Chapter XIII

Entry #61

I had a thought today. About the Diplomats.

So far I have only met Roxanne, but I couldn't help but wonder about how she had guarded the map. It had been so easy to take it from her, really. Hiding inside a boot had been almost too simple.

It made me wonder how much they truly care about the map. It made me wonder how truly intelligent they are—surely, there are millions of better ways to hide a map, right?

Because stealing from Roxanne?

With all due to respect to her, it had simply been too easy a task.

Stealing a map from Roxanne was harder than it seemed.

The plan had been simple. Wake up in the middle of the night, get Shroomish to hover by Roxanne and keep watch—the second Roxanne began waking up, she would blitz Roxanne with spores to make her sleep. Then, August would slip her hand down Roxanne's nightgown sleeve, tear the map away, and run out of Rustboro.

She waited in bed. No clocks ticking—just the gentle swish of waves echoing outside the cavern. After what felt like hours, August opened her eyes.

Big eyes were staring down at her.

Roxanne.

August felt her Shroomish squirm beside her.

"Diplomat Roxanne," August said slowly. "Why are you staring at me?"

Roxanne did not even hesitate. "I wanted you to know that I am sorry for snapping at you yesterday. I want to trust you, but I feel as if I cannot. Because of Steven Stone."

August's mind was spinning.

Was she supposed to engage in the conversation? Tell Roxanne to go to sleep, so she could steal the map?

"Yes," August finally said. "Me, as well."

"What do you mean?"

August shrugged. "Steven Stone hurt me, Roxanne. He was my only friend and he abandoned me."

There was a glint in Roxanne's eyes.

"He was my only friend, too," Roxanne said. "And he abandoned me, too."

"You probably have it worse. He did not attempt to steal from me."

"It was my own stupid judgement. I did only know him for a few weeks."

August reached out with her hand and gently placed it on Roxanne's elbow. "I have known him for years and… I think that is how he is. He draws you to him."

Roxanne scoffed a laugh. "My father would be ashamed of me. Losing the map to a man."

"Didn't your father get you into this mess in the first place? I think he should be ashamed of himself."

"It was all men, too, who started this war. Including him."

"Nothing truly is more evil than a man, then."

They both smiled at that, an easy understanding passing between them. It was quick—within one more wash of the waves against stone, Roxanne's smile dimmed.

"If we had drinks, we would drink to that," the Diplomat said. "My father drank it all, though."

August squeezed Roxanne's hand. "When I leave Rustboro, I will be sure to bring you a whole barrel of ale."

There it was again—Roxanne's smile.

"Thank you, August."

And that was when August knew that stealing from Roxanne was going to be near impossible.

It should have gotten easier to take the map. August spent days learning Roxanne's habits—when she ate, when she taught, when she slept. They even spent hours together each day, reading the ancient scribes along the stones. And each time, August stared at that map, planning. Calculating.

A week later, she found her chance. Roxanne had been exhausted after a day of learning how to read the ancient scribes—so exhausted that she had wrapped herself up in blankets and bid herself to bed earlier than all the other maids.

Which meant she was alone in the sleeping chambers. Hair unbound, and her lashes dark against her cheeks. All August had to do was enter the chambers, take the map, and leave.

She hadn't anticipated an Aqua Pirate already being there, quiet and swift as a shadow. He had slipped into the chambers, his bandana wrapped tightly over his mouth and his blue and white striped blouse covered by a dark cloak. He was completely unaware of August, who crept behind him, darting behind stones. He was aware of Sword the Wingull—but he didn't give a damn about it. What could a Wingull possibly do?

The Aqua Pirate unsheathed a blade. Some jagged dagger.

When he moved, so did Sword. The Wingull swooped down onto him, driving his beak into the man's mouth. Then, August was there, driving her own boot between the man's ribs.

She barely knew how to kick someone, of course. Her leg was flimsy and she lost her balance, following onto the stone ground. However, with her Wingull's beak still in the pirate's mouth, he bucked and gurgled.

It was enough to wake Roxanne. It was enough for the Diplomat to find her own blade and slash the pirate's throat.

There was so much blood. Streaming down his chin, spitting onto her Wingull's face, splashing the stones red. August felt the bile rise in her throat.

She had not been a pirate since she was a young lass. All of this—the blood, the daggers, the violence—she had not been ready for it.

Roxanne dumped the pirate's body on the ground. Then, she reached for August's trembling hand. August's Wingull gave a low caw, gently landing on her head.

"You tried to save me?" Roxanne asked.

August wanted to shake her head furiously. Scream out, No! I wanted to steal the map first!

But she had failed.

And the sight of the blood…

She couldn't do this.

"You tried to save me," Roxanne said softly. "You are incredibly brave."

No, no, no—

But it was too late.

Roxanne was out of the chambers, declaring that August had saved her life—that August had saved the map.

"Wait!" August called out, her mind frantic, her boots hot on Roxanne's heels, the vomit still in her mouth. "The map on your wrist… Is it safe? Is it safe for you to sleep with it, if pirates will try to kill you in your sleep to have it?"

Roxanne laughed at that. "You think I would really hide the map around my wrist?" The Diplomat ripped it away from her wrist, letting the pieces fall to the ground. "Absolutely not. The map is somewhere else—this is to lead them astray."

Her eyes widened suddenly, as if she realised what she had said. As if she realised she had spilt a big secret.

Then, her face softened.

"Thank you, August. For saving my life. I suppose I can trust you."

It took all August had to not burst into tears.

Roxanne called a feast. A celebration.

And it was humiliating.

There was music—a heavy percussion of stone against stone, pebble against pebble, and hand against hand. Roxanne twirled around with her maids and her students, laughing and singing, smiling like she actually meant it.

"Maybe I don't need to wait for happiness," she overheard Roxanne saying to her students. "Maybe I need to create it."

August wanted to bury her head into her hand and scream.

It wasn't supposed to end like this. She was supposed to deal with the pirate, take the map, and get out of Rustboro.

No celebrations to thank her for accidentally saving Roxanne's life.

She stood awkwardly by the cavern walls. Her Pokémon were oblivious to her distress, jumping and skipping around, eating the food. So many people of Rustboro had hurtled up to August, their eyes bright, their hands clasping her shoulders.

"Your name is August, yes?"

"How did you save Diplomat Roxanne?"

"How did you wake her?"

"Was it difficult with only one arm?"

When they were finally all gone, August leaned back against the stones. Then came the voice beside her.

"What in Arceus did you do?"

August tensed at the sound of it—the sound of Brandon.

She did not turn to face him as she said, "I saved Diplomat Roxanne."

"Saved her? How?"

"An Aqua Pirate tried to steal from her. I stopped him."

"How—"

Finally, August whirled around. Brandon looked the exact same as he did a week ago—a perpetual frown lining his face, his skin tanned from the heat, and his eyes dark with suspicion.

"What is your deal?" she asked him, as gently as she could.

He made a face. "What?"

"I have asked you many times to leave me be. And I am not being left be."

"I'm not here because of you," he snapped. "The world does not spin around you, August."

"Then why are you here?"

"Why are you asking me more questions when you want me to leave you be?"

"Fine. Leave, then."

But Brandon did not move. He stayed, leaning against the wall, his shoulder just inches away from her own. August cleared her throat.

"I asked you to leave."

"I do not get told what to do by a woman."

The words were enough to send her seething. But, before she could open her mouth, Brandon turned away from her.

"Besides," he added, "I am searching for someone."

"Search elsewhere, then."

"Why do you not stand elsewhere? Why is it me that is the problem?"

August gave him a sweet smile. "I am sorry. I do not get told what to do by a man."

He scowled. She tried not to scowl back.

But something caught Brandon's attention then.

"There he is."

August followed his gaze until it landed on a person. The person was not dancing along with Roxanne—he was stalking through people's shadows, his eyes flitting back and forth, his body so weak that he winced with each step.

Wally.

August felt her heart race as Brandon moved.

He was looking for Wally.

Oh, Arceus.

What if Wally was here to help her? What if he was here to help her find the map? If Brandon caught Wally… If Brandon found out—

August lurched forwards, following behind Brandon.

"Why are you following me?" he hissed.

"Why can I not follow you?"

"You asked me to leave you be, and now you chase my tail like a maiden who—"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence."

Brandon stopped. He whirled around, yanking August by her collar and pressing her against the stone.

It was the closest he had ever stood to her. August could smell that vile scent of burnt berries and ash on his breath.

But it stopped him from moving. And, through the corner of her eye, she saw Wally wink over at her and slip away into the depths of the cavern.

"Or what?" Brandon hissed. "What will you do?"

August had no words for him. She could see a few people—even Roxanne—staring over at her with worried glances.

But her lies were becoming too dangerous. Brandon knew the truth of who her uncle was. If he slipped to Roxanne that she was the niece of Norman… If Roxanne realised that she may be after the map…

August forced a smile on her face. "Why are you chasing Wally, anyways?"

"My father and I think he looks familiar," Brandon answered curtly, releasing her. "We wanted to investigate."

He began stalking away, into the depths of the cavern, away from the music and dancing. To August's horror, he had chosen the right pathway—the one Wally had slipped down.

So, throwing a weak smile of reassurance to Roxanne, she chased after Brandon.

"Well, you should leave him alone," she called out.

"Why?"

August frowned. "He is ill, Brandon. The last thing he needs is some brutish man harassing him."

"I do not plan on harassing him. I only plan on asking him questions—"

A voice interrupted them.

"Questions about what?"

August glanced up. She hadn't realised how far they had crept through the caverns. The music was only a slight tinny against the walls, barely enough to make the stones tremble. Even the lanterns here were not lit—it was just thick darkness, with the topaz on the cavern walls giving the thinnest beams of golden light.

Wally stood before them, his green eyes locked onto Brandon.

"You look familiar," Brandon said. "But my father and I cannot tell from where."

Wally stepped closer.

He looked weaker than he ever had before—his face was so pale that August could see blue veins across his neck. His back was more arched than it ever had been, and his fingers were shaking incessantly.

"Perhaps I can help you," Wally said quietly.

Then, with not even a second of hesitation, Wally hurled his fist at Brandon.

It smashed into Brandon's nose, sending the boy sprawling onto the ground. It was loud enough that August heard the crunch—and it was enough that Brandon lay there, unmoving, his breaths gentle. Completely passed out.

"Wally—" August mumbled. "You… Brandon…"

Wally shrugged. His fingers were still trembling, but he looked more exhausted suddenly—as if the bags under his eyes were heavier, and the weight on his shoulders was greater.

"He will be fine," he said softly. "Come with me."

The place he showed her felt as if it was made of nightmares.

Unlike the rest of the cave, this chamber smelt of charred stones. It was dark and barren, piles of rubble surrounding the centre. There were no gems here, no ancient scriptures, no lanterns. Had it not been for a torch Wally lifted up, the fire illuminated into the liquid blackness, August may not have been able to see a thing.

But she did see it all. The skulls and bones. The leftover, cluttered steel. The bodies on the black, cracked stone.

In the centre was a giant blue stone—no, not a stone. A Pokémon. One with a red nose, with small holes drilled into its head, with dark blotches over its eyes.

A giant Nosepass. Tall enough to reach the top of the cavern—tall enough that August had to crane her head to see the top.

And sitting there, atop the Nosepass' head…

"That's where the map is," Wally breathed out. "I have been searching for weeks. This cavern has too many dead ends."

August nodded. "Thank you for helping me find it. We should take it right now—"

They both heard the footsteps. Wally cursed.

"Quick," he hissed.

They crawled through another stone path, away from the footsteps, both of them hurtling down as silently as they could. August's breaths were already frantic and harsh, but Wally looked as if he was in pain as they ran. His whole face was wincing, and he clutched onto his heart.

Finally, once they had reached a chamber where the music was louder—where they could hear laughter—they stopped.

"I must leave now," Wally said, panting. "My sickness… I need to find a place to recover."

August felt her lip tremble.

Remembering the pirate from earlier.

Remembering the blood.

"I cannot…" she began softly. "I cannot do this alone."

Wally looked up at her. He didn't smile.

"You can," he told her. Not as an encouragement—as a fact. As if he thought she was ridiculous for even thinking otherwise. "You are related to Norman. You have pirate blood in you."

And then, he was stalking away. His cloak fluttering behind him.

August just stared as his green hair melted into the darkness.

Then, she began to plan.

Entry #63

An idea struck my brain.

If I were a Diplomat, I would simply not rely on my own skills. I would rely on something else—something stronger than me.

Perhaps… A Pokémon?