The Legacy of The Shattered Dream

by Natomon01

Chapter 4: Different Paths

The low clouds began to thicken and then to obscured the ground below. Crack looked ahead as he glided through a slightly warmer air current; one that only required him to flap his wings once every few seconds. He could see the gray tip of a mountain as it was just peeking above. “Was that the correct one?” Crack thought to himself. The irony was that the Amerigo hadn’t managed to even start the scouting work in this area based on his decision to plan the survey starting point in the eastern grids.
He strained to remember just how the peak had looked when he’d last laid eyes on it some eight years prior, but he found that the memories from that time in his life were so dim. That could be a blessing, but at times like these it could also be a curse. Eight years might as well have been eighty.
“Let me see” he muttered. “Above the clouds and silver gray in the morning when the light-” he stopped abruptly as he realized that “the light” would be coming from the wrong direction at this time of day.
He sighed in frustration and glanced at the small projective chart he’d been relying on periodically. It was a small comfort having what was at least the beginnings of a map. From this he could know where he was supposed to be going and what direction it was in. Yet now, he was finding that solo navigation was a good deal harder than he remembered. He and his old comrades used to be able to do it without the aides he’d become accustomed to over the past few years. His human comrade’s tools such as the sextant or the process of dead-reckoning made life easier, but as he was now finding, could make it a good deal more frustrating when robbed of them.
He smiled in spite of the inconveniences, though. It was good, liberating in fact, to be traveling by wing once again. The furthest he routinely flew would be from stem to stern of the Amerigo. Those flights were just his inspections; twice every week or after storms. Nothing could compare to the satisfaction of a day in the skies and not being that sure of just how far you could get in a day. It was always the best when he’d been surprised at just how far he could travel if the conditions were right.
Distance flying was, on the whole, an art that was largely misunderstood. You had to understand how air currents could be used as an advantage and not something to be fought. Fighting them used up one’s strength and limited how high you might go on account of the thin air at higher altitudes. The solution was simple. Just let the air fly for you. All that had to be done was to stay inside the current. Though, this was a difficult thing to do if your intuitions hadn’t been honed properly.
Five years in the sky after his post-nuptial quest had trained him quite well when it came to prolonged flight. If conditions were right, and today was no exception, he remembered it having been possible to make it as far as Facet, the one-time High-Clan capitol, with some official message carefully tucked away inside his knapsack or within his own eidetic memory. Sky-carriers, as he’d once been, were unique warriors indeed. Though not line-officers, and thus not expected to participate in combat, they were still expected to either kill or be killed for what they might be carrying to and from the fight. Their itinerancy forced them to spent a great deal of time, far too much according to some, away from their homes and loved ones. Friendships would sometimes not survive, and Crack had seen far too many colleagues who would return to their dens only to find they no longer knew their children, or worse, their husband or wife.
The loss of his own wife, though painful to learn of, had almost been merciful when he realized that he would always remember his White Cap as she’d been. Her death in the Peak War was not without honor. Her notoriety had even produced clout that he could have drawn on. However, upon arriving at camp to perform rituals he’d realized that the griffoness he’d been so pleased to marry had become someone altogether different. Her comrades had been eager to praise her and tell story after story of White Cap’s heroism and tenacity, but as each account was relayed to him he knew that they had begun to drift; just like the tide-barges they’d been raised on. At least, he remembered thinking, he hadn’t been there to see it, but if he had been there it likely wouldn’t have happened at all.
He’d once had the option of changing his capacity of service from messaging to watching over the supply convoys. Any army in the field had to rely on a substantial apparatus of support that was sequestered behind the lines. Though, there were still instances where caravans and convoys were vulnerable to the enemy or less than honorable fellow griffons. Crack had carried regular dispatch orders to supply barons and their deputies; both griffons and zebras. A few had tried to recruit him. They seemed to believe that his skills and loyalty in protecting information might have translated well to protecting their assets. One zebra road baron had even gone so far as to pay him just to accompany a caravan or two on their weekly supply runs. He’d obliged, for the money, but when he’d compared the sky to the ground the sky had won. Yet, was he the one who had actually lost eventually?
Now, he found himself trying to reach the starting point of that caravan he’d once set out with. Though the caravan had of course stayed on the ground, he and his fellow watches had periodically taken position in the air so as to reconnoiter the terrain and sky ahead. Though he could remember the characteristics of the terrain from back then, it had been the dead of winter at the time. Add to that the heavy traffic both toward the front and back, and this made it easy to spot roads simply by contrasting the well-traveled strips of land with the pure white of the fresh snow. Stone Capitol was by default the place where all of the dark lines had converged on. Even now Stone Nation was still remembered as purveyors of light, warmth, and security for travelers.
Crack shook his head and stuffed the chart back into his map pocket. It was pointless to continue thinking about how things had looked in the past. At the moment those memories wouldn’t serve him at all. Not only was there no way of seeing the ground through the clouds, but he was approaching the mountains from a different direction and at a different time of day! It wasn’t as though he could just try to look for the characteristic light of the visitor’s district through the clouds now either. The patronage of the various inns and suppliers had likely diminished since the war’s end, and the once bright row of taverns, mead halls, and supply depots just above the stock yards were likely shuttered due to significantly-reduced patronage. Thus, no “guiding light” as some songs had mentioned. There was still one way to be sure. If the peak he could see ahead was indeed the Mountain of Being as he suspected, then just above the western foothills there would be the Rapier Gorge. That would be the proof he needed. If he was wrong though, it wouldn’t be worth sapping the rest of his strength to work his way back up to his current altitude. He would lose the rest of the day, and time was vital for the successful completion of his errand.
After several more minutes of weighing his options, Crack decided that it was worth it. He checked the straps on his knapsack and tightened the drawstrings on his hauberk and hood. Now came the fun part. He leaned forward to shift his weight and tucked in his wings. In relative silence, he dropped like a stone. The air rushing past was all he could hear. He relished in the freedom he had, for at least a moment, to absolve himself of having to concentrate to stay aloft. He smiled as the cloud bank below him grew closer with each passing second. Preparing for contact, he extended his body and focused himself to a single point; just like a steel dart. The clouds fought back. They seemed especially viscous and thick that day, but they were no match for Crack’s accrued momentum. They passed by him with the unique sensation that only the clouds of this country could deliver.
Almost as quickly as they had started the clouds began to thin to reveal the forest canopy below and a few trailing vestiges of solitary cumulus concentrations. Crack scrutinized his target altitude and opened his wings to begin slowing his descent. As he began to flap and push the air he could feel how heavy it was. He frowned. That was unusual for this time of year. Perhaps there was a weather system rolling in, but any serious summer storm would be out of the question. Summer ended early here anyways. He was nearing the last of the cumulus clouds now. He dodged these to avoid breaking his freefall. “This is good enough” he thought to himself as he eased up and leveled out. He could see the bottom half of the mountain he’d spotted while still above. It was the right shape at least. He didn’t remember the foothills being so filled with vegetation, though. He decided to make a crescent arc around the mountain and try to orient himself.
He was preparing to shift course when he spotted a silhouette in his periphery. He craned his neck to see a griffon making their way towards him at a leisurely speed. Crack held his course and waved to the new arrival. Whoever they were returned the gesture. “Friendly enough” he thought. “Perhaps they’ll be able to tell me just where on-earth I am.” He hastily rehearsed his story while waiting till he was sure the other was in earshot.
“Hello friend!” He shouted, his accent as disguised as he could make it. “That is to say… I hope that you’re no enemy of mine.”
“Is there any reason I should be your enemy, Tree Nation?” came her unexpected response.
Tree Nation?! Crack as taken aback. He could have sworn he was doing a flawless Ice Nation accent. He’d listened to Ellipse far too long to get it wrong. Maybe it was because of gender? She was the only Ice Nation conversational exemplar he had access to, and certain dens did have radically different speech patterns between males and females. He didn’t have time to puzzle over it, though. The approaching griffoness, as he could now make her out to be, was still getting closer, and she was undoubtedly expecting his answer. He hastily decided not to acknowledge his den; real or false.
“There are some who deserve enemies and others who deserve them not, but either may not always have what they deserve.”
“Bald’s Maxims” she snorted sarcastically as she maneuvered alongside him. “When I was a cub there was maestro who insisted that I and all of my peers memorize that book from one end to the other.”
“You have my sympathies” Crack replied with a wry grin. “I had a mother and father who required the same from me. May I assume then, from both your accent and academic history, that I’ve reached Stone Nation territory?”
“You have, and I see now that you’re not Tree Nation either. It was tough to catch your voice in the wind. Ice Nation?”
Crack nodded to her in both acknowledgement and relief. It was good he’d kept his mouth shut after all. He was also pleased that he’d at least reached the general area he’d hoped for.
“I’m trying to reach Stone Capitol before dark. Is that possible from here?”
“Very possible” she replied. “It’s only several moments away from this position.” As she spoke she pointed to the mountain that Crack had suspected was his destination. “Come with me” she motioned to him. “I’ll guide you in.”
Crack nodded, rather grateful for the offer. Yet, why had the demeanor of this lookout, he was certain now that’s what she was, changed so quickly from cold and questioning to friendly? He turned to follow her as she adjusted her heading slightly.
“Why, if I may ask, does a lone traveler warrant a personal reception? Let alone one that began so curtly?”
When he was met with silence he turned to face her. She seemed to be considering his question for a moment, wondering whether or not she should answer, but she eventually did.
“I was asked to look out for someone.”
“A fugitive?”
“Not necessarily. I suppose you might call her a person of interest.”
“I see.”
He was about to ask for further details, but she continued.
“But what about you Ice Nation?”
“Me?”
“May I have your name and business please? It would help expedite your entry into the city if I were to help log you in.”
“Log me in? What does that mean?”
“It’s nothing of consequence” she waved her talon dismissively. “You’re expected to declare yourself, your purpose, and your goods.
Crack simply stared back at her making no effort to hide his confusion.
“It’s for taxation” she added.
“I’m going to be taxed for just being there?”
“Of course not! You’ll only be taxed when you depart, on any profits you’ve made during your stay. That includes gambling.”
“Any rationale behind this enlightened policy, besides robbing me blind?”
“I’ve little knowledge when it comes to alignment policy, but the results have been good for us. We’re not the only ones who have these tariffs. All nations in the confederacy have adopted them.”
Crack scowled. This was news to him. He’d known there would be surprises, but this certainly wasn’t expected. He decided to keep his beak shut for the rest of the way as he wondered what other changes had occurred. Moments later he received some answers. Just over the next rise Rapier Gorge came into view as the land dipped again, and above the foothills of the mountain he could see his destination. From his current altitude Stone Capitol truly looked alien now, and not just because it was no longer beneath a layer of snow.
As he’d expected, the stock yards, once a hub of activity and piled high with supplies, were empty. The hastily-cleared and graded land had been left to nature and was sprouting various small shrubs and a covering of brown grass. The protective stockades and sentry perches that hadn’t been dismantled sagged under their own weight as though they were waiting for an excuse to collapse. All but a few were this way. The others had been apparently converted to carving fields for large prey. The center of these now bore the coat of arms that belonged to the various hunting packs that occupied them. Crack’s attention was drawn to one in particular. Though faded, it was apparent from the ruddy-brown stain of blood that the field had been used as recently as two weeks ago. Dragon blood was the only bodily fluid he could think of that endured so long when exposed to the elements. According to his friend Copper Lance, this was on account of its high mineral content.
“You seem interested in the carving fields” his escort commented. “Are you versed in dragon lore?”
“So that is dragon blood” he thought to himself. He almost swore out loud. This didn’t bode well for the success of his mission. If there had been a recent hunt then that would mean any remaining dragon broods would be very agitated for a time thereafter. He’d need to investigate this further.
“Not particularly” he replied. “I did used to have some hunting pack alumni in my family, though. My grandmother had a phial of dragon’s blood that she’d kept with her from her first kill as a pack alpha.”
“Is that so?” she replied with sudden interest. “Only the best ever become an alpha. What was her pack’s name?”
Crack winced. Looking away, he hoped she hadn’t seen that. He had to think fast. It was a mistake to mention something that was in this case true! How could he explain a Shore-Nation hunting pack in the context of an Ice-Nation one? It’s not as though he’d gotten much out of his grandmother’s stories; even when she could remember them. Wait! That was it.
“Well… to be honest…” he began.
Honest! that was a laugh. Though right now, he was being truthful. In a way.
“The truth is that I don’t know that much about her early years. The poor old griffoness had started going senile the year I was born. The only assurances I ever got about her time as a huntress was the fact that my grandfather wouldn’t argue with her when he could remember it too.”
She seemed a bit disappointed but didn’t carry the conversation further as her attention shifted to directly ahead. Crack turned to face the same direction once again and could now see just how close they were to the city. They banked low along the old perimeter road parallel to the Rapier Gorge. He could see that the Sutler’s Row, once a lively merchant district, stood mostly open and unused. Many of the stalls were in a similar state of decay as the old stock yards.
“The loose patch of dirt right up ahead of us” his escort said.
“I see it” he nodded.
The two of them aimed at the cross painted into the dirt with colored chalk. They alighted on the softened ground seconds later. There was of course little point to this exercise beyond demonstrating proper manners. Anyone could easily land in the center of the Den, but old customs mandated declaring one’s presence. From there the Den could decide whether or not to allow the visitor to shelter with them. Crack was surprised that some clans and nations still observed the custom. Most settlements that saw copious amounts of travelers tended to simply wave them through with nothing more than a cursory glance after they would set down on the threshold.
“The mountain soil it a bit clingy here” he remarked to his escort while trying unsuccessfully to shake the dirt from his paws and talons.
“This isn’t Deep Harbor” she snorted; pointing him towards a mat of crushed pebbles.
She was correct about that. In Deep Harbor no one would’ve cared that a stranger had come to town. If Stone Capitol were at all like his on-time home it would’ve been far easier to remain anonymous. Just another face in the hundreds and hundreds that came and went every day. Even when there was a formal reception for a dignitary or a family homecoming the threshold would be made up of carefully dried and sifted white beach sand; something that didn’t cling like this!
The two finished scraping their themselves clean, and Crack was about to turn towards the gate up ahead when his griffoness escort stepped in front of him.
“You’ll need to tell me your name now.”
“Oh yes, of course. It’s Burst. I’m here as a proxy.”
Crack was pleased with himself. That was true, in a sense. He, technically, had been named for his grandfather, Thunderhead, and he was there as a proxy, of sorts. Though, his words would invariably give a false impression to his soon-to-be Stone Nation hosts. His hostess, though, seemed almost disappointed at this.
“Is something wrong?” he inquired. “Would you rather I’d said that I was a foreign agent?”
“I’m sorry” she sighed as the two started towards the trade entrance. “It’s just rather mundane. I haven’t met any foreigners for quite a stretch, and I guess in that time you can start thinking of other clans and nations as rather more exotic than they are. I’m guessing that you’re Ice Nation Skyfire?”
Crack nodded matter-of-factly. He was doing well at maintaining his guise, but he hadn’t intended to tell so many untruths. Why was she so talkative? Was this a sort of soft-interrogation technique? He would’ve continued his musings, but was interrupted.
“Be declared, traveler” a new voice interrupted; almost belting out the words as though they were the verse of a song just out of the singer’s vocal range.
Crack looked ahead to see that they’d reached the checkpoint. A young griffon, clad in armor that probably didn’t even belong to him, was standing in his path. Crack simply stared back at him in surprise. Who could justify putting such a young griffon on watch duty? Even if he was a customs apprentice, someone his age would be relegated to tidying up the barracks or caring for the weapons and armor. Crack must’ve stared a bit too long, as the whelp seemed to be summoning his breath again. He probably would’ve unleashed another pup’s bark of demands or perhaps an attempt at verbal abuse to add a bit to his stature but was silenced before he got the chance.
“Who told you to receive visitors?” came a voice from inside of the adjacent guard’s shelter. This one was a good deal older.
Crack looked to see a griffoness, this one in well-kept and well-fitting armor, striding towards them. The younger one seemed to shrink into his armor as though he were a tortoise retreating into his shell.
“I told you that you could keep the log and notify us of an approach! Now get back to your perch and stay there!”
The would-be customs officer retreated, dragging his tail.
“Is this… the norm?” Crack asked.
“Definitely not!” the griffoness who’d accompanied him snorted indignantly. Though, Crack could tell she was somewhat amused at seeing the younger one smacked down a notch. Her satisfaction was short-lived.
“And you! What are you doing here!” the older griffoness pointed her talon at Crack’s escort. “You know the conditions you’re under right now. Get back into the field!”
The younger griffoness sighed and turned away. “Yes. Yes” she said dismissively. “’Probationary’.”
“That’s correct! You’re supposed to be demonstrating your vigilance before I can afford to have you back here, Silver.”
“Like there’s any real point to all of this” the younger one grumbled as she took to the sky again.
The guard captain looked at her subordinate fly away and shook her head in mild annoyance.
“I won’t pretend to know anything about the local residents, but you shouldn’t be so hard on that one” Crack broke the silence. “She was keen enough to meet me halfway.”
The captain seemed taken aback by Crack’s comment. Realizing that she was in the presence of a foreign traveler, she turned towards him flustered, with some evident indignation. Her attempt at recovery of the situation was futile, though. Crack was already analyzing and noting any possible implications of the scene he’d just witnessed. It was clear that this was abnormal. What did it mean, though?
“You’ve reached Stone Capitol, traveler. Where do you travel from?”
“From north, on the Red Wind.”
“I’d never heard of an Ice-Nation wind-rider before.”
“You’re quite correct in your assumption. I acquired that skill elsewhere. It’s greatly assisted my profession.”
“Which is?”
“Representation.”
Crack had begun to wonder if it had been wise to pair Ice Nation and business with each other. It would be believable in a place like Deep Harbor, but here in Stone Capitol, the vast majority of griffons had only ever met soldiers of Ice Nation as they passed through to the front; many never to return.
Crack tried to keep his poise and expression neutral as the officer scrutinized him.
“So… you’re a proxy?”
“Correct.”
“Whom do you represent?”
“I represent many, but none at the moment.”
She scowled back at him in puzzlement. She was obviously sizing him up.
“Remove your hood” she said tersely.
“My hood? Why?”
“You seem to be unaware of how this works. If you want to be let in, then you do as I say! Now remove your hood! I want a good look at you!”
Crack complied and gently tugged the flax flight-hood off of his head. His care seemed to amuse the customs officer who shook her head and rolled her eyes. After several moments she nodded her head at him in approval.”
“You’ve been preened recently. I’ve never known an Ice-Nation member to pay such strict attention to their appearance. I suppose it helps you in your trade, though.”
Crack relaxed. She seemed to be buying his cover. Though, he hadn’t counted on anyone connecting his well-ordered crest to fit into it so nicely. He re-donned his hood. Still taking special care to not disturb any of the array of small threads carefully concealed beneath his feathers. The apparatus he had been fitted with was one of the more creative inventions that Summer Soft, the Amerigo’s devoted chief stewardess, had dreamed up. The mesh she’d carefully woven into at least one-hundred of his larger feathers just before he’d departed, had the function of altering the shape of his crest and thus changing his ethnic appearance somewhat. It had been a tedious affair placing each one individually and then positioning them afterward, but the result had been worth it. He indeed could pass for Ice-Nation, on some levels at least.
“If you’re a proxy… does that also mean you’re also a barrister?” the griffoness asked quite unexpectedly. Crack hadn’t expected her to make that connection.
“What makes you think that?” he inquired.
“You’re too well kept to simply be a common trade proxy. So I deduce you’ve been trained at court by a scholar. ‘Yes’ or ‘no’ please” she added impatiently.
“I learned my law from books. It helps to understand the judicial framework of where I may be when I represent. But again, why is this important?”
“You tell me you’re a proxy, but you claim you don’t currently represent anyone here. Therefore I deduce you’re looking for work.” Next, she leaned in close and almost whispered. “I… I may have some for you. Are you interested?”
“You’re… in need of council?”
“Of sorts.”
Crack thought for a moment. His gut screamed for him to refuse any possible entanglements that might delay his mission, or worse, place him under greater scrutiny. Then again, could her reason for allowing him entry stem from a need for what she hoped he could provide? If so, refusal might cost him. Yet, it might be something rather simple.
“I’ve… advised before, but only for trade negotiations” he replied cautiously; trying to sound as non-committal as he could, and to hopefully make her less eager to depend on any service he could provide. “What do you require?”
They both turned at the sound of someone approaching. It was only a passer-by, but the customs officer immediately stood erect as if now remembering where she was.”
“You’ll likely need to rent a bed” she said rather loudly and briskly. “There’s a caravan corral in the merchant’s bailey. Across from that is a traveler’s inn. While, as you would expect, they do serve meals, I’d advise against it. There’s a mead hall with a much better reputation near the Diet’s ampetheatre. You can’t miss it.” She lowered her voice. “I’d like it if I could see you there tonight, or the next night.”
Crack nodded and they both turned away from each other. It hadn’t exactly gone as expected. So much for slipping in and out! This deep level of investigation was uncommon, even when he’d been here before, in wartime no less. There did remain the possibility this was his own fault. Perhaps he’d provoked it by calling attention to the obvious irregularities of the checkpoint. He was certain from her appearance and demeanor that this griffoness was none other than the watch’s head-mistress. If that was the case, she may have taken his remarks as negative commentary on how her post was run. But, honestly! The way they’d presented themselves was disgraceful! This may happen to be peacetime, but there was no excuse for allowing internal politics to show though! Something truly disturbing must’ve happened to put them all off their game. He’d have to remember to probe for information later. Perhaps if, no, “when” he saw her again.
He made his way towards the merchant’s bailey to find the contact he’d come to see. Yet, as he recounted his interchange with the griffons he’d just met, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was simmering just underneath the surface. Something that he suspected he might regret ever getting involved with.

Kearn stared intently. Concentration was key at this point; not only from him but from his engineers as well. They all looked up above the top of the Assembly, where hung a narrow cylindrical catwalk. There was just barely enough clearance between it and the domed shape of the overhead for a stallion of a griffon to stand upright. Yet now, no less than six of the Amerigo’s strongest stallions marched around it in a circle, all hitched to a carousel. As they moved the great and heavy machines throughout the platform began to as well. The Amerigo was beginning to stir from its enforced slumber, but it wasn’t awake yet. The engineer looked at his captain, who stood beside him, to ask for permission. Charlie just nodded back and cleared his throat.
“Commence primary ignition!” he shouted.
Kearn had often thought of asking why his human friend always used that phrase. They weren’t actually igniting anything. Though, the question was always lost in the flurry of activity that followed.
“All pushers report harmony!” Kearn shouted so that each of the six pusher system operators could hear.
Each secondary element’s operator reported back in succession as the order moved circuitously from Kearn, around the Platform and then back before finally being completed and summed by Scotch at the primary station.
Now came the part the engineer had been both dreading and anticipating. It was time to restart the Harmonic Assembly. While proud of his ingenuity in solving the problem, he, and he was certain others, felt uneasy about just what was going to happen. Would the replacement pieces hold up under the stress? Or was that the least of their worries? Maybe their deductions about the cause of the accident were just all baseless and wrong, and they hadn’t addressed the real cause of the issue. Who was to say that it couldn’t happen again?
While all five of the secondary elements moved in circular orbits around the trunk, held in place by their branches, Element-Primary moved linearly, up and down, within the trunk itself. The trunk-shaft was the piece which the element was attached to. Unlike Element Primary, the Secondaries had no physical contact with their pushers; the concentric rings that the team had just finished reassembling a short while ago. Conversely, the trunk-shaft was physically connected to its element, and it also represented the only physical penetration of the containment-sphere. It poked out of the top in the center of the lead-screw; an enormous worm-gear that engaged the port and starboard transmission shafts.
It was this component that had suffered the most damage in the events of the previous week. The solid-brass rod had slammed down into the Assembly so hard it had developed a bow; one that was so bad that Charlie had been forced to cut it into pieces with a metal-file to remove it from the trunk that way. Normally, Kearn would simply have directed his machinewrights to produce a new one within the Amerigo’s machine-forge workshop, but in a twist of irony the special tools needed couldn’t be used to produce an equivalent replacement unless the Harmonic Assembly was in a usable state. The Amerigo’s transmission shafts had to be driven by the Assembly to supply the necessary mechanical force to make the lathes turn with the strength to cut metal and thus forge a new trunk-shaft. The solution he’d come up with was to make a replacement from oak-wood. Using a treadmill driven by several earth stallions, they had managed to turn out a piece that matched the original. At least, according to its physical dimensions.
As the Zebra and his human friend surveyed their completed work, they were both acutely aware of the dangers of catastrophic failure that they’d opened themselves up to. Not only would a repeat of the same event as had damaged the last trunk-shaft condemn the ship and its crew to an uncertain fate, but it was impossible to tell just how a wooden part would handle over time. Would it crack? Splinter? Or perhaps wear away from friction? This, and other questions, were unanswerable at this time, and that was at least mildly-concerning.
“Engaged. Harmony is six-by-zero” Scotch reported finally.
“Very good” Kearn nodded. “Primary: You may commence your pull. Secondaries: Track for standby. All others: Grab your ear trumpets and report any vibrations over a five.”
“How many clicks? Should we go five like usual?”
“No” Kearn answered after thinking for a few seconds. “Take it slowly. Two at a time.”
Scotch nodded and gingerly wound the setting wheel counting off two audible clicks before pulling the large charging lever. The response from the Assembly was immediate as he did so. There issued an echo of two loud clunks that could be felt underhoof. Seconds later the first telltale signs of activity from the assembly itself could be noticed. A loud clattering sound came from the interior of the sphere. The sound tended to make the less-experience engineers somewhat fearful. Kearn just waved his hoof reassuringly. Anyone who’d done this evolution more than once knew it was just the branches realigning themselves after having been previously stopped when not in parking-position.
Kearn looked at several of the engineers who had positioned themselves around the assembly. They each had a conical-shaped tool, known as an ear-trumpet, inserted into various pieces of now-moving machinery. The tools’ bell-shaped openings were resting against their ears as each of them listened intently to the sound of the machinery. One-by-one they looked back and nodded at their chief. Kearn nodded back, pleased that there were no unexpected sounds or vibrations to signal immediate mechanical trouble. Kearn nodded to Charlie and ordered Scotch to resume pulling his element.
Several clicks later a melodic and almost sublime hum issued from the Harmonic Assembly. Kearn carefully scrutinized the tambre of the sound and gazed at the sphere. The pusher-assembly’s rings were now rotating themselves as they kept their respective elements in-time with each other. A moment later, and right on time, the faintest glow could be observed emanating from the interior through the opaque crystal container. It began as a deep lavender, the same color as Element-Primary, but eventually cycled through the full range of the other elements. This signified that none of the elements had yet reached dominance over the others. Just the way it should be. Next, the entire sphere could be seen rising off of the cradle it had been held in place by. It was holding itself now and would remain that way as long as it was active. Kearn was beginning to relax. Several moments into the evolution and everything was going exactly as expected. Time to see if it could support itself now.
“The Assembly is freewheeling” reported Scotch as he tapped several of his gauges to ensure they weren’t drifting.
Kearn turned to see Charlie staring at the Amerigo’s power plant impassively. That was to say, “seemingly impassive.” He could see the small joints of the human’s digits were white, as they grasped the speech-pipe bell in his hand. The Zebra smiled to himself in quiet amusement. That was always one of Charlie’s tells. What a curse not to be born with a fur coat!
“Carousel!” Kearn said. “Disengage!”
The stallions that had been pulling the carousel stopped just as Kearn pulled a lever next to his desk to disengaged their harness linkage. The Assembly continued its gentle rotation as well as it’s placement in midair under it’s own power. The Assembly was most definitely “freewheeling” as they tended to call it.
A feeling of excitation tingled across every hair of every body throughout the Platform. Though some no doubt felt genuine exhilaration, it was actually a charge effect. Every hair on Kearn’s body was being tugged on gently by the Elements. They still weren’t sure what caused this. Charlie said something about “stationary-electricity,” since he’d received the occasional lightning bolt arcing into his body when he’d gotten to close, Kearn disagreed, at least partially. The zebra knew powerful magic when he saw, or rather felt it. He remained convinced that the electrical phenomenon was only the visible part of something far more powerful.
“All pushers report harmony!” Kearn repeated the order again.
Once again each of the secondary pusher stations reported one by one with Scotch, at the primary station, reporting last.
“Six-by-six!” the pegasus reported with a mixture of satisfaction and relief.
In fact, the relief throughout the Platform was so tangible one might’ve been able to reach out and touch it. Kearn and Charlie once again exchanged satisfied glances as they breathed freely again.
“Alright! What are we waiting for!” Charlie rubbed his hands together. “Let’s bring this place to life again!” He lifted the speech pipe’s face piece, or “jay,” to his ear and turned a crank while he waited for someone at the other end to respond to the electric noisemaker. Presently, they did.
“Control. Platform. Request the watch-chief on the jay” he said, taking care to enunciate clearly so he could be heard.
Kearn looked to his left to see Gow still cramming his tools into one of the storage lockers. He motioned for him to take the second jay-station.
“You can handle the engineering communiques while the Captain takes care of the command messages” he instructed.
His apprentice nodded and closed the speech-cock between the forward and aft system. Kearn sometimes wondered if the Jay-system, though simple, was more confusing than it needed to be. At its simplest it was only speaking, sometimes yelling, through a pipe. The etiquette that had to be employed in its use could be maddening. Not to mention the fact that it didn’t agree with everyone’s voice. When a griffon tried to use it the message could be nearly incomprehensible! He’d often asked Charlie what had happened to his electric or sound-powered jay system projects. Charlie would just grumble something to the effect of “It’ll get done when it’s done.”
Kearn’s ears perked up as Gow began speaking loudly too. He strained to separate out the two half-conversations being conducted but gave up. Moments later Charlie put down the jay and nodded to Kearn as he relayed the communique.
“Control and the forward watch stations report ready. All telegraphs have been zeroed and all tap-shafts disengaged. The secondary and tertiary section-chiefs are passing the word.”
Gow finished his own conversation seconds later.
“The dynamo plant and the primary alternator plant report ready also. All tap-shafts disengaged.”
“Charge!” Kearn informed them. “Everyone step back! Clear the transmission shafts!”
As he spoke Kearn scanned the overhead just to make sure that all of the crew had cleared. Despite the visual interference provided by the rotating Assembly and the Pushers, he could clearly see the large horizontally-mounted shafts that would soon animate the rest of the ship. Their function was a simple one, to deliver rotational force to whatever type of machinery within the Amerigo which required it; a large task. As a result they were some of the heartiest, and heaviest, components of the ship; made through a special process that was fully understood by only Charlie and himself.
Kearn tugged the red safety-catch lever with his teeth and stomped down on one of his hoof-pedals. The safety blocks that had been holding the shafts in their position fell away and crew’s ears were treated to an almost-painful grinding as the shafts’ gearhead cogs and the Assembly’s worm-like lead-screw clattered against each other, then meshed, then slipped again, and finally caught. The entire vessel shook as both shafts began rotating. The Assembly seemed to protest as it began to slow under the new loading. The pusher operators compensated and the familiar ship-wide vibrations began picking up.
Despite the Assemby’s prior struggle when shouldering the heavier load, the vessel in its entirety seemed to chug away happily now as each moving part stabilized and once again remember its role. The sound of a chime being struck told Kearn that the dynamo-plant had just engaged their tap-shaft. Moments later the Platform took on a different character as the control stations began to glitter with Charlie’s own brand of special magic. The “electricity,” as the human referred to it, coursed through the dozens and dozens of horn-made glass baubles that had been carefully mounted on wooden or steel backboards with the names or pictures of what they represented painted next to them. They were, in their own way, quite beautiful. The overhead emergency lights flickered and then came on strong, bathing their surroundings in a soft yellowish glow, and having left little time to admire the earlier rainbow-like beauty similar to a dragon’s hoard.
Throughout the ship there were distant whistles of applause and hoof-stamping as the crew rejoiced. Everyone nearby grinned as they looked around the platform, literally seeing it in a different light. Kearn watched the shafts intently as they rotated slowly. He could make out a minute swaying motion from both of them. He frowned in confusion for a moment, but soon realized that this must be due to having sat without attention for almost two weeks. He almost cursed for having neglected them. Without periodic re-positioning both shafts could bow slightly after sagging under their own weight.
“I see it too” Charlie said, staring up at the shafts with his arms crossed. “There’s no excuse. We’ll just have to wait and see if the deformation gets worked out.”
Kearn nodded in reply, but he was surprised at the blase attitude that Charlie was treating the situation. A cobbled-together vital component was bad enough, but to have another with a potential for further damage ought to weigh heavily on one’s mind. Kearn would’ve preferred that they waited a day to let the bow even out through constant rotation before putting a full load on them. Charlie seemed to have other plans.
“Well I think we should contact the switchboard and have them close the boiler switches” he suggested to his engineer. “We’ll finally get some heating steam and hot water. I for one am cold and damp, and we all need to see to of our own hygiene.”
“I’d rather not” Kearn protested. “I don’t want to run all that housekeeping machinery from dynamos only.”
The human frowned, and Kearn could tell that he’d been greatly anticipating running warm water and central heating. This evidenced by both the smell he emanated and the now clearly-visible grime on his bare skin. Kearn desperately wanted the usual amenities back too. It truly was almost frightening how accustomed to such things they’d all grown. Perhaps those things alone were what encouraged such loyalty among the crew. He decided to compromise.
“I’ll give you one boiler for now, and we can use it for the showers. I’d prefer to wait on the other things until we can bring on the alternator plant. Then we can be fully powered up.”
Charlie seemed understandably disappointed, but he eventually nodded, stroking his chin in thought. He seemed surprised at how his smooth bare skin felt since he next raised both hands to rub his cheeks.
“Time to shave?” asked Kearn.
“Yeah. Time to shave.”
“How long did you make it this time?”
“I think it’s been about two weeks.”
“Not bad, but have you considered just letting it grow instead of using those tonics to suppress your natural coat?”
“I’m not old enough for a beard” the human replied shaking his head and turning away to pick up some of the tools that were still left out.
Just how old was the human? Not even Crack or Turner knew that. In the nearly seven years he’d known Charlie he’d seen noticeable changes in his size, physique, voice, and his general demeanor. If these were the hallmarks of a human’s physical maturity, then that would make him the equivalent of a young stallion or “man” as he’d heard Charlie say on a few occasions. It seemed a bit odd, after growing up in his own gerontocratic society, that he would serve a captain so much younger than himself. He preferred to think of this as just another part of the friendship they held. Yet, at the end of the day Charlie was in charge.
Kearn suddenly felt his friend’s hand shaking him. He turned to see Charlie and realized that he’d been staring off into space.
“Sorry” kearn apologized. “I think I’m in need of some sleep.”
“I’m the same” Charlie agreed. “But I think we’ll all sleep better if the ship is warm and dry. Please make the alternators your top priority. I’d like some alternating-current soon. Otherwise, I think you’ve got things under control here so I’m going back to get a shower and a shave.”
At this, Charlie turned towards the lift at the far end. Kearn realized that his friend must be truly exhausted. The platform-lift, though almost a necessity for anyone with hooves, was something that Charlie seldom used except for when he was exceptionally worn out. He turned towards Scotch and motioned for him to continue on without him. He then turned to follow Charlie.
“I’m going to check on the dynamo plant and to supervise the alternator start-up. I’ll walk with you as far as the crossover.”
The lift lurched downward as the operator switched out the counterweight below. The two of them rode in silence for the majority of the trip before it deposited them a level below. The passageway, now bathed in artificial light, already felt much more lively as the vibration of the transmission shafts reverberated here and there throughout the Amerigo. It was enough to put some bounce in anyone’s step.
“So” Charlie broke the silence “what’s on your mind?”
“What makes you say that?”
“You and I both know that you could’ve sent Scotch or even Gow to go check on the electric plants. Is this about the… ‘unconventional’ fix we made back there? Because if it is then I have to tell you I’m concerned as well. So just-”
“It’s not. It’s about you.”
“Me? What did I do?”
The zebra took a deep breath. He wasn’t used to getting so deep, but with the frenzy of activity related to getting back underway seemingly had left no other opportunity except now.
“I’ve noticed some changes in you recently.”
“Changes?”
“Yes. I saw your demeanor change considerably while we were languishing on this plateau for the last little while. I wouldn’t have thought this was much more than simple boredom if I hadn’t seen this before. You were genuinely withdrawn.”
Kearn let his words sink in before continuing.
“The truth is that you need to get back underway. You need a constant distraction. What is it that’s hurting you that you don’t want to acknowledge, and why do you seem to believe that myself, Crack, or Turner couldn’t ease your mind? You do, or at least I should hope, have friends for a reason.”
Charlie was clearly stunned by his friend. His face betrayed both surprise and perhaps a hint on anger at Kearn’s assertion and probing questions.
“Let’s keep walking” he said as he turned to follow the passageway.
“You zebras” Charlie said shaking his head in minor annoyance. “You’re just that much more direct than other equines.”
“Well?” Kearn pushed the matter further.
“How long have we know each other?” Charlie asked.
“It’s been almost seven years.”
“Seven meaningful years” he corrected. This he said in the Zebra-Tongue. Something that Kearn knew wasn’t easy for the human. “Though,” he continued “are you willing to accept the fact that there are things about myself I’ve never told you?”
“I’ve always known this” agreed Kearn. “Yet, what’s happened that could make you feel the need for such depressing isolation? I say again, you have friends. Why not make use of us?”
Charlie smiled in obvious appreciation. He carelessly exposed his teeth as he did so, but Kearn had gotten used to this over time. He seemed to realize and shut his mouth several seconds later.
“I appreciate the sentiment, but my decision to be alone for most of our time here isn’t motivated by some form of masochism. Nor is there some reckless need to get the ship back in the air. That,” he added “is for the rest of the crew. They can’t stay confined here any longer. We’ll run out of drink. Crew’s have mutinied over less” he added in jest. “No, the real reason for my ‘funk,’ as you might call it, was to deal with some of my past.”
“Your past? Do you mean unpleasant past?”
“Some of it” he shrugged. “I suppose I provoked myself by pulling out a few keepsakes that made me think of some things I hadn’t for a long time. Some were good, others bad, but all worth remembering. Sometimes I find it necessary to be alone while perusing my own memories. I may have had the appearance of suffering from lethargy and boredom, but all that mess in my stateroom was my distracting myself when I needed to move on. You’ve talked about your childhood on occasion. You can’t say that it was, as my people occasionally say, ‘a rose garden.’ Though the thorns can hurt, you still desperately want to hold on.”
This made Kearn smile. Not because of his own memories of being a colt, but because he had no frame of reference for what Charlie would be like as a small child. This was difficult enough with the other members of their inner circle. He was almost convinced that Crack had never been young. While, on the other hoof, Turner had never ceased to be. This allowed one’s imagination to run wild.
“Then…” he paused thinking. “Was there a particular time in your childhood that you found it most necessary to deal with on your own?”
“Yes” Charlie replied bluntly. “The day it ended.”

Lieschter stared at the ceiling; off-white stucco with clear talon-marks throughout from whoever it was that had applied it. Despite the fact there was regular white-washing, the mildew spots that lurked beneath were eating through. Not a very pleasant finishing job, but it wasn’t as though a jail cell would be a high priority for any builder. He turned his head to look at the surrounding walls. They weren’t much better off. Someone needed to show this dilapidated old building some attention. Lieschter wondered if he shouldn’t volunteer himself in that capacity the next time he saw the sheriff. It wasn’t as though there was much else to do
Lieschter knew he could only dwell on life’s finer details for so long before the real gravity of his situation would set in. The truth was that he was incarcerated with no knowledge about when it might end. To get by he would offer himself small goals. Ways to devote his thoughts to anything but the bigger picture. It had worked thus far in keeping himself occupied and thus warding off deadly boredom. His first had been to conquer the hangover that had followed him there.
The sheriff had been thoughtful enough to offer him two buckets; one empty and the other filled with fresh water and a drinking gourd. Lieschter hadn’t over-indulged for almost a year. Now, both the experience and its aftermath had made him ask himself: “did I actually used to enjoy this?”
Next had been a battle with hunger. Food was only dispensed twice a day, and it wasn’t much. Yet mercifully, Light Paw had been true to her word. The sheriff would appear at midday to toss him a cloth-wrapped package filled with something extra; usually bread or cheese. One day it had been some dried figs. It was clear to Lieschter that he was receiving better treatment, with the exception of his two other fellow detainees.
Silver Dawn and Blood Moon had been separated from him with no explanation given. He’d postulated many theories as to why. Some included their age. Others, their current apprenticeship, but the one possibility that he couldn’t dismiss was the most obvious. He was Lieschter, and Lieschter was simply a Flint-Nation refugee. The memory of his once-proud den and its history, though nothing but a distant shadow to him, were a source of unpleasantness not to be acknowledged. At least, that was the unwritten rule that most of the Skyfire clan lived by. It wasn’t as though the reasons behind the Peak war, or who was truly at fault, even mattered. The remnants and reminders, such as himself, were to be covered over, much like the layer of ash and dust that he knew still covered Flint-Capitol. His thoughts probably would have continued, devoted to his current line of postulation until the next meal arrived, but as luck would have it a very unexpected distraction appeared.
Lieschter almost didn’t look up when he heard someone’s talons shuffling down the cell-block’s passageway. It was probably time for his midday morsel, he remembered thinking, but when he raised his head he was more than a bit surprised to see Light Paw standing there. Though, he wasn’t certain whether to be glad or not. Even less certain when he saw the stranger that had followed her in. He stared as she positioned a stool on the other side of the bars.
“I’m glad you’ve learned the value of silence in my absence” Light Paw joked as she leaned into the bars, steadying herself on her hind paws.
Lieschter almost laughed at her strange posture, but became distracted with the stranger as he took the seat that Light Paw had prepared. The stranger was clearly older than both of them, though not by much. He radiated an all-encompassing stare from the dull yellow eyes set under his jet-black crest. His talons were callous-free, yet he appeared somewhat weather-beaten. He had previously carried himself as though he were a bit overweight, but as he sat down and his midriff’s feather’s settled it was clear that any extra girth he was carrying was actually muscle. A career flier, Lieschter concluded. What was a distance flyer doing here, and what did Light Paw mean bringing him here?
“Who’s this one?” he inquired.
“Your salvation” Light Paw replied cryptically. “This individual says he comes from Ice Nation, and, strangely enough, he’s a proxy who specializes in navigating clan law.”
“Salvation? I though I had nothing to worry about.”
“This has little to do with why you’re behind those bars-”
“Might I ask why he’s there in the first place?” the new griffon interrupted.
“For spite.”
“Spite?” both replied together at Light Paw’s answer.
Light Paw adjusted her poise slightly and dropped back onto all-fours. She almost seemed amused as she continued.
“Lieschter here and two others were apprehended a few days ago on charges of attempting to dispose of evidence in a fraud case. The other two have been released into my…” she paused for a moment as she chose her words “into my tender care.”
“I’m not sure I like how she phrased that” Lieschter thought to himself.
“I see that look!” Light paw glared at him through the bars.
“Then explain to me why they’ve been released and I haven’t?”
“A few reasons, I should think” the black crested visitor interjected. “First, they weren’t legal adults yet, and second, Light Paw is in a position to act as a disciplinarian of sorts. Given that they’re under her sphere of responsibility after all.”
He glanced at Light Paw as he spoke. She simply nodded back agreement.
“Fine. Fine.” Lieschter waved his talon dismissively. “I’m sick of hearing just how much more fortunate others are than me. Can’t you just tell me, and perhaps why I’m actually still here, and why he's been brought?”
“You’re here because the guild is being vindictive and petty. They’re trying to use every bureaucratic method they can to make the original charge stick. I’m assuming you’ve figured out why it didn’t?”
Lieschter thought for a moment before answering. It really was rather simple.
“Oh! Of course” he chuckled as he realized why Light Paw had “betrayed” them to the Guild’s agents.
In doing so she’d not only forced them to make their move prematurely, but they’d shown their cards in the process. They’d taken the “evidence” and supposed accomplices, but there had been no accused-party to weigh it against.
“One of you will need to enlighten me later on just what you’re talking about” said the stranger.
“It’s best that you don’t ask questions of that nature,” said Light Paw “and…” she looked at Lieschter “it’s best if you refrain from answering them.”
Unexpectedly, she turned to leave.
“I’ll let Burst, or whatever his real name is interview you in private.”
They both watched her leave. Burst craned his neck in the direction of her retreat until he seemed satisfied.
“Is she gone?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I don’t mean to seem ungrateful but it’s difficult to believe that she really has anyone’s best interest in mind.”
“You do sound ungrateful, but I can understand being a bit…” he paused “’pensive’ when she’s around. Yet, she seems to consider her own honor as linked to those around her. From what I can see, your current estate is eating at her. That’s why I’m here.”
“Why on earth would she suddenly care about my estate? She’s a pack alpha by nature, and she’ll probably always be.”
“Don’t be so cruel” Burst countered. “She’s taking a risk by hiring someone like myself.”
“Like yourself? What exactly are you like?”
Burst simply smiled as he dug beneath his wing and removed a gourd bottle that was concealed there. He began loosening the cork.
“I’m the kind who does things like this.”
Burst took a swig from the bottle and passed it through the bars to Lieschter. Lieschter smiled sheepishly as he remembered the hangover he’d been forced to endure recently. He first smelled the contents. The strong, sharp, and almost smokey odor wasn’t what he’d expected. He cautiously took a drink. The black liquid first tasted like roasted grain, perhaps with tree nuts. He nearly gaged from how bitter it was, but the flavor seemed to evolve into something more. It almost seemed friendly and satisfying. He passed it back.
“What is it?” he asked.
“We call it ‘go-juice’ where I’m from. You’ll start feeling rather invigorated in a bit. It’s the best kind of accompaniment to a spirited conversation, or a night on watch. Don’t worry” he added seeing Lieschter’s initial reaction “there’s no alcohol. It’s hot-brewed from the roasted and crushed seed-pits of a special kind of wild berry.”
“So… then you’re not really Ice Nation are you” Lieschter confronted Burst with the obvious truth. “It’s not like a lot of fruit grows where they come from.
Burst smiled.
“No. I’m not” he admitted rather candidly.
“Does Light Paw…?”
“Know that I lied?” Burst finished for him. “Of course. She’s sharp, that one. Though you, on the other talon, really are Flint Nation. To be honest, I never thought I’d meet one of you again.”
Lieschter just shook his head.
“You’re not exactly meeting a Flint-Nation griffon. My old den means more to other griffons than it does to me. I barely remember it save for the family armor that I have to care for and sometimes wear. I suppose,” he grinned in wry amusement “that you’re talking to the head of a household; considering how I’m the only one left.”
“So you are one of the Last Litter. I mean… how could you not be if you’re Flint-Nation. I’m very sorry for what happened to your families, but the fate of that fraternity you’re a part of is what brings me here to your cell.”
This admission surprised Lieschter a great deal.
“You mean that you’re not hear about the Artifice matter?”
“No. I’m not. What is this ‘Artifice’ that I’ve heard talk about?”
Lieschter sighed in annoyance at his own faux pas. Light Paw had asked him not to talk about it.
“It’s best that I don’t say. Besides, you probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Very well” Burst replied. “I need to interview you personally before I go over the marriage contract that they drew up on you.”
Lieschter winced. He’d forgotten about that!
“My nuptial commitment! The deadline. What’s today’s date?!”
“Don’t worry” Burst said firmly and reassuringly. “You haven’t missed any deadlines on that account, but my next question is, do you want to?”
“I have a choice?” Lieschter asked incredulously.
“There’s always a choice. Do you want to challenge the contract?”
“I wasn’t aware that could be done.”
“A generation or two ago that would’ve been an impossibility, but today… anything goes. It’s just a question of how far” Burst shrugged. He took another drink from his bottle and passed it to Lieschter again. “The real question though, is do you have a reason to? I’m not talking about anyone else’s reason. From what I can gather about you, you’re the type who tends to agree with others just to avoid conflict. While there is a time and a place for it, right now you’re allowing yourself to be maneuvered onto a path that will radically affect your life, and the worst part is that you know it too. Am I correct?”
Lieschter felt somewhat exposed, but he realized that Burst was correct. He nodded slowly as Burst continued.
“To be perfectly honest, marriage isn’t that bad. It most certainly wasn’t for me. Though, the best unions are the ones where both parties enter into it happily. So, I already told Light Paw that I won’t intercede on your behalf unless I have your personal consent. If you want to go through with your marriage I’ll get up and leave now. I’d prefer you decided quickly too. They’re probably going to let you out of here with just enough time to make it to Deep Harbor. Likely a move to ensure your movements can be controlled- err…” he paused and adjusted his crest as though it made him uncomfortable “scripted. Yes, that’s the word. Scripted. But if you tell me to, I’ll go demand to see the particulars of the contract. You didn’t consent, so there’s a strong possibility that I may find a way to renegotiate or even nullify it completely. So what’s your answer?”
Lieschter took his time as he weighed the new option. It would likely fail; being that he had so little clout within society. Yet, any chance to dig in his heels might distract others from Aureate’s current drama. After all, things of that sort tended to run on public attention. If he were to make a spectacle of himself would that shift the focus so as to soften the blows when it would come time to wage a distasteful legal battle just as his own would be?
“Review the contract” he said finally.
“You’re certain then?” Burst asked.
“Yes. I’m certain. And I’m not weak by the way.”
“I never called you ‘weak.’”
“You were thinking it. And to demonstrate my resolve, I want to go over the contract with you.”
“That might be difficult” Burst chuckled back. “You’re not exactly mobile beyond a few paces, certainly not as far as the local barrister’s practice. Even if they had a facsimile of the document, which I doubt, I’m not sure they’d allow me to remove it from the library.”
Lieschter sighed. He hadn’t actually wanted to look at that accursed document. He’d merely been posturing for the battle to come. It would be important that anyone who would see what they were doing would take him and his motives seriously. He thought quickly trying to regain the momentum of his words.
“Actually…” began Burst. “Depending on if it’s a standardized document, something I’m familiar with, or perhaps it’s short enough. I might be able to copy it by myself, or even simply memorize it. In which case, I’ll return to educate you. That is... if you actually care what’s in there.”
“I should care” Lieschter said nodding. “Besides, I’ve got little else to occupy my mind.”
Burst got up and pushed his chair back into the corner as he prepared to leave. He turned to walk away but turned back as though forgetting something.
“One more thing to add.”
“Yes?”
“If you’re going to want me to represent you. I need to know you’ll trust my decisions. Will you?”
“I’ll trust you if….”
“If?”
“If you tell me your real name.”
“My real name?”
“Yes. Please don’t play dumb. You’re insulting my intelligence. I do have intelligence by the way. The name you gave is quite old-fashioned, and since you’ve already admitted to lying about where you came from I also have to assume that you’ve been using a false name.”
Burst, or whatever his name was, simply stared back with an expression of mild shock before he began laughing as he made his way back to the door.
“Very well” he chuckled. “My real name is ‘Crack.’ Don’t think you’ll find it on the mind of any law officer. I’m no criminal, and I’m fairly certain that no one here even knows me. Even if someone does, I doubt they would even care. The name ‘Burst’ belonged to a great-grandfather, by the way.”
With that rather open admission, Burst, now “Crack” made his exit out of the door at the far end of the passageway, and at that moment, for the first time since he’d been locked up, Lieschter began to wonder if he’d done the right thing. Not only about his decision to throw down his clout to clear his friend’s name, but about making a deal with an illusive stranger.
“Lieschter…” he scolded himself aloud. “What have you done now?”

Similar thoughts churned inside of Crack’s mind for much different reasons. He’d begun to regret his disingenuous conduct since his arrival, but coming clean might make things more unpleasant. He had appreciated Lieschter’s apparent willingness to establish real trust as long as he could clear the air, but even then, telling his real name could cause some complications if any Shore-Nation members still resided here. And then, there was his larger mission. For which sake he couldn’t afford to be delayed much longer. His anonymity might prove a wholly-necessary asset. Yes, he’d have to maintain the facade in the face of any more griffons that he encountered. Lieschter, and perhaps his benefactor, were the exceptions. “Benefactor…” Crack mused on the word for a moment. She acted more like she was his handler. As though Lieschter represented something to be kept at a distance.
Crack looked up to see Light Paw waiting for him as he exited the jail. Now here was another potential obstacle. It was clear that she wasn’t going to let him out of her sight for long. She’d already expertly indicated, without words, that she knew full well that his official story was only that. “Official.” A word among many that could now be used to camouflage any lie by just hoping that any ignorant plebeians encountered didn’t know what it meant. Yet, if Lieschter was any example, Light Paw was possibly even more astute, observant, and likely-intelligent than she looked. She didn’t trust him beyond what she believed he could provide for her. That was clear.
“So?” she asked expectantly.
“He’s agreed to fight.”
The griffoness smiled with relief as the two of them began walking up the street towards the center of Stone Capitol.
“However, I suppose I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention this…” he continued.
“Mention what?”
“He’s clearly not making the decision for himself.”
“You think I… coerced him?”
“That's not what I meant” Crack shook his head. “I only meant that my gut tells me that he’s choosing this course of action for someone else’s sake.”
“What makes you think that?”
“The fact that he couldn’t make up his mind that quickly when I asked him for his permission. If he’d wanted it one way or another he would’ve simply said ‘yes’ or ‘no’. It’s really that simple. I think what’s holding him here is a sense of duty.”
“Lieschter!? Duty!?” Light Paw seemed to be choking back laughter. He’s one of the most lackadaisical young griffons I’ve ever known!”
“Then why didn’t you remove him from your Pack? I can tell from the way that he looks at you that you used to be his Alpha.”
Light Paw was silent.
“If he couldn’t do his job as required then you should have. I shouldn’t have to tell a griffoness of your level of maturity that duty is more that just following instructions. It’s clear that Lieschter has a sense of duty, and a personal sense at that. From what I can tell during my interview I sensed no hostility or cynicism towards the prospect of marriage. I think that his future wife would be quite happy to be married to someone who can devote themselves to another so entirely. It would probably be good for both of them.”
“Do… you think so?”
“Yes, but if I were to guess… he’d be leaving something here unfinished, and he doesn’t want to abandon it before it's concluded.” Crack paused as Light Paw stared at him in amazement. “How am I doing?” he added.
“Reasonably well” she shrugged.
“Now it’s your turn” he grinned back.
“Mine? Whatever do you mean?”
“Would you care to tell me some more about just what sort of game you’re running here? Specifically, I’d like to know what Lieschter and those two friends you mentioned did to get themselves incarcerated? Also, what is this ‘Artifice’ that I’ve heard mentioned several times. I have to tell you I-” Crack stopped as he was once again met with at stony expression.
“No” Light Paw said in an equally gray tone. “You don’t need that information to do your job.”
“Excuse me?” Crack said sarcastically; rolling his eyes in equal frustration and stopping to face her. “I think I’ll decide what I need to take this negotiation. If you’ve got a problem with that, then perhaps You don’t really need this so badly. That being the case, I do have other things I have to do, and right now they’re a good deal more important than your little paralegal schemes.”
He drove home his point with a talon pointed directly at the shocked expression on her face. It was abundantly clear that this griffoness was not used to being addressed in such a manner; definitely a pack alpha. Her stupor was short-lived, though.
“Well then!” She growled back at him. “Maybe I should just point you in the direction of the gate and you can be on your way! I can read characters like you at a glance too.”
“Can you now” Crack rolled his eyes in sarcasm.
“I can” she continued. “I know full well that less than half of your story is true. As not just a door warden, but a custom’s officer as well, I have the authority to revoke your landing permission at any time.”
“You think I’m ignorant of that? You’d have to haul me in front of a judge first, and…” though the street was relatively empty he lowered his voice “I don’t think you want to go near a judge right now. You’re afraid they’ll smell your own deceit too.”
Crack watched with satisfaction as Light Paw’s resolve crumbled. She growled again, turning away and continuing up the street.
“Well aren’t you just a moral authority!" She sneered. “Fine! We’re both liars and we’re terrible at it!”
“Oh, no” Crack replied playfully. “I think we’re both very good at lying. Though, yours were lies of omission, we should both think of them as the proverbial ‘cat in the bag.’ You might not be able to tell what kind it is, but everyone is acutely aware of just what it is.”
“Please.” She looked back at him pleadingly. “I… we… my associates and I… we need Lieschter to stay here for at least a little while longer. I’m sure you’ve guessed that they’re keeping him in that cage so that they can release him with just enough time to make it to his intended. He’ll have no choice but to leave as quickly as possible.”
“I’d considered that, and by the way… you’ve just let something slip.”
“What? What do you mean by that.”
“You used the word ‘they’” Crack said simply, letting the word drop as though from a great height. “I’ve suspected from the moment I met you that you’re trying to keep your beak shut about something; cat in the bag and all.”
He looked up at her as he spoke, but she quickly averted her gaze.
“Don’t punish yourself for letting on” he continued. “You might be good at various omissions, but this one is personal in a way. In fact, from the way you coached Lieschter, I’d say that he’s in the same boat. Correct?”
Light Paw stayed silent but risked a glance.
“So…” Crack grinned with superiority as he prepared for the finishing blow. “You both know something that would be best kept to yourselves. Whatever it is I’d say it’s damaging to someone; either you or someone else you care about. So much so that someone is trying to banish Lieschter. So just who are ‘they?’”
Crack’s exterior exuded confidence in his own insight, but the truth was another thing. He’d allowed himself to embark on a somewhat wild tangent, but Light Paw’s reactions had indicated he was beating the right patch of grass. Even so, he couldn’t help but feel he was stirring up a cockatrice along with the snakes. What he got next didn’t exactly turn him to stone, but he almost wished that he had an excuse to freeze.
“The Guild” she said finally.
Now it was Crack who couldn’t hide his shock.
“That’s not very amusing” Crack responded finally, hoping it was all just a fabrication. Though, he knew it wasn’t.
“It wasn’t meant to be. It’s the truth. Scared much yet?”
“Idiot! What have I gotten myself into!?” Crack though frantically to himself as he continued staring down someone who was either very brave or very stupid. “Forget that!” He thought again. “I was supposed to avoid drawing attention to myself! For all I know I’m already being watched!” He chose his next words carefully.
“Just what would make someone with your stature in this community lock horns with the Guild?”
“That’s none of your concern right now! Did it ever occur to you that maybe I had a very good reason for not wanting to tell you? That maybe actually knowing might put you in danger? Or worse, you wouldn’t have agreed to help me with Lieschter.”
“You’re probably right about that. I came here for other reasons, and engaging in an anti-Guild crusade wasn’t one of them. I know I told you I was looking for work, but in truth I was already on a job. I don’t think I can do both.
“So then, your backing out like a coward” she spat back at him.
“I have no choice. I don’t have the time to decide just how I’m going to help your friend and how I’m going to accomplish what I came here to do.”
Light Paw drew back for a moment. She expression appeared to be pondering something.
“Tell me what you want. I may be able to get it for you.”
“Somehow I doubt that” Crack chuckled nervously. “Yet, if you can assist me with my business I may be obligated to assist you with yours depending on what it really entails.”
“If I can’t do it I know someone who can.”
“Who?”
“I’ll tell you if you prove to me right now that I can trust you.”
“How?”
“Tell me your real name, and just what den you’re really from.”
Crack sighed as he frantically considered his options. He was truly cornered now. Perhaps now, forward was the only way to go.
“Very well” he replied at length. My given name is Crack, and I was born in Shore Nation.”
Light Paw said nothing as she stared directly at him while he stared back.
“I believe you” She said finally as she turned, beckoning for him to follow. “Come with me and I-. Ah… we’ll see what we can do.”
“Just where are we going? You don’t even know what I’m after yet.”
The griffoness shook her head as she walked.
“I don’t need to know just yet, but since you’ve so insisted, I’ve decided that I might as well bring you in on a good deal more than you’re even going to like. I need you to meet someone.”
“Again, who is this you’ve been talking about?”
“A friend” she said grinning.
“A friend” Crack repeated incredulously. “What makes you think that they’ll want to be my friend?”
“It depends.”
“On?”
“Whether or not you’re willing to do things that the rest of us can’t.”