Spent my lunch hour today using a toilet auger to unblock a toilet at work.

One of the newest people asks me why the MD is the one doing that, and I reply – working the auger down the toilet – that I'm typically the one left to clean up other people's shit.

Only after do I realise that was a pretty good comeback for all the drama lately, when I just meant it literally lol. The best comebacks either come too late, or you don't realise them at the time.

Chapter 13

It took a week of travel to reach the eastern coast of Vale, and that didn't feel so bad on his part. It had been a little over two three weeks in total since Master Ren died, and he'd ranged all the way from the southern coast where the village had been attacked by the White Fang to the eastern coast closest to Mistral. That was a lot of ground to cover on foot, aided in no small part by his ability to burn aura as fuel.

Along the way, he'd stopped at several small villages to purchase supplies and met many suspicious people. Suspicious of him, that was, as the overall sentiment toward any stranger in today's world appeared to be wary caution. Most had been polite enough to do business once it was clear he was merely passing through and wasn't a refugee looking to stay, but even then he could tell they were happier to see the back of him. The few times he attempted to pay for lodge, it was made clear rooms were only available for a single night. No one invited him to stay longer, even when he had lien to spare.

Luckily, he had yet to run into wanted posters of himself from Vale. The huntsman and huntress-apprentices had to move at the speed of their slowest members, namely Anna and Celeste, and they might not have even made it back to the city yet. Once they were there, he didn't doubt he would be reported to the authorities. Yang had as good as told him they couldn't afford to break any laws and risk being drafted to the front lines. He wouldn't fault them for doing what they had to do.

I'll hopefully have left Vale before the wanted posters even make it out this far, he thought, walking down the path towards his final destination. Locals had pointed him toward a trading port on the east coast known to have protected ties with Mistral. They had been only too keen to direct him here if it meant he'd leave the country. All I need to do is convince a trader to take me on their ship. That shouldn't be too hard.

Jaune kept his pace slow and his jian sheathed on his back, pinned between himself and his backpack where it would be difficult to draw and threaten anyone. The town watch would appreciate that, and his willingness to show it to them and not try and hide it from them. It wasn't as though he was defenceless without it anyway, and it was a reckless traveller who didn't carry a weapon on their person.

When the guards above the gate called out "HALT!" he did so, standing in the middle of the dirt road as two men walked out the gates to meet him. They were elderly, the youngest over fifty with white hair and a wrinkled face. A brief glance over the ones on the wall showed much the same, though there was also a boy who couldn't have been older than fourteen.

"Good morning, sirs," said Jaune, bowing his head.

"Morning, young man," returned the oldest of the pair. He was polite, if nothing else, and that was actually a welcome rarity from the greetings he typically received. "What brings you to our lovely town this morn?"

"I'm looking to book transit to Mistral, sir."

"To Mistral?" The younger one, in so far as over fifty could be called young, poked his tongue around the inside of his mouth, teasing it out a gap between yellow teeth. "Not many looking to leave Vale nowadays. It's usually the other way around."

"I have family in Mistral."

"Ah." The man sucked in a sharp breath. "That'd explain it. Still, the war is raging over there. Atlas and Menagerie fighting over Mistral like either has a right to it. And us sucked into it," he added, in a grumble.

"Don't say that where the recruiters might hear," chided the older man.

"Bah. As if I'm young enough to be sent to war. I'd have gone in place of my son if they gave me the choice, you know. Not so much to live for at my age." He faced Jaune, saying, "Bastards took him and his wife and left their children with us. Not that we wouldn't look after them, but kids should have their parents."

"At least they have you, sir."

"Aye. Better than some. Fucking mess, this world has become." He shook his head. "What's your name, son?"

"Jaune Arc."

"Arc. Arc." The man pulled out a notebook and flicked through it. Jaune didn't tense, but only because he forced himself not to. The meticulous control he kept over his aura helped in keeping his muscles loose. "Arc... You're not on the list."

"Is it reservation only?" Jaune quipped.

"Ha. No. This is the list of criminals and undesirables. Good to not be on this guest list." He flipped it shut. "You armed?"

"Only my sword for travels." Jaune turned around and showed them his back, both so they could see the weapon and as a gesture of trust.

"It'll need to be sealed."

"Sealed?"

"Wax seal." One of the men brought out some string and a silver tablet filled with red ink. "Bring it out and let me show you." The man had gnarled fingers, but he was deftly able to tie a knot around the hilt and scabbard in such a way that drawing it would snap the string. He then stamped it red in places. "You draw your weapon and the wax breaks. If we catch you with broken wax, you'll be given a warning. If anyone bears a wound matching your weapon, you'll be the primary suspect."

"Clever. I assume I'm fine to break it once I leave the town."

"Of course. It's only for within the walls. We'll also need your fingerprint here." The man offered the ink and Jaune dipped his thumb in, then pressed it next to his name. "Thank you kindly, young man. Will you be needing any directions?"

"I'm sure I can find the pier on my own but is there a place that ship's captains gather at?"

"The Broken Wagon. Don't be fooled by the alehouse down by the pier itself, the White Swan is full of sailors but the captains don't bunk there. They say their crew don't feel like they can let loose and have fun with them around souring the mood, so they head into town and stick to the Broken Wagon. You can rent room there, too. It's down the main road and then take a right at the marketplace. You can miss it but ask a local and they'll point you in the right direction." The man closed his notebook. "Welcome to Eastport, Mr Arc. And good luck on your voyage."

/-/

It was remarkable how kind people could be when they knew you were leaving. Locals at the market eyed him shiftily, but their irritated expressions turned to surprise and then glee when he asked where he could find captains to ask for voyage off Vale. Then, they became the height of cooperative, all but escorting him to the Broken Wagon. One even offered to speak to the innkeeper on his behalf.

"Looking to get off Vale?" asked the portly woman behind the counter. "Bit unusual, isn't it?"

"I have family in Mistral and I'm worried about them." Jaune stuck to his story. It would be difficult for anyone to disprove it.

"A man your age, shouldn't you be in the army?"

"I'm more concerned for my family in Mistral if you catch my meaning."

The woman sighed. "Aye, I catch it. Not any of my business, but you understand that I can't stand between you and any recruiters, of course."

"Of course. Are any in town?"

"You think we'd be talking if there were? Old man Hackard is technically the army liaison here, but he's wheelchair bound and sticks to visiting the local schools to drum up support. Just about everyone in Eastport hates his guts, so I wouldn't worry. If he comes after you, just walk briskly away and he'll never catch up. That or the prick will fall out his chair!"

A few people nearby laughed at what might normally have been seen as a tasteless joke at the expense of a disabled veteran. The fact said veteran was responsible for sending many of their loved ones into a war that didn't even belong to Vale put that to rest, however.

"I'm surprised he hasn't suffered an accident already given the vitriol."

"No shortage of folk who've thought about it," she admitted, with an uncaring shrug. "But then the army would send someone else, and that person might be a little more capable. Better the cantankerous old bastard you know. Martha, by the way." She offered a pudgy hand, which Jaune shook. "Used to be the cook but my husband was dragged off to fight despite his bad leg, so now I'm stuck running the place. You'll be wanting to rent a room."

"Actually, I'm hoping to leave tonight—"

Martha shook her head. "No one will be sailing in the night. The coast isn't especially dangerous around here but it sure as hell is once you're in the strait – and faunus have the advantage at night."

"The White Fang raid the waters?"

"Course they do. Last thing they want is Atlas using Vale as a backdoor behind their lines – or reinforcements from our side crossing over to hit them in the flank."

"And their front lines are this high?"

"About it. Maybe a little lower, but the straight cross from here places you slap bang in contested territory. Not unusual to see Atlas ships clashing with those from Menagerie if you cross over."

That was troublesome. Jaune had hoped the nature of this being a proxy war would mean Mistral would be mostly intact, with small pockets of fighting limited to certain areas. Then again, his knowledge of the war was only what other people had told him. It sounded a lot more entrenched than he'd expected.

"Is it safe for traders to cross at all?"

"If they're willing to do business with faunus, it can be. White Fang wants supplies as much as anyone else does."

"They don't just take them by force?"

"They can do, but then the trader goes home empty-handed and suddenly can't afford to bring another cargo for you to rob a second time. It may be expensive, but it serves the White Fang better to treat the traders well and deal with them fairly. It'll mean richer traders, and that'll mean a stronger flow of goods." Martha leaned in. "You didn't hear it from me, but rumour has it some of the captains here deal in exclusive contracts for the White Fang, too."

"Really?"

"Nothing too crazy, but they take specific requests. Commissions, if you will. Particular foodstuffs, supplies, weapons and the like. Lien is lien at the end of the day, and better to do business with the faunus than be raided by them."

"What time do they gather here?"

"Late in the evening, from seven onwards. You could try the pier now and talk to a few, try your luck." Martha picked a key off the wall behind her. "But you ought to put your things away first. It'll be 50 lien for the night."

It was a fair amount.

"Thank you. I'll take one night for now and hope I'll have a place on a ship tomorrow."

/-/

Hope wasn't enough.

Again and again, Jaune spoke to captains on the pier and was rebuffed – and, shockingly, he wasn't the only one doing it. There were a lot of young men approaching adulthood trying to convince captains to take them, and even mothers bringing around their young boys to show them off like cattle.

Even offering to work the one way trip for free didn't make Jaune stand out, and most shocking of all was that they refused even when he offered them what little money he had.

"You're traders, aren't you? Is it really not profitable to take a product that can work for you?"

"In a word, kid? No." The captain he'd been speaking to brushed past him. "It isn't. Now leave it be. You'll not change my mind by begging."

And there were plenty doing that from what he could see. People begging the captains to take them – but not to take them to Mistral as he was, but to take them on as permanent members of their crew.

Looking at the crew themselves, Jaune felt he could see why. They were strong men, with only a few women among them, but even the women were muscular. They were all quite young as well, between the ages of eighteen and forty. Fit, healthy, strong men and women, suited for working on a ship.

Also, quite suited for serving in an army, and yet here they were exempt from all that because trade was too important to cripple. Here was the one industry that Vale couldn't afford to draw from, because Atlas and Mistral needed the supplies these people took across, and because Vale needed the commerce to flow if they were to keep paying soldiers' wages. Little wonder there were so many people trying to join up, and desperate mothers trying to ensure a life for their sons beyond basic training and a deadly war.

He couldn't compete with that.

What money Jaune could offer paled in comparison to the life's savings these families were prepared to give. Mothers offered money, their sons, even their own bodies if the captains wanted it. Jaune offered free service for one passage where young men offered years or decades for the same.

And every ship was at capacity. Every position filled, every conceivable spot occupied, to the point that they literally couldn't afford to take on more and maintain a profit. The food required to feed the crew was already taking up more than half the cargo – he could see it being carried on. Even passengers at this point would tip the scales too far.

Jaune worried, but he did not despair. Not so early. I need to calm down, he chided himself, closing his eyes and drawing a deep breath through his nose. I've run into a hurdle, but it's just the first of what will always be many. To despair at seeing a fallen tree on the road is folly.

He simply had to find his way around it.

So, he returned to Martha's inn to speak with the woman again.

"Back already?" Marhta didn't seem surprised. "You've seen what it's like, then? Too much competition to be on those ships. Life of a sailor is one of the safest you can get nowadays, and doesn't that say something with Grimm, bad weather and pirates out there?"

"I admit my plans to pay for passage might not be possible anymore, but I still intend to make my way across." He could swim, using aura to sustain himself, but Jaune didn't know the currents and that would be a dangerous last resort. "But there must be other ways across. Do you know of any, Martha?"

The woman looked around shiftily. "I might."

"How much?"

"Book the room for another two nights."

Jaune slid 100 lien across the counter, even though he suspected he would not be staying for all three nights. It wasn't a bribe if he was paying for room, however. Martha could just say he'd gotten his passage early and she refused to refund the unspent nights he'd booked.

"The strait between Vale and Mistral is at its narrowest here, which is why Eastport is so important. In fact, it's so important that the faunus don't attack us at all. They need the trade to keep flowing just as much as we do. That said, there's another group that benefits from the journey being at its shortest point here. Others that want to make the crossing – and specifically a one-way journey from Mistral to Vale."

It clicked in Jaune's head. "The refugees. Of course. They're fleeing Mistral and have few options of where to go. Do they land here?"

"Not officially, they don't. The influx of them has put a whole lot of pressure on the kingdom. At a bad time, too. They land up and down the coast away from any settlements, but that doesn't stop a lot of those that get off those ships coming here to try and find work or buy supplies."

"I assume they get a poor welcome."

"Pretty much, yeah. Now, I know they're poor folk who have suffered, but we don't have much of anything to spare. We're happy to do business with them and provide supplies – make them someone else's problem – but Eastport can't afford to take in the thousands that make the crossing. We send most of them on to the city of Vale itself."

"Last I heard, they can't fit them either."

Martha snorted. "Bollocks, they can't. Don't want to take them, maybe, but they sure as hell could if they put their minds to it. 99% of the kingdom's taxes go there and they give jack-shit back to us. They could house every single migrant with ease, but it's not easy nor comfortable, and they'd rather keep their comfy lives, thank you very much."

"Not that we're much better," she admitted, losing a little of the wind from her own sails, "but we're not a rich town. We don't have all the money in the kingdom. They do." She let out a heavy sigh. "Point is, those that make the journey aren't swimming here. They're being smuggled. And those smugglers need to get their vessels back to Mistral to pick up the next batch, so what's one more passenger? Going from Vale to Mistral, I reckon their ships must be just about empty."

Probably so. They would be full of refugees leaving Mistral, but there weren't going to be many like him actively looking to enter a warzone. "I assume these ships don't frequent Eastport."

"Correct. They're criminals now. Smugglers. Vale – the kingdom, that is – has hits out on their heads. Offers bounties for those that kill them. Officially, it's because they're putting these poor refugee's lives at risk trying to smuggle them over the water. Realistically, we all know the real reason is because they want to cut the influx."

It was to be expected, really. As a child, Jaune had grown up on cartoons and comics portraying Vale as a heroic kingdom filled with opportunity and valour and safety. Growing up had made it clear how much of a façade that was, but not everyone knew, and certainly not those who got to live in the city itself.

He wasn't sure what they believed – perhaps that they were somehow better, more deserving of their luxuries, that they had "earned them" through tough days at school or work in an office, and that the poorer people struggling to make ends meet were somehow less intelligent, less capable, or workshy.

Because it was difficult for a person to accept that their success in life might not have come from their own actions. Difficult to accept that others might have harder lives than yours, and that you might be like them had you not been lucky enough to be born to wealthier parents in a safer home.

"Do you have any idea where I can find these smugglers?"

"As I said, up and down the coast is your best bet. They land at night, the better to avoid detection. I reckon if you were to roam a little when the sun goes down, you might be able to see them coming."

It wasn't much, but it was something. Jaune nodded his head and thanked her for the suggestion, then stepped out, just as the various captains came in for the evening. The people at the gate didn't pay him any attention on the way out. They were happy to see someone leaving instead of begging to stay.

/-/

The night air was pleasantly chill, with a low breeze carrying the scent of salt water to his nostrils. Jaune sat cross-legged atop a rock, looking out over the rough waves crashing on pebbled beaches. There was no sandy beach to be had here, and instead the coast was dotted with sharp stones and crustaceans washed up from the ocean. There was beauty to be seen, however.

Stars and the shattered moon reflected across the ocean's surface, and luminescent jellyfish had come close to shore, lighting up the water in dazzling hues of teal and green. Fireflies floated above, and occasionally a fish would break the surface to catch and swallow one whole.

Jaune was aware of an owl in a nearby tree and a fox scavenging along the beach as well. It had come and nibbled at his shoes, curious at the still and non-threatening human perched on the rock. On discovering Jaune was neither food nor threat, it had left to dig up shrimp and crab from the coastline.

Most would have felt a great amount of impatience at the task, or perhaps frustration towards Martha and Eastport for forcing it upon them. He had been waiting outside in the cold and dark for three hours now, watching the waves crash below and scanning the horizon. It was a punishingly slow process, but Master Ren had forced him to go through worse than this before.

Or, rather, Master Ren had taught him to enjoy moments like this.

To accept that there was no need to rush to a given destination, and that he could serve his body and soul better in quiet moments of contemplation. As such, what would have been tiresome to many had been a refreshing experience for Jaune. He spent it thinking on Master Ren, but also on the huntress-apprentices, Ruby and Yang.

Were they upset at having lost him? Had their father been disappointed? Did they try and give chase before realising he was long gone? They were idle questions and Jaune didn't let them bother him, simply considering each and answering in time. His conclusion was that they had likely given up quickly and headed for Vale with Anna and Celeste. It may have been their duty to capture him, but they had not seemed overly enthusiastic about it, and Yang also had to escort the three youths who attacked him to the city for their recruitment. It wouldn't do to chase after him and lose track of them.

He hoped – perhaps in vain – that Yang would not talk of his so-called Semblance. While the Demonic Gu Soul Technique was in no way a Semblance, it was still his only real offensive option. Or at least the only one that could hope to stand against Tyrian or Cinder given the differences in their skill. It felt unlikely, though, that it would remain a secret.

A shame, especially if it outed his secret weapon to his enemies, but it was just reason to focus on learning more. The Iron Limb Technique would be useful once he mastered it, and Jaune dedicated an hour's meditation to carefully circulating the aura in his arms to his skin, trying to do so. Again, his skin tingled painfully and he drew back before reaching the point he had against the Grimm, the moment when the blood vessels in his arms ruptured.

Hmm. Am I doing something fundamentally wrong or is it a case of practice? He drew out the scroll and read, searching for insight, but it was written like the first – with vague gestures that came closer to feelings than science. It was comparable to a recipe in a cookbook saying to add "some herbs" or a "pinch of sugar" but never giving the specific measurements. He could respect that it was because everyone's body and aura was different and there would be no fixed measurement, but it didn't make mastery a simple process.

Then again, perhaps that was a good thing. If these skills were simple to learn, more bad people would be running around with them. If the learning process was a test of patience then at least one could be assured those mastering them would not be driven to short bouts of anger.

Jaune's eyes focused out on the water and a small smile appeared across his face. "Ah, there you are."

Martha had been right to say he would see them coming. While faunus could see in the dark, humans could not – and it was dangerous to bring a ship into the shore under uncertain conditions. As such, the boat approaching had a lantern on either side, and its flickering orange flame shone out in the gloom. Little wonder they had to sail in further down the coast, for Jaune saw it coming over thirty minutes away.

When the boat landed, Jaune was waiting for it.

For them.

It was a small boat made of wood, little more than the size of a rowboat, but with a motor off the back. There were people crowded and huddled in it, at least twenty in total. Enough that the boat rocked precariously in the water. They saw him and tugged up their hoods, nervously jumping off the boat and shuffling past without making eye contact.

Jaune had eyes for a man and a woman in the boat, the two of them cowled but quite obviously in control. The woman reached for what he could only assume was a weapon, but Jaune raised his hands – both in a gesture of peace but, also, so he could defend himself if needs be.

The taller one laid a hand on the short woman's shoulder and whispered something to her, then vaulted the boat's edge and landed in the knee-deep water. He waded to the shore, drawing down his cowl to reveal a handsome face and bright orange hair.

"Well, well, well," he quipped. "Can't say I expected a welcoming party. Who are you supposed to be?"

"I'm a traveller who wishes to book passage to Mistral."

"Oh? A reverse refugee?" The man relaxed visibly, smirking. "That's a new one. I guess you had no luck in Eastport, eh?"

"None. Someone there suggested I try my hand with smugglers. I understand you take refugees from Mistral to Vale." Jaune nodded to the boat. "You'll be making the journey back with a lot of space. I'd like to take up some of it."

"Our going fee is 1,500 lien."

"I can't afford that."

"Damn shame."

Jaune let out a quiet breath. "The fee is surely set by demand. You have a lot of people wishing to flee Mistral, hence their willingness to pay so much. I don't see anyone here looking to go the other way. I can offer you 300 lien."

"That's a fifth of the agreed amount."

"It is infinitely more than the zero you would normally make sailing back alone."

The man laughed. "Ha! You have me there. Well, how about a different deal, eh? We need supplies to make the trip back and we're kinda known figures in Eastport. We normally sneak in, but that's a lot of work. How's about I give you a list and you gather us what we need – it'll be a little under the 300 you're offering. Bring that back to us and, in return, I'll let you hitch a ride on our way back. Sound good?"

"It sounds fair," said Jaune. "So long as I can be assured you'll be waiting for me and won't simply sail off without me the moment I turn my back."

"That's a risk you're just going to have to take, isn't it?" The man grinned suddenly. "But we do need supplies and Eastport is the closest place to get it. You can see as well as I that we don't have anything extra in the boat. We sail back, we'll starve." He pointed down the water. "See that cove? There's a small cave in there. We'll be sleeping there tonight, dining on what fish we can catch in the waters. You can find us there tomorrow if you want to go ahead with this."

Tomorrow. Jaune let out a quiet sigh. "Give me the list. I'll have the supplies for you before noon."

"Excellent news!" The man slung an arm around Jaune's shoulders. "The name is Roman. Roman Torchwick. Used to be a recognisable name in the city, back before that place threw itself into a war economy. Didn't stick around long enough to get drafted after that. My lovely assistant is Neo." He gestured at the hooded girl still in the boat. "And we are the single most successful smuggling group in these waters. Not a single lost soul to our names."

"Jaune Arc. I'm... nothing more than a traveller."

"Nothing more, eh? Hah." Roman didn't believe it. "I'll let that go. Here's the list. You go fetch these for us – and remember to buy yourself some food as well. With any luck, we'll be pushing off tomorrow and landing in Mistral in the early hours of the morning."

A pair of criminals and smugglers they may have been, but Jaune was no less of one technically, and their crimes were none of his business. One might even argue – from the point of view of the refugees – that they were doing a good thing, that they were saving these people from being caught by the faunus.

Vale wouldn't agree but such was the nature of these things. In the end, it didn't really matter. They had something Jaune needed, and thus he would work with them and gather the supplies they required. It was no use getting caught up in the bigger picture.

This war wasn't his.

Next Chapter: 9th July

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