The Great War: Chapter 34
The underworld is always watching
Cassie had a fun time going to her childhood warehouse, forcing every being in there to help set up the temporary infirmary, and then kicking them all out once the work was done.
The den of criminals and homeless has now been turned into a tidy, white-clothed clinic in just a handful of cycles, although sadly the smell of the unwashed lingers in the air long after. There’s an old office space that overlooks the warehouse that Cassie fixed up for that new healer of hers, up a set of freshly-polished metal stairs. A series of large storage racks are placed at the very back of the warehouse as well, intended for the storage of medicines, salves, bandages, and anything else the healers may need. Along the left and right walls are, of course, small resting spaces segregated by white sheets, held aloft by sturdy pipes. Each small space has a bed, a stool, two tall trays for food and other items, and a couple of candles for lighting.
“Wow…” Yumi breathes quietly next to Cassie, staring at the final product. The Feni’s eyes are as wide as they can go.
“Is this suitable?” Cassie asks.
“More than,” Yumi replies with a bouncy nod.
“Good! Now, then, go gather your healers and your injured. Our agreement will start at the end of this cycle.”
One of Yumi’s ears twitches as she gives the space one last look from where she stands, reality starting to sink in. She’ll be stuck here for as long as Cassie says. Might as well get familiar with the place before settling in, or so Cassie assumes.
“What are those?” Yumi then asks, pointing to one of the nearby resting spaces. A small wooden stake protrudes from the fabric. In fact, every space has its own stake.
“Oh, those are for me,” Cassie hums with a grin. “If there’s a being I don’t want you to heal, I’ll place something on that stake so you’ll know.”
“Like what?” Yumi inquires, her voice dull.
“Come.”
Cassie leads the healer to the back of the warehouse, where the storage racks stand. They’re all empty except for one. A small wooden crate rests on the bottom shelf at the very left end of the row of racks, just barely hidden by the shadows cast by the metal staircase. Cassie reaches for this crate, the smell of rust filling her nose. She holds this crate out to Yumi, still smiling.
“Open it,” she instructs.
Yumi lifts a hand, hesitant, her gaze trained on the crate with a look of dread. Cassie imagines that this is every healer’s worst nightmare; being told not to heal those in need. It’s their compulsion, one that they must sadly forsake under Cassie’s roof.
The Feni finally places her hand on the crate’s lid and, taking a deep breath, she opens it. Inside the crate are little wooden ‘X’s crudely painted red, each with a hole in their center just big enough for the stakes to slide through.
“If you see one of these,” Cassie says, “you know what it means you must do.”
Yumi is silent, only closing the lid of the crate and turning her head away from it in response.
“Come now, my dear, no need to look so upset,” Cassie hums. “I said I’d not interfere with your operations too much. I won’t even be here most of the time, so with any luck you’ll not be seeing any of these thrown up at all.”
She lies, of course. She fully intends to stop by the infirmary as often as she can. Stars only know when an enemy of hers will appear. It’s the perfect chance to either take them out or prolong their suffering.
Not to mention the amount of smugglers there are on Korodon that aren’t wizards. With the war now in full swing by her metrics, it’s hard to say if some of these criminals will become moles for the Guardians. After all, every being has a price, and as the queen of crime she doesn’t intend for those sorts of snitches to last very long on this island. Not on her watch.
“What criteria do you have, then?” Yumi asks, giving Cassie the side eye.
“If they’re my enemy, or if they’re a spy,” Cassie replies simply.
“A spy?” the healer echoes with a slight huff of amusement. “You didn’t strike me as one to go out of their way to protect this island.”
“I’m not doing it because I want to do my part,” Cassie sighs. “I’m sure the king and his spawn can deal with guarding the island just fine. But they’re not familiar with the underworld, and I rather not have these bad actors spoiling my fun. After all, why should I leave myself open to be caught on a crime I’m not even committing?”
The Feni’s glare turns sharp, but she remains silent. No doubt she was expecting Cassie’s answer to be selfish in nature. She concurs; her reasoning is selfish! She’d not have gotten to where she is now if she weren’t some degree of selfish.
“Now, run along and gather what you need,” Cassie says, replacing the crate in the shadows of the stairs. “You don’t have all cycle, you know.”
“Yes,” the healer replies stiffly. “Thank you for your patronage.”
Cassie watches the healer go, her strides long and quick as she hurries away from the repurposed warehouse and the crime queen.
“Have you finished setting up her sleeping quarters, Mitch?” Cassie calls up to the office above her. The door is open, allowing her voice to hopefully carry inside. The office was in much more disarray than the rest of the warehouse, the old overseer having hoarded many coin purses and expensive nick knacks over the years before Cassie came in and kicked him out. There’s a side room off of the office as well, that the overseer used as his bedroom. Now it’ll be Yumi’s bedroom, but with much nicer furniture.
“Nearly,” Mitch calls back, his voice quiet and muffled. Cassie crosses her arms and taps her foot impatiently. If she’s made to wait for him to finish any longer and she’ll have to give him a new burn on his face.
After a moment, she hears the thumping of footsteps, and Mitch tromps down the stairs, his brow glistening with sweat.
“There you are,” Cassie says. “I don’t want to miss the return of the royals.”
“At least the work is done,” Mitch replies.
“Good.”
The two leave the warehouse and take a stroll down the pier. It bustles with activity, a sea of colors and clothing styles as the refugees mingle with the native Korodon citizens. Never has she seen Ica so busy, and once the war ends she wonders if she’ll ever see it this busy ever again. All the business that she could gain if only the crowds were as big as this every cycle!
The ocean glitters in the light of the cycle as the docks are full of ships large and small. The king forced all the ships to remain docked until further notice before his leave, with only small fishing vessels able to travel only a limited distance from the island. They have no shipyard, although it’s not like they have the materials to build ships in the first place, so what they have is what they get.
The Erima is the only ship that Cassie never chartered. It’s the fastest ship Korodon has, but it’s governed by a virtuous captain and a loyal crew. If she were to ever have used it for her business dealings, no doubt she would have been turned in no matter if the deal went through or not.
On the horizon, she can see the Erima now, a small brown blotch on the crystal blue water. She still has plenty of time before it docks, but the question is what is she to do with her time? She runs her tongue around the inside of her dry mouth as she thinks. She could go for a glass of fine wine.
Cassie finds herself perched on a balcony overlooking the docks, a glass of red wine in her hand, watching the Erima make landfall. An uncovered cart is brought down the dock to the ship, most likely to take the royals back to their castle. The moment the plank is lowered, a stream of beings file out of the belly of the ship, far more than the amount that had gotten on when it left.
“Interesting,” she hums aloud to no being in particular. “I wonder…”
She’ll know the details soon enough. While she never chartered the Erima, she has a worker among them that keeps her up to date. She scans the crowd for Mitch, who stayed below to meet this worker, although sadly the crowd is too thick for her to make him out.
She takes an idle sip of her wine. The breeze is soft this cycle, the chill slightly sharper than normal. They’re slowly approaching the colder time of year, the third season due to start any cycle now.
The war hasn’t been going well for Korodon, that much she knows. With the caution around sailing and the number of injured sailors in the last season, things might not bode well for the island and its inhabitants.
Where will Cassie go if Korodon were to fall? She has an escape plan, but no destination. Not yet. Maybe Gardall, where she can hide in its great forest for many years to come. Or Mirage, with its expansive dunes one can easily get lost in. Or maybe she’ll even voyage to San Ovila and take her chances there. Only the smartest criminals stay in the most dangerous places.
She takes another sip of her drink, refocusing her attention on the boat below. The cart driver is trying their best to quickly put up a cover, standing long wooden poles precariously in each corner of the cart, a long length of purple fabric draped over the kava tied in place.
She can’t help but lean forward, intrigued. It’s not every cycle the royals instruct for a curtain to be raised.
The crew of the Erima try their best to line up along the ship’s railing and the edges of the plank, creating a living wall blocking the view of onlookers. But Cassie is above them, as she usually likes to be, so that she can observe when others cannot. The prince and his guard appear, the two almost walking on each other’s shoes as they pass through the corridor of beings. Following them is some kid she’s never seen before, dressed in orange garb from Mirage, possibly a Creationist. And bringing up the rear is the king’s old guard, his face stony and sullen. The four beings pile into the covered cart, and with them finally out of the way the living wall breaks formation.
But where is the king? Maybe Mitch will have an answer for her.
She watches the cart rumble along the dock, carving a pathway through the crowd. The buzz of conversation still hangs in the air, but it’s noticeably quieter as the cart makes its way away from the dock and into the heart of Ica, beings staring the whole way. The crew of the Erima continue as if nothing had happened, unloading crates and directing the passengers, all of whom appear lost and defeated. Indeed, a dark cloud hangs over the Erima this cycle. Cassie can almost see it.
“I have the report from the Erima,” Mitch’s voice announces out of the blue.
Cassie raises her wine to her lips a third time, her eyes still trained on the busy ship. “Tell me everything. Leave no detail out.”