I almost hate to do this now that I have a tag list for this story, even if it is a small one. But I’ve decided to take a break from posting chapters from Cross the Kingdom. For now.
The reason being is that it’s just not ready yet. When I first finished writing the first draft, I was so excited that I just wanted to get my story out there ASAP so that I could share it with everyone. In my mind, aside from a couple chapters, most of the editing would be fairly minor details and wouldn’t take much time. I thought that I’d be able to manage spending 1 week editing each chapter. For a while that was manageable, but now I’m finding that I’m consistently needing more time and the result is usually a chapter that’s just “good enough.”
So, even though I’m taking a break from posting, I’m still going to be actively working on the story. I want to take some time so that I can reread and edit because I’ve had this idea in mind for so long and I want to do it some justice.
I’m not going to delete the chapters that I’ve already posted, so they’ll still be there for anyone to read if you want to. I’m also not really sure how long this is going to take, but I’ll probably make some kind of announcement when I have a better idea of when I’m going to resume posting. I’ll probably make some world building posts as well since I didn’t really do a lot of that the first time around.
Anyways, thanks for understanding. Like I said, I kinda hate to do this now, but it’s for the better.
TLDR; Taking a break from posting CtK chapters so that I can properly edit them first.
Crispin had never actually been on a train before, and at the rate things were going he hoped he would never have to go on one again. Going into it, he thought he wouldn’t be so bad. He had spent weeks at a time travelling on the Mad Maiden, so surely he could manage spending a few days on a train. Now, after having travelled all through the night and through most of the day, Crispin was eager to get off the train again. They had stopped briefly in Westcliff the day before, which had been a six hour trip from Coral Bay. Frank had used the time to get caught up on some sleep, while Crispin had taken some time to walk around the city at Frank’s request.
“The trip to Morbane is going to be a long one,” Frank had said as they arrived in Westcliff, “Might as well get some fresh air and stretch our legs out while you have the chance.”
That had been nearly five hours ago. Five long hours of being cooped up in the locomotive which barely seemed big enough for just the two of them, which seemed to become smaller and smaller with each passing minute. Five hours and still had several more to go.
It must have been close to midnight when Frank told Crispin to get some rest. There were two bunk beds towards the back of the locomotive, and Frank had told him he could have whichever one he wanted since he needed to stay awake through the night. Crispin had originally taken the bottom, but as he lay on the bed surrounded by walls on three sides he began to feel trapped. He tried to sleep, but he couldn’t get past the feeling that the walls were closing in on him. He had no idea how much time had passed before he finally decided to see if he would be any better off on the top bunk, but that hadn’t gone over any better. Even though he had enough room to sit upright, when he lay on his back he felt like the ceiling was only inches away from his nose. He managed to fall asleep eventually, but he woke up several times during the night. Sometimes he was awoken by the ear-shattering train whistle. Other times he woke himself up after accidentally rolling onto his injured wing. But most times he was woken by a squeezing sensation in his chest, drenched in a cold sweat.
When he joined Frank at the front of the locomotive again, he could see the brilliant orange sunrise shining through the window. Rays of sun peeked through rows of trees, casting golden light across open fields.
“Morning,” Frank greeted him, not taking his eyes off the railway track that seemed to go on forever.
“G’Morning,” Crispin mumbled, rubbing his eyes sleepily.
“Sleep ok?” Frank asked.
“Yeah,” Crispin said. It was a lie though, and not even a good one at that. Frank hadn’t even looked at him yet, but he still saw right through him.
“Most people find the train a little loud at first,” he said, “Makes it hard to get any rest. You’ll get used to it though, don’t worry.”
“Right,” Crispin said. He didn’t let Frank in on the real reason he had not slept well. He could only hope that just like the noises made by the train, he would get used to the claustrophobic interior of the locomotive.
When they arrived in Morbane early in the morning, Crispin tried to hide his relief. He stepped out of the train and onto the tiled floors of the platform. He followed Frank out into the crowded train station, finally free of the confined space that he had been stuck inside for the past thirteen hours.
Crispin had only been to Morbane a few times. His father tended to avoid it since the King had a larger presence in Morbane than he did in Coral Bay. Captain Hadley never feared the King, or any authority for that matter but he still wanted to avoid getting thrown into prison, so it had been a while since Crispin’s last visit. He didn’t remember much about the city, only that it was far nicer than Coral Bay. Where Coral Bay was run down, dirty and filled to the brim with unsavory characters, Morbane was the exact opposite: Clean, tidy and generally safe.
Even the train station was reflective of the city’s pristine reputation. Brick arches held up the domed ceiling which was lined with windows that let in rays of sunlight that reflected off of the tiled floors which were practically spotless. Crispin had thought that the station in Coral Bay had been pretty impressive, much bigger than he had anticipated. The Morbane station put it to shame, just like everything else in the city.
Crispin followed Frank out of the station and onto the streets of Morbane. He drew in a breath, tasting the salty sea air that was so familiar to him. He was surprised to see how close the station was to the ocean; the one in Coral Bay had been much farther in land. It made sense though when Crispin spotted several horse drawn carts packed full with crates and barrels moving back and forth between the station and the docks.
Frank decided that the first thing they should do is get something to eat. Crispin hadn’t been feeling particularly hungry, but he obliged nonetheless. The pair made their way to a small cafe that was only a short walk from the station. They found themselves a table on the cafe’s sunlit patio. A server came by, offering them both some tea.
“We’ll both have some,” Frank replied, “Thank you.” When the server left he said to Crispin, “Sorry, I just figured that you could use something to help wake you up a little more. You still seem a little tired.”
Crispin nodded in agreement. He had never really liked tea that much, but he welcomed the idea of being at least a little more alert. He was so tired that he felt like he could fall asleep standing up. When the server came back out and placed the two mugs of steaming hot tea on their table Crispin didn’t even wait for it to cool down. He took a small sip, burning his tongue on the bitter drink.
The two of them made idle small talk as they waited for the tea to cool down some more. Crispin found that there was little for them to talk about, since Frank had made it very clear that they were not to talk about New Vellarton in public.
“If the wrong person overhears us then the town stops serving its purpose as a safe haven,” Frank had told him. So they mostly talked about New Vellarton in the privacy of the locomotive, and made awkward small talk in public.
Their conversation had seemingly hit a dead end. Not really in the mood to force out a conversation, Crispin stared out at the streets, watching people pass by him as they went about their day to day activities. As he watched the people go by, he couldn’t help but feel a little bit out of place in his plain red coat. The men that he saw wore fancy tailored suits, and the women wore dresses that trailed along the ground but somehow never got dirty. Morbane was a city that catered to the upper class, and Crispin was out of his element. He was used to the rough streets of Coral Bay where fights seemed to break out on every corner. Not that didn’t mind the peacefulness of Morbane, but it was a stark contrast from his hometown.
Crispin noticed a pair of men walking by dressed in navy blue coats with two rows of golden buttons. A silk white sash crossed over each of their chests and swords hung in sheaths from the men’s belts. It was the patch that they wore on their sleeves that caught Crispin’s attention-- an eagle with its wings outstretched and a crown on its head. He recognized it instantly as the royal coat of arms. It was a fairly scarce sight in Coral Bay, but he recognized it nonetheless.
“...Not our problem if something happened to him in transit,” one of the guards said, “Our instructions were clear. Just bring the Prince to Lord Roland. We can’t do anything about it if he never showed up to begin with.”
“True,” The other guard said. He let out a sigh then added, “although I reckon that King Matthew may fire us anyways.”
“I highly doubt that,” The first guard scoffed, “There’s still a chance that he might show up still. If not, anything that happened to him outside of Morbane is beyond our control, and effectively not our problem. Don’t waste your time worrying over it…” The two guards walked away, out of earshot.
“Interesting,” Frank murmured as the guards walked out of sight.
“What is?”
“What those two guards were saying,” Frank said, “There’s been a lot of rumours going around about whatever the hell is going on in the castle. One that’s come up recently was that there was an attempt on the prince’s life recently. The King is either trying to downplay it or outright deny it happened, depending on who you ask.”
“Curious then that the Prince has seemingly vanished according to those guards then,” Crispin said.
“Exactly,” Frank replied in a low voice.
“I sent an informant into the castle before I came to pick you up,” Frank said, rubbing his bearded chin thoughtfully, “Things seem to have been pretty dicey in the castle for a while.”
“Really?” Crispin asked, leaning forward slightly so that he was literally on the edge of his seat.
Frank nodded. “It’s hard to say for sure what really goes on in there,” he said, “Hence sending in Audrey. One thing that we do know for sure though is that the King is at odds with his brother, though I’m sure you know that already.”
This was news to Crispin, but he didn’t quite want to admit it. He’d always had better things to do than worry about whatever the royal family was up to. It wasn’t like they seemed to care all that much about what went on in Coral Bay. Or anywhere else outside of Galtia for that matter. It had been years since King Matthew had left the capital. Even the Winter Palace, which Crispin could see from where he sat, perched on a cliff that overlooked the city of Morbane, had been vacant for as long as Crispin could remember.
“Right,” Crispin said, but he had spoken a moment too late, and Frank had seen right through him.
“Prince Alexander has been jealous of the King,” Frank explained.
“Why?” Crispin asked, “He just wants to be king?”
“Pretty much,” Frank said.
“Why doesn’t he just kill him then?”
“Shush!” Frank hissed, “Not so loud!” He looked around then leaned in close. “The King still has men here. Don’t give them a reason to come after you.”
Crispin glanced around at the people who walked through the streets. Even the children were well dressed, and any one of them could have easily had ties to the royal family. “It’s not like I’d ever do it,” he mumbled.
“Well, I’m glad to hear that at least,” Frank replied, “King Matthew is on our side.” He lowered his voice to almost a whisper and said, “He’s already trying to crack down on the Patrol and--”
“I hear that’s going really well for him,” Crispin in an equally quiet voice.
“Laugh about it all you want,” Frank huffed, “But he is ruling in our favour, and that’s more than we can say about his brother.” He sat back in his seat and added, “Perhaps we should discuss this later.”
As much as he wanted to, Crispin knew better than to press him. He continued sipping at his tea, which had finally cooled down to a bearable temperature.
After they ate a quick breakfast, they left the cafe to start on some errands. Frank had cautioned him to stay close to him at all times. Crispin had scowled at the request. He had spent the first thirteen years of his life growing up on the streets of Coral Bay, and the last three living on a pirate ship. Morbane was a walk in the park compared to both his hometown and his father’s ship. Nothing was going to happen. Even if something did, Crispin had fought his way out of many perilous situations. Despite his injured state, he was confident that he could do it again.
He followed Frank in and out of many different shops, as the conductor went about buying some things that were needed back in New Vellarton. Mostly, it was clothing to help prepare the citizens for the long upcoming winter. Frank had come prepared with a list of measurements of all the citizens so that he could properly pick them out. He went into several shops pretending to buy for his family. “Do you have any winter boots in a size ten?” He would ask the shopkeepers, “I’m looking to buy a pair for my son.” At this point, the shopkeepers would usually give Crispin a skeptical once over at which point, Frank would clarify, “Not him.”
As they continued shopping for supplies, Frank stopped and peered into the window of a shoe store. Rows of black boots were on display in the window. They were so shiny that Crispin could practically see his reflection in them.
“We should get you a pair,” Frank said.
Crispin looked down at his pair of brown leather boots. He’d had them for such a long time that he could not remember a time where the boots weren’t dirty and scuffed. There was even a hole at the toe of his right boot, but it was so small and insignificant that he had never bothered to try and get it fixed. Despite how worn they were, Crispin still believed that they served their purpose.
“Your feet will freeze right off in those,” Frank said, before Crispin could object, “Come on. Let’s get you a new pair.”
Frank walked into the store, and Crispin followed close behind him. A tiny bell rang as the door opened. Right away, Crispin was hit with the rich scent of leather that filled the tiny shop. He walked along the rows of shoes, which seemed to come in just about every shape and size. From elegant high heeled women's boots to sturdy work boots, the cozy shop seemed to have just about every kind of footwear that Crispin could imagine.
“Can I help you two find anything?” The shopkeeper asked from behind the counter.
“I’m looking to buy a new pair of boots for my apprentice,” Frank said, “He’s a size…” he turned to Crispin.
“Six,” Crispin finished for him.
“Yeah, we’ve got a few that should fit,” The shopkeeper replied, “Anything particular in mind?”
“He’ll be working on a cargo train,” Frank explained, “We’ll be going all throughout Toltova, so he’ll be needing something that’ll keep his feet warm in the northern and interior areas.”
The shopkeeper nodded. “I think I have a pair that may work.” He came out from behind the counter and disappeared down one of the aisles. He came back carrying a box with the words “Burbant & Elvard Shoe Co” stamped onto it in black ink. He opened up the box revealing a pair of shiny black boots lined with white fur.
“Try these on,” The shopkeeper said, handing the box to Crispin, “They might be a little snug, but the fur should get pressed down the more you wear them. The leather will stretch out over time as well.”
Crispin sat down on a stool and pulled off one of his boots, and set it down next to him.
“I think we might need to get you some new socks as well,” Frank remarked as he looked down at the sock on Crispin’s foot. It had been white at one point in his life, although now it was more of a grimy beige.
Crispin took the new boot out of the box, and pulled it onto his foot. He struggled to get it around his ankle, but after a bit of pulling he was able to force it onto his foot. The boot felt a little tight around the bridge of his foot, but not so much that it was uncomfortable. In fact, this boot was far more comfortable than his older pair. Feeling satisfied with how they fit, he let Frank pay for them before they headed back out to the streets of Morbane.
They set back down the cobbled streets, which were lined with tall pale buildings that seemed to sparkle in the morning sunlight. Crispin walked down the street, staring up at the beautiful buildings. There were so many little details that went into each one that it was hard to not look at them just to take it all in. One building was lined with elaborate cornices. Another was decorated with tall columns that supported a triangular roof that stood above a large set of wooden doors. Some had tall elegant spires that reached up to the sky, while others had large domed roofs.
Crispin had been so distracted by his surroundings that he didn’t even notice that Frank had stopped to buy a newspaper from a young girl standing at an intersection.
“You going somewhere, Crispin?” Frank had called out to him after he began to wander a little too far away.
Crispin had turned back to see Frank handing the little girl a couple of coins in exchange for the newspaper. He stood in place as Frank walked to catch up with him.
“I just thought this might be interesting,” Frank said handing the paper towards Crispin, “We don’t have to look at it now, but just made me think of the conversation we were having earlier.”
Crispin looked down at the paper. In bold black letters, the headline on the front page read ‘KING MATTHEW REFUSING TO SPEAK OUT ABOUT CASTLE RUMOURS.’
Crispin paused, leaning up against a tall white column. This was probably not the best time to be reading the paper, he realized as people moved around both him and Frank. He skimmed over the article which read:
Citizens of Galtia are growing increasingly frustrated with his Royal Majesty, King Matthew, who is keeping the public in the dark in regards to some rumours that have begun to circulate within the past few days. While nothing has been confirmed as of yet, it has been speculated that an attack took place at some point on the eve of the 28th of Tenth, when King Matthew hosted a party within the castle walls to celebrate his forty-second birthday.
Exactly what happened that evening remains unclear, however many attendees were able to agree that some sort of disturbance occurred which prompted both King Matthew and Queen Angelica to end the event several hours earlier than originally scheduled. Many have speculated that there was an attack on Prince Christopher, who has not been seen since the evening of the party. According to the Royal Family’s official spokesperson, the Prince is in an undisclosed location but is believed to be safe and unharmed.
The spokesperson also mentioned that both the King and Queen are both refusing to comment on the matter for the time being. Many remain hopeful that they will be able to shed light on the situation, though many others are dubious and are left to speculate.
Crispin handed the paper back to Frank. He hadn’t finished reading the article, but he got the gist of it. He decided he would read the rest of it on the train, which he hoped would be enough to keep him distracted from how claustrophobic he had felt inside the locomotive. Part of him hoped that he would get used to it, like Frank had said, but he very much doubted it. He had always preferred open spaces. When he’d been on his father’s ship, he’d always had the entire deck at his disposal when he felt like he needed some space. He did not have that same luxury on the train. Although, if there ever was a time to like small and closed in spaces, it would be now.
Crispin was forced to abandon his thoughts on the train when Frank grabbed at his arm and pulled him down a street.
“Sorry,” He said quickly, “I completely forgot there was something else I needed to pick up.”
“What the hell?” Crispin hissed.
“I’ll explain later,” Frank said between gritted teeth.
Crispin didn’t ask any further questions as Frank led him down a series of streets. He followed Frank who suddenly seemed to be in a great hurry. Frank had since let go of Crispin’s wrist, but was walking at an unnecessarily swift pace. They wove in and out of crowds, trying not to bump into anyone as they went along.
Crispin was left puzzled when he spotted the elegant facade of the train station in the distance. He had known right away that something was amiss when Frank had grabbed his arm, but their detour left Crispin with more questions than answers. Not that Crispin had minded getting to see more of the city, but they would have reached the station about five minutes sooner if they had gone back the way they had come.
Even when they were inside the station, Frank still walked at his faster than normal pace. It was only once they were inside the train that Frank seemed to relax. He let out a sigh of relief, and sat down in his conductor’s chair.
“So what happened back there?” Crispin asked as he began to shovel coal into the firebox.
Frank glanced around the station before he said in a low voice, “Patrol guards.”
Crispin raised his eyebrows. Even though Ambrose had confirmed the existence of the Patrol, they didn’t seem like much of a threat to Crispin. He had never really seen any concrete evidence that they were still operating, aside from Ambrose’s letters from his daughter. To Crispin, the Patrol still felt like nothing more than a rumour. He had grown complacent; the Patrol would not hurt him. That kind of thing only happened to other people.
“Did they recognize you?” Crispin asked.
“I don’t think so,” Frank said, “But I recognized them. It’s better that we just keep our distance from them.” He sounded the loud train whistle, and the train began moving slowly down the tracks away from the majestic city. And away from the Patrol, the subtle danger that lurked in an otherwise perfect city.
---
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Kit had no idea how much time had passed since he woke up in the cell. It could have been anywhere from a few hours to a few days. He wasn’t even sure whether he really was awake. Everything that had happened since his arrival passed by in a hazy, dreamlike blur. Not that much had happened to begin with. Every now and then someone would bring him food and water. His meals were nothing glamorous by any means but it was usually enough to keep him satisfied. He had also heard screaming a little while ago. It had been a loud, blood curdling scream that sent shivers down his spine, but one of the men taking care of him had assured him that it was nothing to be concerned about.
“That boy they have in there is a threat to everyone,” the guard had told him, “Its for everyone’s safety and protection, including yours.”
That had made enough sense for Kit to not question the man any further.
But that had been a while ago. Or at least it felt like a while. His cell had no windows, so it was difficult to tell what time of day it was, but time was the least of his concern. It seemed to have no meaning in the cell. He slept when he felt tired, and ate when the guards brought him food. It was quite a different routine from his life back at the castle, but It wasn’t like the guards were hurting him at all. Besides, if he was missing for long enough then his father would surely send out some men to look for him.
Right?
“Prince Kit?” A girl’s voice whispered, “Your Highness? Can you hear me?”
The voice snapped him back to reality. He looked around, trying to spot the source of the voice, but he was all alone in the cell. The only time he saw another person was when the guards came to check in on him. Even then, all the guards that he had were men.
“Kit,” The girl hissed again, “I’m in the cell across from you.”
He scratched his head. “You… huh? Who are you?”
“My name is Eva,” The girl said, “Eva Ferris.”
“Eva,” he repeated. He racked his brain for anyone that he knew with that name, but none came to mind. Was he supposed to know this person?
“Listen to me, Kit,” Eva said, “We don’t have a lot of time before the guards come back, so listen closely. We--”
“Hang on,” he said, interrupting the girl, “how do you know my name?”
“I can read your mind,” Eva replied, “I hope that’s not a problem, but I’m trying to get out of here and you might be my only hope.”
“My father will get us out of here,” Kit drawled, as he stared up at the ceiling, “He’ll help us.”
“You are aware that they’re drugging you, right?” Eva asked.
Kit frowned. This had been news to him. The guards had assured him that they wouldn’t do anything to hurt him. That meant that they wouldn’t drug him, right? He didn’t even know this girl. How could he even be sure that she wasn’t lying to him?
“Oh no, Kit,” He heard Eva say, “You’re worse off than I thought. I’m not… you do know where you are, don’t you?”
Kit looked around the cell. It didn’t really look that familiar. He thought that maybe he had just been locked up in one of the castle dungeons. He could barely even remember the events that led up to him winding up in the cell. It was hard to say with any certainty, but the more he thought about it the less certain he was that he was still in Galtia.
“I… I actually don’t really know where I am,” he admitted. He hadn’t realized how terrified the idea was until he spoke the words out loud. How were his father’s men supposed to find him now? Maybe he would be stuck here forever. He shook his head. No, that was impossible. Eventually someone would notice that he was missing. But how long would that take?
“Kit, relax” Eva said calmly, “We’re in the Patrol’s headquarters.”
“We’re… where?” He shook his head. How was he supposed to relax upon hearing that?
“Shh,” Eva said, “We don’t want them to hear us. I’ve been listening to the guard’s thoughts though, and I think we can get out of here, but we’ll have to work together.”
Kit sat up, and moved closer to the door. “Really,” he said, “Do you think so?”
“I think so, yes,” Eva replied, “We’re in the mountains, not far from the Raven River. If we can get out of here we should be able to follow the river to Sampira. But Kit, I’ll need you to do exactly what I ask.”
Kit nodded. “Ok,” he said. He leaned up against the large wooden door. “What… what do you want me to do?”
“Next time they bring you food don’t eat it,” Eva instructed, “That’s how they’ve been drugging you this whole time. Promise me Kit. Just promise me you won’t do that, ok?”
“Ok,” Kit said.
“And don’t say anything to them,” Eva added, “They can’t know that we’ve been talking. Understand?”
“I understand.”
“Good. We’ll talk later,” Eva said, “The guards will be coming by soon.”
“Ok,” Kit replied again. Sure enough, only a few minutes later, Kit heard the telltale footsteps as one of the guards walked down the hallway, stopping in front of his cell. The door opened and the guard set down a tray with a glass of water and a few slices of bread. Kit stared at them, wondering if it was really true that they were drugged. Before he could even ask the door slammed shut. Kit listened to the footsteps as the guard walked back the way he had come, until their sound faded into silence.
After a few minutes of silence, he heard Eva’s voice again. “Kit? Say something.”
“Yeah?” he replied in a hoarse voice.
“Remember what I told you.”
“I remember,” He said. Don’t eat the food, don’t drink the water. That was what she had told him. He repeated the phrase to himself, as the minutes ticked by. Yet despite his constant reminders, after a while it grew tempting. His empty stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten in a very long time. Every now and then, he would reach out for the food only for Eva to reprimand him from across the hall.
Slowly, but surely the drugs began to wear off. It was as if his mind had been covered in a dense fog, but his thoughts became more coherent as it began to lift. He noticed it first when he came up with the idea to get rid of the water. He picked up the glass, and smashed it against the floor. The glass shattered into a bunch of crystalline shards, and the water splashed out across the floor.
“Kit, are you ok?” He heard Eva ask.
Kit smiled, relieved to hear her voice. He hadn’t heard from her in a while, and had begun to think that perhaps she was just a figment of his drug induced imagination. “I’m fine,” He said, “Much better, actually.”
As time passed, Kit grew increasingly aware of how much the drugs had been affecting him. It was almost embarrassing how much they had messed with his mind. This whole time he was letting the Patrol manipulate him. They told him he would be safe, and he had believed them without even questioning it.
“It’s not your fault Kit,” Eva reassured, “The drug that they’ve used dulled your senses and made you extremely susceptible to the power of suggestion.”
“But I should have known,” Kit said, “Everything that’s happened so far has just been red flag after red flag. I just feel so stupid that I didn’t realize it.” He let out a sigh. At least that no one back at home would have to hear about his deluded state. Sure, it wasn’t his fault, but that didn’t mean that people wouldn’t act like it was. If they ever heard about it.
“Eva,” He said, “Can you do me a favour and never tell anyone about what happened when we get out of here?”
“Of course,” Eva replied, “But first you have to help me get out of here. Me and my brother.”
“Sure,” Kit said, “I can do that.” He almost regretted the words as soon as he had said them. He wanted to help, and he definitely wanted to get out of this place. There really was no way to guarantee that the three of them would get out safely. Kit wanted to believe that he could, but there was always that possibility of things going wrong. It was a big promise that he was making. If they were going to make an escape, they would have to come up with a plan that was completely foolproof.
Not to mention the fact that they would be horrifically outnumbered. There were two of them-- three including Eva’s brother. He had no idea how much fighting experience the pair had, though if he had to guess he would assume not very much.
“Do they have any other prisoners here,” Kit asked, “Can you tell?”
“It’s just me, you, and Caleb,” Eva said, confirming Kit’s greatest fear.
He had hoped that if they had at least one more person on their side, then maybe it would give them an advantage. There was strength in numbers, as the general would always tell both Kit and his father. Having even just one extra person on their side wouldn’t level the field, but it could still be the difference between escaping and being stuck in the prison. The thought of having to stage a prison break out with only three people felt like an impossible task, but wishing that he had more resources was not going to get him anywhere. He would just have to make do with who and what he had.
“Don’t you have to know about military stuff since you’re the prince and all?” Eva asked, interrupting his thoughts.
“Yes,” Kit groaned. Military strategy was something he was supposed to know a lot about as the heir to the throne. Compared to the average citizen of Toltova, Kit probably knew more than most when it came to military but it was far from being his strong point. He had spent several agonizing hours studying strategies and tactics used in historic battles and he felt like he had hardly retained any of it.
“I… I’m sure between the two of us we can think of something,” Eva said. There was just the slightest hint of uncertainty in her voice which told Kit that she had likely been listening in on his thoughts. “What kind of powers do you have? Or do you even have them?”
Kit hesitated. He didn’t really want to get into that conversation with someone who was a complete stranger to him. He didn’t really like to discuss them with anyone, regardless of how well he knew them.
He took a deep breath. “I...I can move things with my mind,” he admitted. Kit wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. He hadn’t wanted to tell her, but it would make their escape a lot easier if he was honest about it. Kit couldn’t really think of any other way to go about their escape. “Don’t tell anyone about this though,” Kit said.
“Of course I won’t,” Eva replied, “I know what it’s like, Kit. I have powers too, remember?”
With that out of the way, they were able to start brainstorming some plans for their escape. They spent the next few minutes discussing their plans, pausing only briefly when Patrol guards walked down the hallway. They would peer in through the tiny window on the door and see Kit slumped against the wall pretending that he was still drugged. As soon as they walked away, Kit and Eva would resume their conversation.
It didn’t take them long to formulate a plan for their escape. Kit would create a distraction by flagging down one of the guards and telling him that he wasn’t feeling well. Eva had assured him that the guards were concerned with his well being she seemed confident that they would tend to him if he were to get sick or injured.
“They need you both alive and in one piece,” She had told him.
“Why?” Kit asked.
“I’m not sure,” She confessed, “But they won’t kill you.”
Once the guards started tending to him, Kit would unlock Eva’s cell. Kit would then make a break for it, locking the guard in the cell as he left. That would at least buy them some time and allow them to find Eva’s brother. Once they freed him, they would escape the prison and follow the Raven River until they reached Sampira.
It wasn’t a foolproof plan. Kit knew that there was still potential for things to go wrong. Once he locked the guard in the cell he was certain that other guards would be alerted. They would have to be prepared for anything, but Kit felt like they could manage. Even though the Patrol guards outnumbered the prisoners, Kit knew that his powers put him at an advantage over the guards. He was also relieved to hear that Eva’s brother had fire powers that allowed him to both generate and manipulate flames.
“That could come in handy,” Kit commented when Eva had mentioned it to him, “Especially if we need a distraction. They’d be hard pressed to ignore a fire, wouldn’t they?” He smiled as he imagined the scenario unfolding in his head, “And,” he added, “That would almost force them to split up.”
The more they discussed the plan, the more confident he became. They decided that it would be best to carry out their plan sometime tomorrow. That way, he would be able to recover from the effects of the drugs. Even though he felt fine now, they both decided it would be better if he was well rested and ready to use his powers at a moment’s notice. Kit was eager to escape, and would have been happy to start carrying out their plan at that exact moment, but it was better to wait. Most of the plan hinged on him being able to use his powers, so he had to actually be able to use them.
He leaned back against the wall of his cell. Tomorrow at this time, he would be free. It was tempting to simply unlock his cell right at that moment, but he couldn’t let Eva down and let all of their careful planning go to waste. He could wait until tomorrow. He had no idea what time it was, but it couldn’t be that far away.
Kit occupied his time by thinking about all the things he would do once he was free. He knew his father had wanted him to go and stay in Morbane, but he remembered Audrey cautioning him about how the Patrol liked to frequent the city. He decided that the first thing he would do would be to catch the first train into Galtia. His father had spent so much time looking into rumours that the Patrol existed. People thought that it was a waste of time, but Kit had always admired that his father was trying to make Toltova a safer place. Now that Kit had experienced first hand the horrors of the Patrol’s secret prison, it would change everything. He even had their location. Kit couldn’t keep that information to himself. He had to get back to Galtia.
Kit could hear the sound of footsteps running down the hall. It was difficult for him to tell how exactly how many people were sprinting down the long, narrow corridor, since the footsteps echoed throughout the prison. Kit estimated around four or five guards, but it was hard to say with any real certainty. One thing that he did know was that it was far more than the usual one or two guards that came in to check on him.
Kit’s heart rate accelerated as the guards drew nearer and nearer to his and Eva’s cell. Did they know they were planning an escape? They had been so careful about not speaking to each other when the guards were around. They always waited until the guard’s were out of earshot so that this wouldn’t happen. Kit drew in a deep breath as he tried to calm himself. He couldn’t give up yet. There still had to be a way to escape. He would think of something, and so would Eva.
As it turned out, he didn’t have to. The guards ran right past his cell, without even stopping to check on him. This in itself was highly unusual. They always checked on him. According to Eva, they often did it without being asked. This time though, the guards carried on, sprinting down the halls right past his cell as if it were completely empty.
“Kit,” Eva said in a shaky voice, “Kit can you hear me?”
He stood up and peered out the window at the cell door across from him. “Yes,” he said.
“We… we need to go,” she said, her voice quivered as though she was going to burst into tears at any second.
Before Kit could question her she explained. “Something’s happened with my brother. They’re going to kill him. Please Kit. Please, we have to help him.”
Without even hesitating, he unlocked the cell doors.
---
Author's note: I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to get the next chapter up by next Wednesday, what with it being Christmas and all. I'm going to be at my parent's house and I'm not sure I'll have my laptop with me. I'm still going to try to post as soon as I'm able to, so keep an eye out. And in case I don't get a chance to say it next week, I hope you guys have a Merry Christmas/ Happy Holidays.
---
<<Previous Chapter
Next Chapter (Coming Dec. 25? 2019)
Tag list: No one yet, but please let me know if you’d like to be added.
Three days went by much quicker than Crispin had anticipated. It had barely taken Ambrose any time at all to figure out where he had gone. When he came to Roger’s house in search of Crispin, only to find him sleeping peacefully upstairs Ambrose had decided to let him stay put. Ambrose still came in to check on him during the few days that Crispin had spent at Roger’s house, making sure that all of his injuries were healing properly.
Aside from his visits from Ambrose, Crispin hadn’t gotten up to much in those three days. He mostly spent his time up in his room getting lots of rest, which was a stark contrast to living on his father’s ship where he was always ready to spring into action at any given moment. He welcomed the change of pace, and savoured every moment he had to himself. Most of that had more to do with the fact that he was trying his best to avoid Rebecca. Every time he left his bedroom, she hounded him with questions that he didn’t really want to answer. Sometimes she would come in and check in on him while Roger was at work, but he’d always pretend that he was asleep so that she wouldn’t bother him. It left him feeling a little bit guilty, but he was really in no mood to be putting up with her and her never ending arsenal of questions.
Part of him seriously considered telling her the full truth about what had happened between him and his father, but he knew better. It wouldn’t really solve anything. It would only leave her with even more questions. She’d be angry for not telling her sooner, and Crispin had no patience to deal with that. It was probably better that she didn’t know. He didn’t fully trust her with that information anyways.
Finally, the third day had came. The thought of leaving left him feeling equal parts nervous and excited. He had lived in Coral Bay for the first thirteen years of his life, and then spent another three living on his father’s ship. He had never been away from the coast, and was rarely that far from Coral Bay. He was going to miss Roger too. Even when he was out at sea, he knew that his next visit with the man who had raised him was never far away. Once he left, Crispin couldn’t be sure when he would see him again. On the other hand, maybe spending some time further inland might not be such a bad thing. No one would know who his father was, and for once his reputation wouldn’t follow him.
He had started packing the few belongings that he had with him the night before.
Most of his belongings had been left on the Mad Maiden, but he had a couple sets of clothes that he always kept at Roger’s place. Aside from that, all he had were his throwing knives-- including the one that his father had tried to kill him with. He kept them all in their sheaths, which hung from his belt. He kept the one from his father tucked away in his bag for safe keeping.
Ambrose had told him that he should aim to be back at his ward around noon hour. It was half past eleven when Crispin had finished washing his hair, at Roger’s insistence. As far as Roger knew, Crispin was meeting his employer for the first time today. “You should at least try to make a good impression,” he had told him the night before, “I know you’re not going to be able to get that knife wound wet, but at the very least you should try to wash your face and your hair.” Crispin didn’t fight him on the matter. He simply agreed and promised Roger that he’d get to it in the morning.
He’d be cutting it close, he realised as he wiped his copper coloured hair dry. He grabbed his shirt and coat, draping the towel over his shoulders before he headed back to his room. He was just reaching out for the doorknob, when he heard Rebecca calling out to him from the other end of the hall. Crispin couldn’t help but to roll his eyes. Why did she have to wait to for the worst possible moment? “What?” He snapped as he pressed his back up against the wall, trying to keep his injured wing hidden. He had been able to retract his right one, but his left one was still wound up in the makeshift sling that Ambrose had fashioned for him. Crispin began to feel around for the doorknob, trying to get out of the conversation as quickly as he could.
“What time are you leaving?” Rebecca asked him, as she began walking down the hall towards him.
“Soon,” Crispin replied. His hand finally landed on the doorknob. He opened the door, stepped backwards into his bedroom before shutting the door between him and Rebecca.
He sighed, grateful to have Rebecca out of the way. He felt only a little badly about trying to avoid her, but he would make sure to say a proper goodbye to her when he left. He flopped down onto his bed, lying on his side so that he didn’t hurt his wing any more than he already had.
The door flung open and Crispin spun around to see Rebecca standing in his doorway. “What do you want?” He snarled as he frantically pulled his damp towel around his torso, trying once again to hide his wing.
“Why are you like this,” She demanded, “Why does it seem like you’ve been avoiding me ever since you arrived?”
“Maybe because I have been,” he said, shrugging unapologetically.
“What’s gotten into you?” She asked, shaking her head, “We used to be so close when we were younger, and now you’ve spent the last three days avoiding me. What’s wrong with you?”
Crispin sighed. They had been much closer when they were younger, but once Crispin had developed his powers he found himself growing distant from her. Part of him found dealing with his powers to be very exhausting, and even though it had been his choice not to tell her it was a decision that he stood by. He had no idea how she would react, and even if she did take the news well she wouldn’t understand it. He had never meant for for them to grow so distant but the less he spoke to her the less inclined he would be to slip up.
“Look,” he said, “sorry for avoiding you and all, but I’ve had a really, really rough past couple of days.”
“You say that and yet you haven’t told me everything that happened,” Rebecca said, folding her arms.
“Maybe because it’s none of your business,” Crispin snapped, “It doesn’t concern you, and I don’t want you getting involved.”
“Yeah, but why not?” She demanded, “We used to tell each other everything. You’ve changed so much.”
“Yeah, well,” he said, “I don’t know how to tell you this, but people have a tendency of doing that.” He grabbed his shirt, which lay in a crumpled ball at the foot of his bed. “I’ll tell you what I can, but can you at least let my get my shirt on?”
“Fine,” She said.
Crispin backed up closer to the wall. He held the towel in place before quickly pulling his shirt over his head. “Alright,” he said, “I got into a fight with my dad. A really, really bad one. It turned violent, and he tried to kill me.”
“What were you arguing about that was so bad that he tried to kill you,” Rebecca asked.
“I’d really rather not say.”
“Oh come on,” Rebecca said throwing her hands up in frustration.
Crispin sighed. “Look, do you want me to tell you this or not? Because if you’re going to be like that, then I’m just going to leave.”
Rebecca let out an impatient huff. When she didn’t say any more, Crispin continued. “I ran away after that, and wound up here and tried to get to your place. I was injured really badly though, and Ambrose noticed and took me in. We got talking and I started telling him about what happened with my father,” When he noticed her annoyed glare, he quickly added, “I didn’t tell him everything. Just that he tried to kill me. He mentioned to me that he has a friend who works on a train and was looking for an assistant. So I told him that I was interested in the position. I think my father thought that he did kill me, and that’s why he told you I killed myself. If he finds out I’m still alive, he’ll probably finish the job.”
“You pretty much told me everything I already know,” Rebecca remarked.
Crispin shook his head. “Maybe one day I’ll tell you,” he said, “But right now, I’m just not ready to talk about it.” He had no intention of ever telling her anything, but the comment seemed to shut her up. Finally.
“Do you think you’ll ever come back here?” She asked.
“I think so,” Crispin said, “I mean, we’ll see. But I need to wait until things with my father dies down a little bit.”
“I’m going to miss you,” Rebecca said. Before he could respond, she flung her arms around him, hugging him tightly.
Crispin tensed up as her hand brushed up against his wing. He froze in a state of panic, hoping that she wouldn’t notice. She hadn’t seemed to notice the last time, after all. But when he felt her hand patting up and down his injured wing that was when he knew that the one event that he had worked so hard to avoid was beginning to play out.
“What...?” She murmured
Crispin pulled away. He pulled on his jacket and grabbed his bag. “I need to go,” he said briskly, “I’m going to be late.”
“What’s going on,” Rebecca asked, as she chased after him.
He ran down the stairs, trying to get to the door as quickly as he could. He decided it was best just to ignore her. He pulled on his boots, but Rebecca stood in front of the door, blocking his only way out.
“I’m not letting you leave until you tell me what’s going on,” She said.
“Oh for fuck sake,” he snarled, “I’ve already told you everything.”
“You’re still hiding something,” she pointed out.
“Yeah, I am,” Crispin said, “But I already told you, you don’t need to know everything, ok? I really don’t have time for this!” He was trying to buy himself some time. He knew Rebecca well enough to know that she wasn’t going to let him pass until he gave her a straight answer. Crispin racked his brain trying to find some sort of excuse that would explain the extra bulk beneath his shirt that she had felt, but he couldn’t come up with anything.
He wasn’t going to give in so easily. Rebecca probably had secrets that she kept from him, and he was entitled to that same right. Just because they grew up together didn’t mean that she had to know everything that was going on in his life.
Crispin shoved his way past her, pushing her away from the door and into the wall. He hadn’t really wanted to escalate to this point. He wanted to leave on good terms, but she had backed him into a corner and left him with no other choice.
“I already told you everything that I was willing to tell you,” he said, “Sorry that wasn’t good enough for you. I’ll see you around, I guess.”
“You’re unbelievable,” was the last thing that Rebecca said to him, before he left the house and slammed the door in her face.
It was deceptively cold out. The sun shone down over the coastal city and there was not a single cloud in the sky. It almost looked like it could be summer, but the chilly weather served as a reminder that it was still the middle of fall.
Crispin shoved his balled fists into his pockets to keep his fingers warm as he walked at a brisk pace down the streets of Coral Bay. He made his way past lines of brick buildings, trying not to think about his final conversation with Rebecca. It wasn’t how he had wanted to part ways. He thought about turning back and apologizing, but he was already going to be cutting it close. He could afford to be a few minutes late, but he didn’t want to keep Frank and Ambrose waiting. It would have to wait for another day, he decided as he made his way down the narrow side streets.
He found his way out to the Harbour Strip. During the day, the Strip was always bustling with activity. Throngs of people made their way down the strip, either heading to and from the Coral Bay Harbour which lay at the very west end of the strip. Rows of shops and inns lined one side of the wide, cobbled road. The other side remained empty, providing an unobstructed view of the vast sea that seemed to stretch on for eternity.
Crispin walked down the Strip, getting jostled by the crowd as he headed towards Roger’s tavern, the Clockwork Crow. He made a conscious effort to try to avoid bumping into anyone. Normally, he didn’t care. The Strip’s main road always seemed far too narrow to accommodate the crowds of people that always seemed to be there. This time though, he was trying to avoid hurting his shoulder again. The pain had died down a lot over the past few days, but it still hurt when he poked at it. While it had yet to happen, he knew that the pain would be almost unbearable if he accidentally bumped into someone.
He finally reached Roger’s tavern. The sign for the Clockwork Crow swung gently from the soft autumn breeze. The door opened with a loud creak, though no one inside the noisy tavern appeared to notice. Much like the street it sat on, the Clockwork crow was bustling with activity. People sat at tables, chatting with their friends as they shared a pint of ale. It was a little early for most people to be getting drunk, though that hadn’t stopped some people as they giggled and shouted amongst their peers.
Crispin spotted Roger manning the bar counter. Roger was too caught up in his work, to notice as Crispin came traipsing in. As he began sauntering towards the bar counter, Roger finally saw him. He had just finished serving some patrons who sat on the tall bar stools when he had stepped back and locked eyes with Crispin. Rather than greeting him with his regular friendly smile, Roger’s eyes widened with panic and motioned for him to turn back.
Puzzled, Crispin took a step backwards but he was too late. A tall figure emerged from the shadows of the very back corner of the room. The whole tavern fell silent as the man stood on the opposite side of the tavern glaring at Crispin with a look instilled fear into many. But not Crispin.
“Hello father,” He said with a smug grin, “Miss me?”
Marcus didn’t respond right away. He continued staring Crispin down with a look that could kill. But even from afar, Crispin could spotted the calculating look in his father’s icy stare. It was the same look that he got when they started coming up with a plan to attack enemy ships. Crispin didn’t back down though. He stood tall, or as tall as someone who barely scraped past five feet could manage, and held his ground.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve showing your face here,” Marcus growled.
“And why’s that?” Crispin said taking a daring step towards his father, “Because you already told the crew that I killed myself? Since that’s clearly not true, why don’t you tell them who really made the attempt on my life that night?”
Marcus pulled out one of his throwing knives. “Keep talking,” he snarled, “Keep talking, boy and I’ll do it. You know I will.”
A sly grin played across Crispin’s face. “Then fight me.”
“No, no,” he heard Roger shout in protest, “Don’t do this, you two!”
Neither Crispin nor his father heeded Roger’s warning. Marcus stormed across the room like an angry bull towards his son. Crispin remained rooted to his spot, his feet planted firmly to the wooden floor. “Never make the first move in a fight,” His father had told him once. Crispin had always followed that advice when he could. For the most part, it had brought him some good results in various fights.
Marcus raised his fist, ready to strike at him with his knife. As he brought the knife down, Crispin grabbed at his wrist using all the strength that he had to stop the knife from getting anywhere near him. Despite his best efforts, he was no match for his father. Even at the best of times, his father had always been a much better fighter. With all of his injuries, Crispin couldn’t hold his father back and the sharp tip of the knife came closer and closer to him by the second.
Crispin swung his leg up, kneeing his father in the stomach. It hadn’t been a particularly hard blow, but his father was caught off guard and that was all that he needed. His father doubled over, dropping the knife to the floor. Crispin kicked it away, sending it skittering across the ground.
At this point, the whole tavern was watching. A few people even cheered, egging the pair on. From the back of the room where the crew of the Mad Maiden had been sitting with their Captain, a cheer broke out. “Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!” They banged their fists on the table, in time with their cheering.
Before Crispin could make his next move, Marcus swung his fist and punched Crispin square in the face. Crispin ignored the blood that streamed out of his nose and trickled over his mouth. He’d had far worse. A simple punch to the face was not going to stop him.
The blow left Crispin dazed, as though his father had quite literally knocked the sense out of him. Crispin swung his fist, hoping to land a punch the same way his father had done to him but he missed his target and his father grabbed his wrist. Before he could even reach for one of his knives, Marcus shoved Crispin to the ground. Crispin lay on his back with the wind knocked out of him. There was a searing pain that ran up and down his injured wing and it was only then that Crispin remembered Ambrose telling him that he should refrain from getting into fights. Well, it was too late now. All he could do now was hope that he hadn’t inflicted too much damage upon himself.
Marcus unsheathed his broad, curved sword. He raised the blade high above his head, ready to bring it down at any second. Crispin watched him, ready to duck out of the way at any given moment.
He kept his eyes locked on his father for what felt like an eternity as he waited for even the most subtle shift in his father’s weight that told Crispin that he was about to strike.
“Any last words?” His father asked in a low voice.
Crispin was about to open his mouth to deliver what he didn’t actually think would be his last words, but it was Roger who spoke instead.
“No!” He shouted, “No! I won’t allow this!” He grabbed at Marcus from behind, and pulled him away, “It’s too damn early for this!”
Crispin stared with his eyes wide in disbelief as he watched Roger restrain Marcus. In all his years, he had never seen Roger get physical with anyone. Crispin had always seen him as this gentle and down to earth fatherly figure who wouldn’t even hurt a fly. It probably was not the first time he had done something like this, given Coral Bay’s reputation. Roger had told Crispin about many drunken customers who had stepped out of line, but he never talked about having to do anything other than yelling at them until they left.
“Have you gone mad, Roger?” Marcus said through a clenched jaw as he tried to free himself from his friend’s tight hold.
“I won’t let you do this,” Roger grunted, using every bit of strength to prevent the much stronger pirate from breaking free, “He’s hurt, god dammit! You should be bloody ashamed of what you did!” He locked eyes with Crispin. “Go Crispin,” he said, “You need to leave.”
Crispin scrambled to his feet, and wasted no time getting to the door. “Goodbye, Roger,” he said, “Tell Rebecca I’m sorry about this morning.”
“I will,” Roger said, “Good luck, my boy.”
“And Dad,” Crispin raised his voice, hoping that his next words would reach the ears of the crew, “I’ll never forgive you for trying to kill me and telling everyone it was a suicide. Fuck you.” He would have loved to have seen his father’s reaction, but he could tell that it was growing more and more difficult for Roger to hold him back.
Crispin flung the door open and started running down the street as fast as he could manage. He pushed people out of the way as he made his way down the strip, before he ducked into a narrow side street. It would be a less direct route, but at least he wouldn’t have to worry about pushing people out of the way. When his entire body seemed to ache he slowed to a walk. He paused for a moment, leaning against a building as he tried to catch his breath. Crispin held his hand up to his nose in an attempt to stop the blood from dripping down his front any more than it already had. When it didn’t let up, he continued making his way to Ambrose’s place.
Crispin staggered his way down the road, which brought him just outside of the ward.
A tiny bell rang above the door as he pushed the door open. He could hear two men talking to each other as he walked slowly towards the source of the voices.
“That must be him now,” He heard Ambrose say. A door at the end of the long hallway creaked open and Ambrose stepped out with another older man close behind him.
Ambrose’s face immediately fell when he saw Crispin. “Oh, Crispin,” he said, “What have you done?” He shook his head before ushering Crispin into one of the rooms.
The room was identical to the one that he had woken up in three days ago. White walls, white ceiling, a window with dark curtains and a small metal cot next to a wooden bedside table.
“Sit down,” Ambrose ordered, gesturing to the bed.
Crispin sat down. “I’m sorry,” he said in a muffled voice.
“It’s fine,” Ambrose sighed, “Let’s just hope nothing else is broken.” He opened the door slightly and called out, “Frank, could you do me a favour and get me a damp cloth? Thank you so much.”
Ambrose pulled up a chair and sat in front of Crispin. “I thought I was very explicit when I told you to take it easy,” He said disdainfully.
“I was,” Crispin protested, “I promise!”
“So how did this happen,” Ambrose asked as he folded his arms across his chest, “Did you fall out of bed?”
“Yes,” Crispin said. He knew that Ambrose was being sarcastic, but he decided to see if he could get away with it anyways. Ambrose had made it very clear that he wanted Crispin to get lots of rest, but he had specifically mentioned to avoid getting into fights with anyone. Marcus Hadley was the one person that he had singled out and told Crispin to just steer clear of, which meant that Crispin had gone and gone and done the one thing that Ambrose had asked him not to do.
“Come on Crispin,” Ambrose said, “We both know that is not what happened.” He shook his head a second time. “I never should have let you stay with Roger.”
The door opened and Frank stepped in with the damp cloths that Ambrose had requested.
“Thank you,” Ambrose said as he took one of the cloths from the older man’s gnarled hands. “You can stay here if you want,” He added, “But I’m afraid I’m going to need a moment to tend to Crispin.”
“Of course,” Frank said, “If you need me to get anything else, just let me know.” He stayed by the door, with his hands behind his back as though he were waiting for more orders from Ambrose.
Ambrose took the cloth and dabbed away at the blood that was caked on to Crispin’s face.
“Well,” he said finally, “It doesn’t appear to be broken, so we have that to be thankful for. Is there anything else that’s hurting you? And please be honest this time.”
“No,” Crispin said, “The fight got broken up before my father could do any real damage.”
Ambrose let out an exasperated sigh. “I’m going to pretend like that’s a joke,” he said, “Because if I recall correctly, I told you that you should steer clear from your father if he happened to be in town.”
“But for what it’s worth,” Crispin countered, “I told you that I was going to beat the shit out of him if I ever saw him again. And it’s not like I went looking for him. I didn’t even know he was in town.”
“You don’t like being told what to do, do you?” Ambrose remarked as he dabbed the last bit of blood off of Crispin’s face.
“Well you did tell me to get lots of rest,” Crispin pointed out, “Which I did do.”
“That doesn’t really matter if you go out looking for a fight the moment you leave the house,” Ambrose said, “I shouldn’t have let you go.”
“I wasn’t looking for a fight,” Crispin said, “And I’m glad you let me stay with Roger.” The three days that he had spent resting up at Roger’s place had been exactly what he needed after the recent events. In addition to getting plenty of rest, he spent a great deal of time talking with Roger, who always seemed to know exactly what to say to make him feel better.
“Right,” Ambrose said dryly, still evidently regretting his decision. “Let’s just do what we came here to do, ok? Crispin this is Frank. Frank, Crispin.”
Frank stepped forward and extended a hand. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said as he shook Crispin’s hand. “Ambrose has told me quite a bit about you.”
Crispin’s brow creased. He hadn’t known Ambrose for very long, so what exactly had Ambrose been telling him? Crispin knew that he had a reputation around Coral Bay; a side effect of being the son of one of the most feared pirate captains. He wondered how much Frank knew about him at this point, and how much of it was just speculation on Ambrose’s part.
Nonetheless, Crispin managed to force a smile and say, “It’s nice to meet you too.”
“Ambrose told me you’ve found yourself in a bit of a bad situation,” Frank remarked.
“I find that tends to happen a lot,” Crispin said. He had endured a lot of bad situations, as Frank had put it, aboard his father’s ship. Getting into fights, either on the ship or on land, was almost part of his daily routine. The night he had escaped from his father hadn’t even been his first near death experience.
“Well,” Frank said, “You should be safe with me. We’re pretty secluded, as I’m sure Ambrose mentioned to you. I’m sure you won’t find it so hard to stay out of trouble.”
“Well,” Ambrose sighed, nodding towards the bloodied cloth that he had used to clean up Crispin’s face that now lay on the bedside table, “Good luck with that.”
“Hey,” Crispin said, “I’m trying my best, ok?” When Ambrose raised his eyebrows in disbelief, Crispin quickly added, “Well, for the most part.”
“Alright then, Crispin,” Ambrose said, “How about you prove to me that you’re not the little trouble maker that everyone seems to think you are.” He reached into his pocket of his heal, and pulled out a sealed envelope. He handed it to Crispin.
Crispin took the envelope, studying it curiously. There was no name or address written on it. It was just a plain, cream coloured envelope sealed with red wax.
“It’s a letter I wrote for my daughter,” Ambrose explained, “I want you to deliver it to her. You’ll be in the train for most of the journey, so I trust that you won’t find this too difficult.”
Crispin tucked the envelope into the pocket of his coat. “I think I got this.” He said confidently.
“Good, I’m glad to hear it,” Ambrose said, “I’m looking forward to hearing back from my daughter.”
Crispin flashed a smug grin at the healer. He hadn’t made a great impression with Ambrose by doing the one thing he had been told not to do. Crispin still didn’t see how the fight had been his fault-- it wasn’t like he had planned on running into his father, and his father would have hurt him regardless of what he said or did. Still, he was determined to make amends with Ambrose. After everything that he had done to help him, the very least that Crispin could do was deliver the letter.
Frank finally mentioned that it was about time to get going. “I’d love to stay a little longer,” he said, “But we’ve got a long journey ahead of us, and we’re already a bit behind schedule.” He said a quick goodbye to Ambrose, before heading out the door, but Crispin hung back a bit.
“I just wanted to thank you for helping me,” He said to Ambrose.
“I’m a healer,” Ambrose said, “It’s what I do.”
“Was that the only reason that you did it?”
Ambrose was silent for a moment. “No,” He said, “I did it for my daughter. I wasn’t able to help her when the Patrol took her, but if I can do anything at all to prevent that from happening to anyone else then I’m at least going to try.”
Crispin nodded, but before he could reply, Ambrose spoke up.
“You should get going now. Frank’s waiting.”
“Of course,” Crispin said with a nod. He rose to his feet, and stepped out of the room where Frank had been waiting. He followed the man towards the door, looking back just in time to see Ambrose heading into the back room. The healer met his gaze and gave him a reassuring smile before closing the door.
Frank opened the front door, the bell chiming as it had when Crispin had entered. He held the door open as Crispin stepped out into the street, ready for the long train journey that lay ahead of him.
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