The Destiny (Blood and Destiny Book 4) (17 page)

Butterflies jiggled inside Larissa’s
stomach as the sprawling city moved closer. The train chugged on, Cid’s engine
happily working away without skipping a beat. The small piece of
Anthonium
seemed enough to keep them going until the end, at least. She scanned the skies
above the city, expecting to see some form of battle raging on with the handful
of pirate airships who had escaped the fighting over Sallarium. The skies were
clear, a sight both worrying and comforting at the same time. The Capital city,
known as Dalit, appeared to be a curious mix of small, ancient structures from
various periods of the Empirical rule mixed with taller, imposing modern
buildings. All of them spewed clouds of smog up to the skyline. The clear air
quickly became tainted with an unpleasant odour from the city.

Larissa spotted two
great Hub structures, domes jutting towards the skies, at opposite ends of the
city. Her heart sped up a little at seeing them. She’d already seen the
destruction of two Hubs both at Sallarium and Aditona, and no matter that she
hadn’t directly caused either of them to collapse, she still felt responsible
for them both.

“I think we should
avoid the Hubs,” Cid said as he noticed her staring at them intently.

“Agreed.”

He pulled on the brake
as they closed the distance on the tracks. Larissa had half-expected a line of
soldiers to be stationed along the outskirts, awaiting their arrival. Although
she wasn’t exactly washed with relief when nobody seemed to take notice of an
unscheduled train arriving, she was certainly grateful for one less obstacle to
overcome.

Cid leaned out of the
train and smacked an otherwise redundant coal shovel on a switch as they passed,
changing the tracks at a junction. The locomotive curved off to the side
instead of directly towards the station. They passed by brick warehouses;
smashed windows and crumbling rooftops seemed the standard state. Larissa found
her eyes scanning the windows suspiciously in search of rifles sticking out to
indicate hidden soldiers. Though Holt might be pleased to know she had finally
caught on to his idea of keeping watch for trouble at all times, the dancing
butterflies in her stomach were too active to make her feel comforted by the
improvement in awareness.

Cid fiddled with some
controls on the engine, and they slowed, wheels squeaking along the tracks at a
steady pace. He reached out and banged on another switch, curving them off to
the right, away from a collection of older-looking engines all parked on the
tracks. Finally, he slowed to a stop as they reached a dead end, the front of
the train bumping gently into the buffers. Beyond the buffers lay a large
junkyard filled with rusting train parts, scrap metal, and discarded coal stock
piles. More abandoned brick buildings loomed over the messy area.

Larissa stepped down
from the train and headed toward the dining car, keeping her back to the train.
As soon as Sandy emerged, Larissa sent her to the coal car to turn off the
illusion orb.

A pair of men in blue
overalls and flat caps appeared, walking towards them along the tracks from
where they’d just turned off the main track. Cid walked at her side, and the
others exited the carriage, Holt taking position beside Larissa, scanning the
buildings like some on-edge animal expecting an ambush.

“What in the name of
the Gods do you call this?” one of the men yelled when they were still twenty
feet away, his feet making no quick effort to close the distance to the odd
group of people.

“A train,” Cid yelled
back.

“Funny bastard,” the
man called with a snort.

“Language, Bob. There’s
women present,” the second, older man said.

“Got a plan to explain
our presence to a pair of surly train yard workers?” Cid whispered to Larissa.

“We were shot at by
bandits,” she said to the two men as they came to a stop a few feet away. She
waved to the side of the train, indicating the smattering of bullet holes.
“Mister…Harris,” she nodded at Cid, “said we should take a detour directly to
the train yard as this engine is no longer fit for driving passengers. Besides,
we’re all out of coal.”

“And just what are you
doing coming into the city at this time?”

Larissa chewed on her
lip and looked up at the sky. It was still daylight; it wasn’t as if they’d
arrived under the cover of darkness.

“You know the new rules
on the elections…no unauthorised travel. President’s orders,” the man barked.

Larissa took a deep
breath. She hadn’t expected to hear such an odd thing. It didn’t seem to make
any sense to stop all travel across the country just for elections, though
there seemed little point in asking a pair of train yard workers what the
reason was.

“Illusion,” Kerrigan
muttered from somewhere behind.

“About the election?”

“If you issue an order
to state that all people must remain in their city of registration to vote on
the election, you create the illusion that their vote matters.”

Larissa found her head
nodding. It was the first time Kerrigan had willingly offered up insight into
the President’s dubious operations without being pressed to do so.

“We would have been
back days ago, only we were delayed by Sallarium City. Did you know that place
is overrun with criminals?” she called to the two men, adopting a decidedly
snooty tone to her voice.

“Aye. I’d heard,” the
elder of the two men said.

“We have no intention
of leaving now, especially not to go back there. Just look at what they did to
our attire,” she said, waving a hand at her clothing, then motioning towards
the others.

“Right…best be on your
way, then,” the grumpiest of the two men said, his suspicious glare passing
over them.

They headed off,
walking slowly away from the train. Saunders had to physically loop his arm
around his cousin Sandy, who seemed reluctant to abandon her illusion orb.
Larissa felt reluctant to leave it behind as well, but they could hardly lug it
around. They looked odd enough as a group as it was.

Her feet climbed
awkwardly over the pile of junk. A pathway leading between the warehouses
seemed a good bet for escaping the area. The others followed without question
or comment until Kerrigan cleared his throat.

“We seem to have
entered the city with minimal issue,” he said.

“Yes, I know, you want
a plan.”

“It would be prudent.”

“Agreed,” Holt said.

Larissa forced herself
not to roll her eyes; it was typical the two men could agree at such an awkward
moment. “I have three plans. Well, one plan with three parts.” She spoke as
they walked. “Cid already knows my plan for him and Friar Narry and Sandy,” she
said, looking over at Cid. She hoped she wouldn’t have to explain that part of
the plan again, especially in front of the Colonel.

“And that is?” Kerrigan
asked.

“Not important to your
plan.”

“I see. My plan is
what?”

“To determine how many
soldiers remain in the city and where their loyalties lie. To find out who
agreed with the President’s decision to pronounce you dead and to detain that
person if possible.”

“I believe I already
know who would have agreed to do that.”

“I thought you might.
One of your former friends? No doubt some high-ranking General who you
previously considered an ally?”

“General Gott,”
Saunders said. He scrunched his nose up in disgust at the name.

“Presuming our
presumptions are correct,” Kerrigan said as they all continued to clamber over
the junk pile, “the General will be holed up in the fort. If I am technically
dead, I can hardly stroll up to the gate and demand to be let in.”

“I’m sure you and
Lieutenant Saunders will think of something. I also want to know if Covelle has
entered the city yet or not. If you can send word to the fleet at Aditona and
get them to return inland to defend the Capital, we may have one less problem
to resolve when Covelle launches his attack.”

“You’re presuming he’s
going to attack from the skies,” Holt said.

“Yes. I don’t know for
sure, but we want to stop the war. Drawing the ships back from the coast would
delay it significantly, at the least.”

They reached the path leading
between two buildings and opening out to a wide street. An old horse clomped
down the cobbles, towing a cart, and further ahead, a steam-powered vehicle
chugged along at a steady pace. The paths were filled with a curious mixture of
aristocratic men and women in fine dresses and lowly workers, faces covered
with soot. The collection of people in the streets appeared so eclectic that
their odd bunch didn’t seem so out of place. It didn’t take long before they
came to a crossroads with crooked signposts promising the military quarter to
the east and the city center to the north.

“The palace is located
in the center,” Kerrigan said.

“I suppose this is
where we part ways.” Larissa sighed, a niggling sense of doubt worrying the
back of her mind.

“Is there a tavern near
the citadel beside the palace, Friar Narry?” Larissa asked.

“The End of Hope,”
Narry said. “Good place to play cards.”

“Fine. We’ll all meet
there this time tomorrow.”

“And if we cannot meet
there then?”

Larissa looked around
at the faces of each person. Was she sending them all to their deaths? Would
she never see any of them again?

Narry came forward
first, a cheerful smile on his rotund face. He held her fingers between his
pair of large and sweaty hands. “Things will be fine, Miss Larissa. The Gods
have smiled upon you all this way. I doubt they would change their favour now.”
He nodded, then stepped aside.

Sandy came next, giving
her an awkward sort of hug. Sandy then hugged her cousin and followed up with a
hug for Kerrigan. The puzzled look on the Colonel’s face was only surpassed but
the astonished look on the Lieutenant’s face. Lieutenant Saunders gave Larissa
a curt salute, and Colonel Kerrigan mirrored the action of his subordinate with
a little more warmth on his expression.

Last, she turned to
Cid. He stretched out his hand, offering a handshake. She held onto his hand,
the callouses on his skin evident. If she still possessed a strength of healing,
she would make an effort to fix those callouses as some small recompense for
the danger towards which she was sending him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow
night, Miss Markus,” Cid said.

No words found their
way from her mouth. She wanted to say something poignant, to thank them all for
everything they’d done so far, and to promise them some form of comfort in the
future if they succeeded in their crazy mission. Instead, she managed nothing
more than a weak nod. The two groups turned and headed away, walking solemnly
down opposite paths. A twinge of guilt stabbed her chest when she realized none
of them had taken the time or effort to say goodbye to Holt. He stood at her shoulder;
the closeness of his body still felt unusual, especially after they had spent
so long avoiding being so close. She wasn’t sure if it was because he loved her
and needed to be protective, or because he was still suffering from
Anthonium
withdrawal and was drawing comfort from what little of her healing ability
remained. Perhaps it was both.

With a sigh, she turned
and headed down another street, the signpost promising
retail
.

Holt and Larissa walked together side by
side for several blocks. The rundown buildings slowly turned to less depressing
structures. Lines of apartments, which clearly housed the lower class workers,
soon gained flower baskets hanging out of the windows, and the dirt pavements
and broken cobblestones were replaced by block paving as they moved into the
richer area of the city. A few more blocks down, they came to the shopping
district.

“What is wrong?” Holt
asked.

“Nothing… What makes
you ask?

“Because you’ve barely
said a word since we left the others, and you have a face like thunder.”

“Oh.” Larissa’s teeth
chomped away inside her mouth despite having no food in there. Eventually, she
swallowed and made an effort to speak her mind. “I always wanted to come to the
Capital.”

“This isn’t the sort of
trip you envisaged?” Holt said with a teasing quirk of an eyebrow.

“Not exactly. I almost
came once.”

“When?”

“After my mother died.
I was feeling down, so I promised myself a trip away from Sallarium City. I had
it all planned, packed a bag, asked a neighbour to look after Imago for a few
days, and made it all the way to the train station.”

“What went wrong?”

“I couldn’t even buy
the ticket. I mean, I’d been out of the city before, but just to the next town,
never too far. I was so afraid of going somewhere I’d never been before and on
my own. I didn’t know who I’d meet or what trouble I might run into. I just
turned around and went home, feeling even more sorry for myself than before.”

Holt didn’t say
anything else. A slight squeeze of her arm was enough reassurance, and probably
all the reassurance he could give.

“I’m not the same
person,” she said somewhat absentmindedly as they turned another corner to a
wider street filled with restaurants serving all manner of foods.

“The Larissa Markus who
couldn’t buy a train ticket for fear of the unknown versus the Larissa Markus
who is storming the Capital to infiltrate the palace and overthrow the
President?” Holt slipped her arm through his and walked down the street with a
haughty air of purpose, as a man taking his lady out for a pleasant evening
meal. The cunning ruse sent her heartbeat into double time. It was a shame
their attire didn’t match the act of appearing as rich shoppers.

“Something like that. I
wouldn’t exactly call this
storming
the Capital, though.”

“Not yet. What wares
does the master criminal and pirate captain wish to purchase with her
ill-gotten gains?”

“Clothes first. Then
perhaps some dinner,” she said as they passed a restaurant filling the street
with delicious smells, the sign outside announcing the best pies in the
Capital. Her stomach rumbled so loudly she wondered if Holt could hear.

“As much as I would
love to dress in our finest and take you to dinner, we should lay low. If we
were to be recognized—”

“Who would recognize
me? No one knows me.”

“Covelle knows you. We
don’t know where he has gone. Besides, someone may recognize me.”

“Oh?”

“I used to be a member
of the elite guard. The closer we get to the palace, the better our chances of
running into others who are still with the unit. They are trained to pay
careful attention to their surroundings. They would not fail to spot me.”

“No dinner date in a
romantic restaurant, then. Perhaps we could ask if that pie place will allow us
to take away some food.”

“I think you would need
to procure food from a less affluent eatery for that kind of service.”

“You underestimate my
charm, Mister Holt. I used to work in retail. I know how to twist the arm of a
greedy manager. It involves looking less like a pair of sewage workers,
though.”

“Once we have clothing
and food, then what?”

“Weapons.”

“Good.”

“You think I would plan
on storming the palace unarmed?”

“I didn’t know if your
grumbling stomach had fogged your mind to the practical aspects of the
mission.”

“I didn’t think you’d
heard it,” she said, shying away, feeling a blush touch her cheeks.

“It sounded like your
cat was purring.”

As soon as he mentioned
Imago, the smile dropped from her lips. She’d not seen the cat in weeks and was
beginning to doubt if he was still alive—if a ghost cat could be considered
alive in the first place. Her expression dropped further still when they turned
a corner and arrived at a row of clothing shops. She stopped in the middle of
the path and stared blankly at the other side.

“What is it?” Holt
asked.

“A ghost from my past,”
she said. Across the street, a large shop took up the space of three
shopfronts. Bright chandeliers burned behind large glass windows, revealing
racks of fine clothing. Above the door, a sign emblazoned in gold lettering
read
Greyfort’s Clothing Emporium.

She stared at it,
dumbstruck for a time. Inside was a large cashier’s desk behind which stood a
beautiful young red-headed woman, staring out at the shop. Daydreaming. Tears
pricked the corner of Larissa’s eyes, but they did not fall.

“We should go,” Holt
said, his voice low and serious, his mouth close to her ear.

“No.”

“Larissa, no good can
come of going in there. If what you assumed is true, and your former employer
was paid to hire you by your father, it would be unwise to confront him. We are
avoiding recognition, not actively seeking it.”

She stepped down onto
the road. Holt was right, his logic was sound, but her heart didn’t have the
capacity to hold onto logic. She needed answers she was unlikely to find
elsewhere.

Larissa swung the door
open and stepped into the shop. A sickly familiar shrill bell rang out,
announcing her presence. The girl behind the desk whipped her head towards the
door and instantly spread her lips into a forced grin. The grin turned to a
look of confusion when she saw Holt and Larissa.

“Hello. Welcome to
Greyfort’s Clothing Emporium. Can I help you?” the girl asked as she nervously
glanced toward the back of the shop.

“We were attacked by
bandits,” Holt said, interrupting Larissa before she had a chance to speak. “We
need new clothing.”

“Oh, of course. The
men’s are this side, and the women’s are over here. Is there anything in
particular you were looking for?”

“No,” Larissa said. The
word snapped out, a bark of impatience. The poor girl visibly jumped in
reaction and retreated to her spot behind the cashier’s desk, her eyes roving
them with suspicion.

“May as well knock one
item off your list of purchases while we’re here,” Holt whispered to Larissa
before heading to the men’s clothing section.

She walked up and down
the rows of clothes. The shop smelled familiar, like clean wool and warm
fibres. The expanse was bigger than the shop in Sallarium, an upgrade to
Greyfort’s circumstances, she supposed—one he wouldn’t have been able to afford
without the additional income in his ledger. Her mood darkened the further she
stomped through the shop. Where ranks of fine dresses with lace and delicate
embroidery would have once delighted her simple soul, now she wished they were
racks of knives and guns. She imagined grabbing a sword and stalking into the
back room to lop off Greyfort’s head.

She stopped beside a
rail with dark dresses and took a deep breath. How long had she been harbouring
murderous thoughts? As much as she’d survived through some horrors, it didn’t
mean she could go around killing people with impunity. Her gaze fell upon an
outfit, a black shirt with fitted waistcoat cut low. The black skirt was short
with only one layer of ruffles, and a black pair of gaiters with low heels. It
seemed the perfect outfit for a female assassin—save for the ruffles. She
supposed a real assassin would prefer to have minimal accoutrements. Her heart
fluttered as she considered the reality of the task ahead. If they actually
made it into the palace and got close enough to the president, could she truly
murder him in cold blood?

The sound of a door
opening at the back of the shop brought her back to reality. She grabbed the
outfit and marched to the cashier’s desk, throwing the clothing onto the
counter. Holt arrived at her side, a collection of black clothes in his hands
and a pair of black boots. She wondered if he would be pleased at her choice
and the consideration she had put into it.

“Miss Markus…” The
elderly owner, Mister Greyfort, stood beside his assistant, his jaw dropped
low.

“Mister Greyfort. I
need clothes. These clothes…and more for my friends. You will provide them for
me at no charge.”

“I…I cannot agree to
that. You left me with no notice given. The papers branded you a criminal, then
they said you were a pirate. Last I heard, you were the one of the President’s
most wanted. Gods, girl,
are
you a criminal?” Greyfort looked
suspiciously towards Holt. “Where is Professor Watts?”

“Dead.”

“Truly?”

“Yes. I burned his body
on a pyre.”

“So it is true, then.
You killed him?”

“I did not kill him,
and I don’t care to discuss the details of what happened with you. I don’t have
time to prove my innocence. I do know you employed me under false pretences,
and if you don’t want me to announce the scandal of your involvement with a man
named Solomon Covelle, you will provide the items I want free of charge.”

Greyfort swallowed, his
grey face managing to turn a shade paler. “Very well,” he said after a moment
of quiet contemplation.

Larissa returned to the
racks to pick out something for Sandy, selecting a plain dark dress and a large
overcoat that could have passed for a robe. When she returned to the desk, Holt
had collected more clothes and a second pair of boots. The last two items he
threw onto the pile made her resolve soften; a pair of gloves and a pair of
goggles, both for Cid.

Greyfort’s assistant
hastily shoved the clothing into bags and gave a nervous smile to Larissa as
she passed them over.

“If you report this to
anyone, I shall return and burn your shop to the ground,” Larissa said. When
Greyfort stuck his chin out in obstinate defiance, her thoughts returned to the
imaginary sword. Lopping his head off would actually be far easier than she
cared to admit. “I will ensure you are inside the shop while it burns,” she
added, then turned on her heels and left.

The trill shop bell announcing
their departure seemed an almost comical end to her parting performance.