grabbing a hold of his sleeve.
"I promise—I promise you, Nott, we will have this conversation. Tonight. But he'll need an answer," he said earnestly.
"Okay," she said, releasing his sleeve with a conflicted look. "Let's…go get them."
Caleb focused on the fading magical link. 'We'll do it.'
…
"What did he say to you, what did he say to you?" Jester asked, tail flicking in curiosity. All seven tipsy members of the Mighty Nein had gathered in Caleb and Nott's room and settled against the walls.
"Double," Caleb said.
Fjord whistled. "Twenty-thousand gold is…a lot of money."
"Split seven ways," Molly reminded him.
"About three-thousand each," Caleb said.
"Shit." Fjord rubbed his temples, jaw slack in amazement. "That's, like, halfway to a decent house."
"Or a more than decent house if we go in together," Molly added with a grin.
"But we get jack shit if we're dead," Beau said dryly, picking at her nails.
Caleb worked to keep the frown off his face, swirling the remaining liquor in his tankard.
"Did he say anything about the Sharkfin Syndicate?" Fjord asked.
Caleb nodded. "He said if we frame them for it, he'll destroy the blood he has on us." The lie tasted hot on his tongue, but he schooled his face and tone for an even delivery.
"Now that I like," Molly said.
Caleb hummed in agreement, and took another swig from the flagon.
Nott studied him from across the circle, cat-like pupils dilated in the low light.
Caleb raised an eyebrow in what he hoped was a look of casual question. The ale burned on its way down.
"So let me get this straight," Beau said. "We're going to drug the biggest drug dealer in the Empire, take her blood, then rob her. Just making sure we're all on the same page."
"Well when you say it like that is sounds really bad," Jester said with a frown.
Caleb cleared his throat. "I never took you for one who'd pass up the opportunity to mess around with authority, Beauregard," he said, keeping the challenge light in his voice.
She scowled at him.
"Beau does raise a good point," Fjord said. "The consequences of failure on this one—"
"Would be the same," Caleb interjected, "as if we were caught murdering the High-Richter. But we did that."
"Ulog did that," Beau corrected.
"We aren't murdering the Countess though. We just need a little bit of blood is all," Jester said.
"And we need the money," Caleb said, sipping at his flagon to help conceal the tension in his jaw. The alcohol simmering in his stomach mixed with his anxiety and frustration for a nauseating cocktail. A budding headache pounded at his temples.
Beau clenched her fists. "Sure we're cash-strapped, but there are other ways to—"
"I already told him we'd do it," Caleb said shortly.
"Shit Caleb, why would you—" Beau started, but he cut her off, alcohol buzzing in his brain.
"Because we're broke in a foreign city with no other prospects, no supplies, no diamonds, no—"
"What the hell do diamonds have to do with any of this, Caleb?" Beau asked, throwing her hands up in question.
The energy from the anger, panic, and drink turned his body into a live wire. His hands were shaking as he stepped forward, and his mouth moved faster than his thoughts. "Because they are common spell components Beauregard," he said, articulating every syllable like an insult. "Chromatic Orb, Nondetection, Resurrection, Sto—"
She stepped into his space with a snarl. "Who do we need to fucking resurrect, Ca—?"
"Well we can't now, Beauregard," he shouted, throwing his hands up and spinning around, fists white with tension. They'd had this argument a thousand times. "His body is too decayed and our clerics keep dying before they learn that spell!"
"Caleb, what the actual fuck are you talking about, man? Can you even hear yourself?" Beau grabbed his shoulder, but he yanked himself free.
He stumbled back, catching himself on the window sill while the room spun. His brain was on fire. This Beau was twenty-three, not forty. He'd said too much.
Jester rushed forward, laying her hands on his upper arm to steady him. "Maybe we need to get you to bed. Maybe we all need to go to bed. We can talk about this in the morning," she said, casting Fjord a worried look.
"No," said a voice, barely above a whisper.
Caleb dragged his eyes across the floor to meet Nott's unblinking gaze. Her face was pale.
"Repeat—repeat what you said, Caleb," she said quietly.
Caleb ran a sweaty hand through his hair with a sigh. "Nothing, it was—" the words caught in his throat. He cleared it, starting again, "I'm just—" his throat closed. He gagged, clutching at his throat and stumbling forward.
"Caleb," Jester cried, leaning in to support his weight.
His throat relaxed, and he gasped for air, taking in shaking breathes.
His mouth tasted like cherries.
He froze, eyes dropping down to the now-empty tankard in his shaking hand, then drifting slowly up to Nott.
His grip slackened, letting the tankard fall to the ground with a loud thud. The only sound in the room beside the muffled laughter and music leaking in from below. It rolled across the floor, leaving a line of golden liquid between him and Nott.
The moment shattered into a thousand glittering, razor-sharp pieces.
"What did you put in my drink, Nott?" he murmured, voice rough from choking.
Nott took a step forward, eyebrows pressed together in concern before she stopped herself. "There was no other way. You wouldn't tell me what was wrong, so I—"
"Woah, woah, woah, what's this about?" Fjord asked, stepping in the middle.
"He has to tell the truth," Nott said softly, never breaking eye contact with Caleb.
All eyes turned on him.
Cold panic twisted his insides while his mind raced. He couldn't do this. In a motion, he stepped out of Jester's grasp and buried his hand in his component pouch. Hands darted forward to stop him, but he found the caterpillar cocoon and crushed it, mumbling the incantation before they could stop him.
Magic slammed into his frame, pulling him down and in. The room grew larger in a blur as he shrunk, and his bones warped and fused. Feathers exploded from his skin and he beat his new wings, catching the air and soaring high out of his friends' reach.
"Since when could he transform into a bird?" Beau shouted. She jumped up to grab for him but he dodged, tilting away. His bird heart beat so frantically in his chest it shook his entire frame.
"I don't think that's the real Caleb," Jester called as Yasha grabbed for him.
He swooped out of her reach and took a nose-dive towards the cracked door. Out. Out. He just needed out.
"Reveal yourself!" Jester commanded, letting her magic jettison through the air and collide with his brittle frame. Like a pack of wolves, the spell ripped the shreds of magic from him, dispelling his polymorph.
His form reverted, and he plummeted to the ground, landing on Yasha. They collapsed to the floor, and before Caleb could untangle himself from her, her thick arms wrapped around him like iron bars and pinned his arms to his body.
His chest heaved, and he dragged his gaze up to find the rest of the party looking at him with wide eyes, hands on their weapons.
Beau edged forward, placing the end of her staff under his jaw, pressing down on his trachea. "You only get to talk when I say, got it?" she asked. A bead of sweat rolled down her brow.
He gave a slight nod.
"Nott, what were you saying a second ago?" Beau asked, keeping her eyes locked on Caleb's.
"He has to tell the truth. I—I put something in his drink," she said, watching Caleb.
"Who are you? What's your name?" Beau asked, still digging her staff into his trachea.
"Caleb Widogast," he managed.
She lowered her staff. "How long have you been able to turn into a bird?" she asked, eyes still narrowed.
The truth pushed at his lips, but he kept his jaw clenched, holding the secret between his teeth.
"What were you saying about dead clerics," she demanded.
He squared his jaw, looking away. Damp bangs fell in front of his eyes and a line of sweat rolled down his neck. Between the legs of his friends, he could see Frumpkin across the room watching him with lazy eyes.
"Jester?" Beau asked.
"I can try and force him to talk maybe? With Charm Person?" Jester said, hand on her chin as she looked to Beau then Fjord with worry.
Fuck.
Caleb's heart faltered. He looked to his friends with wide eyes, trying to swallow the suffocating panic sparking through his veins like an electric shock. He couldn't do that. Wouldn't let his secrets be dragged from him smiling. Cheerily telling Jester she died. How he was sacrificing them for his family. That was the worst version of this timeline.
"Fifteen years," he rasped.
"Bullshit," Beau said. "Jester, make him—"
"I'll talk," he said, closing his eyes in resignation. His limbs felt heavy and numb as the fight left his body. If this was going to happen, it would be on his own terms.
The group looked skeptical and Beau opened her mouth to urge Jester to continue casting the spell.
"Fifteen years. I've been able to transform into a bird for fifteen years," he said.
"Why haven't you done it before then?" Beau asked.
"I didn't know how then."
Beau growled. "Nott, I don't think—"
"I'm from the future," he said, letting the awful truth at last hang in the air between them. Instead of relief, it felt like there was a gaping cavern inside him where the truth—the truth he kept warm and hidden—had been ripped out. He was cold and hollow.
Always a man defined by absence.
The Mighty Nein looked at him with wide eyes, a mix of confusion and skepticism playing on their faces.
"You're delusional," Beau said. "Time travel isn't possible."
Caleb gave a mirthless laugh.
Beau looked to Nott, hands still on her staff.
"He's telling the truth," Nott murmured, staring into empty space with wide eyes. Shell-shocked.
Beau frowned and turned the weight of her gaze back on Caleb. "Prove it."
He met her suspicion, face slack in defeat. "Your name is Beauregard Lionett. Your parents are Florimond and Catherine. They wanted a boy so they—"
"How do you know that?" she hissed eyes wide with an edge of panic creeping into her voice. "Caleb, how the fuck do you know that, I swear to god—"
"You told me," he said. It had been on a watch shift deep into the night. He remembered how the grass swayed all those years ago. "Ask me anything about any of you," he said, raising his voice to address the entire group.
They looked at him with guarded suspicion.
"I know about your pasts," his eyes flicked to Fjord's, "your powers," he looked to Yasha, "your families," he looked to Beau. "I know because you told me. Would've told me. So please," he sighed, the last dregs of his energy fleeing his body, "ask your questions or be done with me."
Nott stepped forward, sinking to her knees before and cupping his face in her small, calloused hands.
"Nott," Beau said in warning.
She ignored her, golden eyes scanned his face, searching for something. "Since Hupperdook?" she asked in a whisper.
"The night before the Iron Shepherds," he breathed.
A wounded look passed Nott's face, and she withdrew her shaking hand. "That spell…with Lorenzo…"
"Yeah."
"Shit," said Beau. Her grip on her staff went slack as she processed.
"So…are you telling us there's a second Caleb running around somewhere?" Molly asked, confusion plain on his face. It felt like their dance happened eons ago, in a memory, a golden dream, hazy at the seams and free from the jagged edges of his current reality tearing him to shreds.
Caleb shook his head. "No, he is—we are the same." The last chapter of a book ripped out and sewn with clumsy hands back in the middle.
"Wait, so this is serious," Fjord said, running a hand through his hair and still blinking away the shock. "Nott, are you sure you spiked his drink with truth serum and not something else? Because this is all so…" he left out a huff of air, trying and failing to put a label on the situation.
She withdrew a glass vial that glinted in the cold light, casting Caleb a pained look before handing it to Fjord.
Caleb fought down a hollow chuckle as he recognized the vial from the alchemy shop that morning. He'd helped pay for it.
Fjord ran a thumb over the label, shaking his head. "Shit."
"Hey Caleb, how far in the future are you from?" Jester asked as she flopped down before him, lacey skirts splaying out around her on the floorboards. "You kinda act like a grumpy old man, so I bet it's really really far." She watched him with wide, curious eyes, the edge of excitement playing on her face.
Of course, she'd take this in stride.
Fjord came up beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder and giving her a gentle squeeze. "Jester," he said quietly, but with an undercurrent of warning.
"Sixteen years," Caleb said.
"What is it like?" she asked, resting her head on her hands, tail swaying in interest. "I bet we're all super strong and super powerful."
"You ar—" the lie caught in his throat, sending him into another coughing fit.
He looked up, watching the gears turn behind Nott's eyes.
"The future was shitty," he whispered. He closed his eyes, trying to drown out the decade of terrible memories flooding through his head at the thought.
"Is that why you came back?" Jester asked, voice gentle.
"Y—" he felt his throat start to close again, so he paused, trying to reorganize his thoughts into a more complete truth that still didn't lay him bare. "I came back to save people."
A murmur passed through the Mighty Nein, but he couldn't bring himself to raise his head to see their reactions. He traced a knot in the floorboards with his eyes, following the patternless grain.
Claws clicked against the wood as Nott stepped forward. "Us?"
The word rose to the top of his throat like bile, acidic and burning, but he clenched his jaw.
The silence was admission enough.
He looked up through his dark bangs only to watch understanding dawn on Nott's face, followed by an intense pity. She stepped forward, again reaching out a hand to touch his face.
He turned away. He didn't want compassion from the people he'd damned. It was more than his fractured soul could bear.
Nott gave a little gasp, hand freezing in the air for a moment before she slowly withdrew it and held it close to her chest.
"You're not done yet," Beau stated at the realization hit her. "You're still trying to go back. That's why you're so hung up on getting gold, it's because you want to save your—"
Caleb lunged forward, but Yasha's arms held him tight. That final truth must remain unsaid.
Beau sighed and leaned into her staff, weariness passing over her so for a brief flicker she resembled her older self, hardened by the weight of responsibility and continual loss. "God damn it, Caleb," she murmured running a hand over her face.
"Does that mean you wouldn't be at the inn to meet with us, Caleb?" Jester asked, ears drooping and head tilting to the side. "In Trostenwald?"
"I-I don't know," he admitted. It was unlikely. So many moving parts, and he witnessed firsthand how easily a simple change could throw the entire timeline awry.
"Nott would still be in jail," Yasha murmured.
"And if I'm being honest, I'm not sure if we could've beaten the nergaliid without them," Molly said. "And most certainly not the manticore."
"Gnolls, bandits, the big spider," Fjord listed off, face darkening as he went, "the entire Victory Pit tournament, merrows, the troll, the mechanical death trap in Hupperdook, the Iron Shepherds…"
He watched their faces change as they continued to work out the butterfly effect. Confusion and then disgust. They were finally realizing how grotesque he really was. The inevitable grand unmasking of Caleb Widogast.
"You're leaving me?" Nott asked in a trembling whisper that shot him through the heart.
He watched her heart break on her face, and he felt his falling apart in tandem—jagged shards falling into his gut and turning into guilt. He couldn't answer her.
"Caleb, you promised. You said we were in this together." Her voiced hitched. "Tell me I'm wrong."
Instinctively a lie rose to his lips, but his throat closed around it.
She stepped back, stunned.
He couldn't do this. Not again. The first time they did this it almost broke his will to follow through. He couldn't give up now. Not when he was so close.
"You said we were in this together," she repeated louder. She stepped forward, grabbing him by his lapels. "You were going to—we were…" she broke off, sniffling back her tears with a snarl, and released him.
Caleb shifted in Yasha's grasp. With his hands pinned and his component pouch inaccessible, most of his magic was impossible. But he had to do something. Every sentence stripped a piece of him away.
"All this time you were just using me?" she asked in a whisper, tears brimming at the edges of her wide golden eyes that begged him to tell her she was wrong. That she misunderstood. That he hadn't taken advantage of her friendship and affections for years with the intention to leave her rotting in the jail he found her.
He couldn't do this.
He couldn't do this.
He couldn't do this.
He mumbled an incantation—one of the few that didn't require his hands or his components—and vanished. The force of the spell kicked the air from his lungs, and he collapsed onto his knees on the snow-covered roof across the street. The ice crunched beneath his feet as he rose onto shaky legs. He could hear the muffled commotion his disappearance had caused.
Muscled arms threw the window open. "Caleb, get back here, you motherfucker!" Beau shouted. The surrounding snow absorbed her voice, making her sound odd and distant.
In a flash of steam, Molly appeared beside him, Summer's Dance glinting in the moonlight. "Caleb, you can't run from this. We need to talk," he said, holding his free hand out as if talking to a wild animal. "Just come back inside and—"
Caleb shoved his hand in his component pouch and Molly dove forward. He found the cocoon just as Molly reached to grab him and let the magic consume him. It burned his human body away and left a swallow in its place. He dodged Molly's grasp and pumped his wings to put distance between them. He spiraled upwards and upwards into the black night air, wings cutting through the cold, until the lone figure on the rooftop disappeared.
Oh god, what had he done?
…
Truth Serum (ingested) - A creature subjected to this poison must succeed on a DC 11 Constitution saving throw or become poisoned for 1 hour. The poisoned creature can't knowingly speak a lie, as if under the effect of a zone of truth spell.
Ingested. A creature must swallow an entire dose of ingested poison to suffer its effects.
So the bad news is that this was kinda a cliffhanger, the good news is that this chapter was getting way too long and I had to cut it up, so half of the next has already been written? And should be dropping sooner rather than later?