WHEN BLAKELY WOKE the next morning he was unsurprised to see Abis pacing around in his cabin with a scarf wrapped around his mouth and his fist vibrating with fury.
Blakely scooted out of bed, donned in a trench coat, breeches and tunic to face Abis. Regularly Abis may have joked that Blakely even lay fully clothed in his sleep, but when he didn't, Blakely spoke instead.
"Hmm," he said, turning to begin spreading his bed. "Sleep well?"
Abis wasn't in a mood for small talk. "I recall explicitly telling you not to hurt that boy," Abis said darkly. Blakely could feel Abis glaring holes into his back.
Blakely frowned. "And I didn't." He removed the crushed quilt from his moth-bitten bed and began folding it. "It seems your hemp rope did have some use. I heard you shuffling with a body outside the door last night."
Abis' face contorted into an expression Blakely had never seen. He was jovial always—sometimes mocking with a smattering of mischief—but he had never looked as serious as he had then. With his furrowed brows and slightly confused expression, it was something akin to... disappointment? For a moment Blakely felt minutely apologetic, then he laughed; concession was not in his vocabulary. That, and the word, "sorry."
Abis' voice was firm when he spoke. "Blakley, The Order knows of your tendencies. They were sure to brief me on them the moment I arrived, too. I'm not only here as your companion, and take care not mistake me as only that."
"You are my keeper then?" Blakely mocked, "am I a sheep to be tended by Abis the shepherd boy?"
Blakely was fine carrying out his missions alone. The Order held those sole efforts in high esteem for nearly 18 years. He certainly didn't need a Mercury telling him what to do when he's been doing perfectly fine without any interference.
Abis scowled. However much in a bad mood Blakely was, he didn't need him causing trouble for the duration of their mission. They were to leave as small a trail as they could. If Blakely so blatantly disobeyed him like this once, they were bound to have some difficulties for the remainder of their time aboard the MERCURY, and in Dorchester.
"Alright so listen here, buddy," Abis ordered folding his arms, "You see this pendant?" Blakely stood still as Abis bared a pendant that hung loosely around his neck. It hummed with a green light once the candlelight caught its chartreuse surface, before Abis covered it and it disappeared.
Blakely's eyes narrowed. "No."
Abis's jaw ticked. "Yeah, nice try asshole, it's kind of hard to miss. Guess what's in it? Giant's Bane. I've already got the incantation memorized. Look forward to being paralyzed the next time you try to go on a rampage like that, yeah?" He turned to leave through the door, before he stopped and said one more thing. He shook his head as he spoke. "I mean, I know you've got your own stuff dealing with man, but throwing a kid into the ocean? Like some sorta discus throw? Not cool."
Blakley ignored whatever sense Abis seemed to make. Instead, his thoughts were amok. He could easily try stealing the pendant from Abis, but he could never beat a mercury at speed. Even if he did somehow manage it, Abis could easily procure another one from The Order. That, and he had already memorised it.
Blakely blinked. "I am in trouble then, should that happen."
Abis raised his brow. "Yeah. Yeah, you are. Now, I've got some brainwashing to do. You're like a child. I'm always cleaning up your messes."
"And what's the story?"
There was an annoyed sigh. "You, in a drunken rage, dumped the boy over the deck. I fished him out of the sea. How exactly the witnesses will believe that story is my concern. You, in the meantime, will go and quiet that kid. I kept him alive. Whatever he saw in you that night and whatever he heard, ensure he does not repeat it."
"Why don't you go to that kid yourself, since you're so concerned. Need to say parting wishes to your friend Gwendolyn?"
Abis scowled, shaking his head. "I'm not answering that."
Abis could easily talk to the boy himself, Blakely thought, his jaw ticked. It was a reasonable punishment. With that, Abis left with the thud of his boots and Blakley stared for some time at his half-made bed.
* * *
They docked in Winthrop Alcove three hours later.
Blakely grabbed his luggage and his beloved mask. Abis retrieved his duffel bag and his slightly more worn hemp rope.
Now Blakely stepped off the ship and inhaled the glorious scent of coal, exhaust and rank street piss. The ship behind them blew its horn before it departed, engulfing them in a big thick cloud of soot and smoke. Beside Blakley, Abis sneezed and rubbed his nape, before shouldering his hemp rope and glancing at his companion.
"Do we have lodgings?"
Blakley stared through the red eyeglass of his mask at his feet. "That, I'm afraid, was not included in the fare here."
Abis tsked. Headquarter's generosity would only go so far. They paid for the ride here, but they had no intentions of paying for a comfortable stay on a foreign island.
"My way then?" Abis asked. Something many MERCURIES had besides their quick feet was their charm and persuasiveness.
Blaklely nodded. "Just get me a bed somewhere."
Abis walked for some time, Blakely in tow, scouting a suitable house for them to impose on. Every house in the area and near the harbour was foul-smelling and dreary. Every house further and further away seemed less likely to have a rodent problem. By the time they were too tired to walk any further, Blakely hailed a hack (one which the fare for was on him) and they travelled to the capital of Winthrop Alcove – Wäu.
Wäu was civilized.
Wäu had trains and inns.
And more importantly, Wäu had a one-way ticket to Dorchester's capital, Platella.
In an Inn with a rickety sign labelled "The Lilac Lotus," Abis was attempting to charm the innkeeper, a balding man named Rotunda, into giving them lodgings for three days at the value of 2000 dors, for 500.
"Ay Sirn ye know me can'ta do that," he said, in what Blakely barely considered English. "I got custamers 'ere who pay 'tha sem rate. If ye pay 500, everyun' pay 500---an tha' leaves me outta bizniz!"
Abis smiled and pulled down the scarf that had been slightly muffling his speech. His lips curved knowingly and he wiped a stray piece of hair from his eyes. Blakely felt his gag reflex kicking in as he placed a hand over his mouth.
"Eight hundred dors then, Sir?" Abis asked, and the man–Rotunda–gulped.
"Eep," he squeaked, "I canna...I canna give ye for 850?"
Abis smiled, pulling his cowl back up over his mouth. "850 it is." And as they proceeded, Blakely didn't miss the sly curve of Abis' lips at the knowledge that they had well over 4000 dors to last a few days.
In their room—two dingy old beds, a mahogany night table and two rank chamber pots—Blakley flopped on to his bed and sighed. Laying on his stomach, he turned his head and glanced at his timepiece. "Evening."
There was a deep sigh as Abis also lay his duffel bag on his bed. "I am going downstairs to gather information for our assignment. Tonics make the tongue loose."
"I'll join you."
Abis paused at the exit to the room. His face showed mild surprise before it switched to contempt. His lips set in a grim line and his eyes hardened. It was a nearly strange look for Abis. "Keep yourself in check."
The two went downstairs and past the innkeeper, who Abis had to constantly maintain a persuasion ward on each time they passed. If there was even a flicker of the spell, the man would send the two packing immediately as trespassers.
As they reached the tavern, a warm thump of muffled laughter engulfed the humid room. There were men nursing their drinks and laughing with their best mates, three or four waitresses bustling through the crowd to serve beers and smiles.
Abis went immediately to the counter where he sat and began chatting up a lady hiding under her wimple to nurse a pint of whiskey.
Blakely decided that he was on his own, went to sit by an empty table. A waitress, donned in a simple woollen dress and apron, bustled past him.
He glanced upwards, and a waitress with auburn hair and a devious smile leered at him. "Anything I can get you, Sir?" She frowned for a moment, before asking, "there is a man under there, yes?"
Her sing-song voice enveloped him as she tilted her head. Blakely had never drunk before, and he didnt really plan to. "Uh, I guess a vodka will do? And do you—"
She raised a finger. "A vodka, yes?" She jotted it on her crinkled notebook.
He nodded. "Yes, that is all, and can you point me to the Apothary?"
She paused. "The what?"
He frowned. "The Apothary? For medicine?"
"Ah, ya mean da Apothecary! Trop mignon. There's one a few doors down from here. Keep left, about three shops down. Just look for a Madam Maga."
Maga, Blakely repeated in his mind. Maga, lamia, venefica. Blakely could easily recall that maga was Latin for witch. This Madam Maga seemed to lack subtlety.
Blakely smiled and thanked the waitress, and her eyes widened for a brief moment before returning it. Then she was gone to go and look about the vodka he wouldn't drink.
Outside, while farther from the harbour, Wäu still maintained a perpetual haze, blotting out any semblance of the setting sun, and a bleak drizzle pelted the mucky streets. Carriages rode by, pulled by plump destriers and thoroughbreds. Already streets lamps were lit, the scent of kerosene and smoke wafting to Blakley's nose as he stuck to the left of the street.
Blakely fished the same note from his breech pocket and dwelled on the 4 ingredients he had placed asterisks beside. Yersinia, one read, and still Blakley could not figure what it was.
He glanced up to focus on where he was walking and paused in front of a shop door. Madam Maga a small mahogany sign read and Blakley pushed the note back into his pocket and opened the door.
A chime rang overhead as he entered. Inside was warm and homely, with a crackling fireplace despite Dorchester being a tropical island, and many bookcases and upholstered armchairs. In front the main counter were three stools, and on the large shelf behind the counter were vials and potion flasks and, funnily enough, some jars with preserved kidneys, livers, eyeballs – the works. From these alone Blakley was fully convinced he had just stepped into a charlatan's base of operations.
When Blakley glanced back to the fireplace, a woman in a red cloak stood in front the flame with her back turned as she fed some more wood into the hearth. Her hand went through the fire as she placed them, and it returned unscathed. Blakely raised a brow at the performance. Madam Maga lacked subtlety indeed. Blakley was about to greet the lady and get on with it, but before he could speak, she whipped around. Then, as if unable to help itself, the note in his pocket zoomed into her palm.
"Outside is awful, isn't it?" he heard her say, as her eyes flicked up and down the list. She still hadn't looked at him, but he figured this was the part where he replied.
"Indeed," he said, "Is it always so bleak?"
Her lips parted to reply when she suddenly stiffened and they froze shut. Her eyes stopped on a few items, and they narrowed minutely. She waved a dismissive hand. "No more weather chit-chat." In quick strides, she moved to the counter. "I was going to make mundane small talk because I thought you were a regular doctor, but," she waved the list in her palm and smiled at him knowingly, "as I thought, you're not from around here."
Blakely scrambled for a cover-up.
"Ha, you're right. I'm Blasius," Blakely said, gulping, "Alston Blasius. I'm, uh, from the continent – landed here this afternoon." He skittishly approached the counter where she stood and fumbled with his coat pockets.
Playing a nervous doctor seemed the easiest role to fall back into. She was suspecting him, and rightfully so. Which proper-bred scholar would look at the ingredients on his list, and not think he was up to something diabolical? To begin with, Blakely hadn't intended for her to read everything on his list, but she had already snatched it in some desperate ploy to show her magical prowess.
"Nevermind the continent. You're still not from around there either." She tilted her head. "Not really."
Blakely gave a small smile. He was in fact capable of one. "You flatter me."
She didn't return it. "Unintentionally so. That's a strange mask you have, even for a foreigner." Her message wasn't missed. Take off the mask. He hesitated for a second, before peeling the mask from his head and placing it on the counter.
There was a painful silence as the woman regarded him with narrowed eyes. She placed both her arms on the counter and leaned in, very close, as her eyes aligned with Blakely's. Flecks of gold waxed and waned in her irides, and Blakely met the daunting gaze with the intensity of both himself and the nervous Dr Alston Blasius. It proved a bit difficult. He had an idea of what she was doing. Already, he felt some unknown power trying to pull information from his lips, and was nearly swallowed whole by her presence before she blinked, and the spell wore off.
She broke into a smile. "Very well, Dr Blasius. Here you are. Allow me to apologise for that scare."
She handed him a single vial filled to the cork with a warm, yellow liquid. "Yersinia. Extracted from your regular household rat. Erm, or their fleas. Sadly, very easy to come by around these parts but not very useful. The other 3 items you have asterisked are not available." Then she pondered for a moment. "You're welcome to try any of the apothecaries in Platella's Alcove." Her smile was charmingly devious, as of she had just busted some teens who were trying to sneak out to a college frat party. "Try as you might to deny, you're headed there next, yes?"
Blakely successively hid his surprise and slid the vial under the lapels of his coat pocket. She had been sure to gauge his response as soon as the words left her lips. "Thank you," was all he said, as he retrieved his mask from the table.
She smiled again and this time it was even more unsettling than before, as she pushed a lock of black hair behind her ear. "Enjoy the rest of your stay."
With a parting glance, Blakely left. The chime rang over his head again but seemed more watchful and malicious than it had before. Finally, outside in the damp rain, Blakely let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding.
Abis would have to be filled in on their exchange in detail. That woman knew more than she let on. There were 3 other items left to be acquired, and if what she said was true there could be some in Platella's Alcove. He patted his coat pocket for his note, but it wasn't there. Blakely was about to go back inside, recalling that she hadn't returned it to him when he saw, right above his head, the note fluttering in the rain. It gravitated towards Blakely as if it couldn't help itself, where it landed snuggly into his palm. Completely dry.
With narrowed eyes Blakely read the new set of words scrawled in the bottom right of the paper - some words that weren't there before.
"The Watch Sees All."
Blakely's smile was grim as he walked back to the inn. It seems they had a problem on their hands.