Leading Aegis

Chapter 3

Ophelia jumped backward as the man’s hand swiped at the bottle she was holding, narrowly avoiding having it struck from her grip. Three of his crewmates were trying their best to hold him down as he flailed, but his roar was deafening and his strength was chemically unparalleled. The pirate had been hit with a fury dart by a Sovereign soldier, and in their attempt to subdue him, his crewmates had put several bullets into his extremities. He was bleeding all over her operating table, and had bled so much before being brought to her that she couldn’t imagine how he still had fight in him.

“Give me a syringe!” she hollered at her assistant over the man’s screaming. What with his uncontrollable tossing, she was certain he’d snap at her if she tried to feed him the sedative.

Maud put a syringe into her hand, and she jammed it into the opening of the bottle and filled it with the liquid. She didn’t wait to dive back in, plunging the needle into the man’s arm and injecting him. His bellows quieted as his flailing slowed, until he slumped back onto the table, still and silent and pale as the dead.

“Quickly,” she said, and Maud jumped in at her side with two hemostats in her hands, giving one of them to Ophelia.

Together, they pulled bullets out of his arms and legs, stitching the wounds hastily as they went and saving the worst for last – a slug had broken apart in his shoulder, the pieces imbedded too deep in his flesh for them to be dug out. Ophelia cut away, steady hand carving just enough to reveal the shiny bits of metal, until she was sure she had every last one. She stitched the remaining wounds with practiced precision, but that didn’t ensure the man’s survival .

“He’s lost too much blood,” she told Maud, “get me a bottle of Catorix.”

Before Maud could even reach for the blood regenerator in the potion cabinet, their overseer, Fester, said, “Make sure they can pay for it.” He turned away from the plate of chicken and potatoes he’d been eating in the other room while they worked, and narrowed his eyes at them through the open door. “It’s three hundred dominions.”

The three crewmates passed each other wide-eyed looks, and then turned that expression on Ophelia. “The captain can’t pay that,” one of them said.

“He gave us one hundred,” said another.

“We can’t help you,” Fester said, returning to his meal.

Ophelia stared at him with open disdain, hoping he could feel it on the back of his head as she told Maud, “Get the Catorix.”

“You will not ,” Fester growled, wheeling around again.

“This man will die!” she shouted. He simply glared at her, the lack of sympathy clear in his cold blue eyes. “Fine,” she said, and looked at the pirates before she whirled around and dug through a drawer, knowing that Fester was watching her with the same disdain she felt for him. “Do any of you know your blood type?”

The moment she pulled out a tube with two different needles on each end and a pump in the middle, Fester rose from his seat. “Don’t you dare,” he snapped.

She ignored him as each of the pirates shook their heads, and then pulled four lancets and typing cards out of the same drawer. The injured man was running out of time, so she handed two of the typing sets to Maud, quickly instructing her to prick the men’s fingers and put a drop of their blood onto a card. Ophelia had only just reached for the injured man’s hand when Fester stomped over and grabbed her wrist.

“I said no.”

She wrenched her arm out of his grip. “It’s not up to you.”

He reached for the testing set as he said, “You’ll kill them both and get us killed in the process.”

“Then leave,” she stated, pulling it away.

His lips pursed as he stared her down, but she stared right back, unwilling to relent. Just because that miserable excuse for a doctor couldn’t do it successfully didn’t mean that she couldn’t. He was a selfish coward, and she was better than that. After several long, tense seconds, he gave in with a growl, and returned to his food while Ophelia faced the unconscious man again. She pricked his finger, dotted the blood on the card, and hastily moved on to the next man.

Maud set her two cards on a counter, and once Ophelia had gotten a sample from her second man, she did the same. The blood on the cards quickly spread or clumped, and Ophelia analyzed what types they showed and sighed with relief at a compatibility.

“This one?” she asked Maud, tapping the card.

“Him,” Maud pointed.

“You,” she pointed at him and then at a chair, “sit.” She carried the clean transfusion tube over to the man who’d sat where she instructed. She also grabbed a glass bottle of disinfectant, poured some onto a clean rag, and scrubbed the bend in his arm.

As she set it down and then lined up one end of the transfusion tube’s needle over his vein, he pulled his arm back to cradle it to his chest. “Is this going to kill me?”

“No.”

He extended his arm slowly. “Have you done it before?”

She took his arm, concentrating on inserting the needle directly into his vein before answering with a playful smile, “It’s been a while. Maud, hold this needle still for me with one hand and hold up a pocket watch for me with your other.” Maud came over and secured the needle, and Ophelia made sure to look right into Fester’s eyes while she walked over and stole an apple from his table, and then she strode back and placed it in the man’s hand. “Squeeze that.”

He did, and she went through the process of preparing the other end with the man on the table. As the transfusion started, she stood beside the seated man and kept two fingers pressed to his neck, measuring his pulse against the watch Maud was holding up while she squeezed at the pump between the two men with her other hand. She went back and forth between watching the clock and occasionally glancing at the donor’s face while his blood flowed through the tube and into his comrade. Maud stood stiffly nearby, still holding the needle in place in the man’s arm while her worried gaze shifted from Ophelia, to all three men, to Fester, and back again.

Once or twice Fester peered over his shoulder at her — glaring, probably, but she didn’t care what that greedy bastard thought. She was the best surgeon he’d ever seen, and they both knew it. The evidence was in the business the spread of her reputation had brought him. But instead of working with her and learning from her, he hindered her every chance he got, hoping she’d fail and prove she wasn’t as good as she thought. She wouldn’t fail. Her job was to help people, and that’s exactly what she’d do.

Minutes passed, but she let the blood flow until she was certain the injured man had all he needed, and that his crewmate had given all he could. Then she ended it, carefully removing the needles from both men’s arms and caring for the insertion sites.

“How do you feel?” she asked the donor, touching a handkerchief to his face, gently wiping the cold sweat.

“Weak,” he admitted.

She nudged his hand. “Eat the apple, don’t move till you’re better.”

She locked eyes with Fester, who huffed a resentful breath through his nose and stood to leave for his office. She carried the tube setup to the large basin on the other side of the long room, while Maud carried over the tray of other tools they’d used.

“You have to teach me that,” Maud said, passing her a proud grin as they began to clean the tools with the water that flowed from a faucet attached to a storage tank outside.

“Someday,” Ophelia laughed. “You’ve learned so much already, I’m proud of you.”

Maud smiled, turning away to drop a tool into the large glass container of sterilizing solution, clearly trying to hide her blush. She was ten years Ophelia’s junior, and at the mere age of eighteen, she’d made bounds of improvement under the two short years of instruction Ophelia had given.

“Ophelia…” Maud said after a minute, leaning in to speak lower, “there were some men here this morning asking about you.”

“What?” Ophelia stopped cleaning. “Who?”

She shrugged. “Some pirates, I think.”

“What did you tell them?”

“They weren’t talking to me,” Maud said. “They were asking Fester. Said they were looking for a woman that matched your description, a woman that probably had sophisticated training.”

“What did Fester say?” she pressed.

“He told them that you’d be here this evening.”

Ophelia exhaled a breath of relief. Her shift at the clinic was almost over and no men had shown up looking for her. Perhaps they’d moved on .

“They asked where you live,” Maud added almost apologetically, and Ophelia fumbled and dropped the tool she was cleaning into the basin. “Gave Fester fifty dominions to tell them.”

She didn’t need to ask if he’d given her up. She smacked the lip of the basin with her palm. “That simple, slimy, dim-witted ass!”

Maud glanced around like she was worried about Fester hearing and coming back in. “Are you in trouble?” she whispered, setting a hand on Ophelia’s arm. “I have some money, I’ll help.”

Ophelia sighed and hung her head. She’d put it off for as long as she could, but it seemed her time on the island of Barciet was coming to an end. “Thank you, Maud, you’re very sweet. But I don’t need money.”

“If there’s anything I can do…”

“Stand up to Fester,” Ophelia said. She dropped the last tool into the solution and dried her hands, wrapping one arm around Maud’s shoulders and pulling her in for a sideways hug. “The people here will need you to be brave.”

Maud turned to look at her, hazel eyes wide and glimmering with the realization that Ophelia wasn’t coming back. Her bottom lip quivered as she wrapped her arms around Ophelia’s waist, giving her a tight hug. “Be careful,” she sniffled, “be safe.”

“Yeah,” Ophelia said, blinking away the rising tears in her eyes, “I will.”

Out of all the places she’d traveled, out of all the clinics she’d worked in, this had been one of her favorites. As wretched as Fester was, Maud had made up for it with the way she looked up to Ophelia. Always eager to learn, always willing to look the other way when she bent the rules to help those in need, and always with a kind heart. She’d been one of the brightest beacons of purity Ophelia had met in such a corrupt world, and she’d miss her dearly.

Ophelia left Maud at the basin and retrieved her coat from off the back of a nearby chair, and then ambled to the potions cabinet while she put it on. She glanced around stealthily as she reached for the door. Fester hadn’t returned, and Maud was purposefully turning a blind eye and focusing on her work. Ophelia reached into the cabinet for a vial of Vezonol and slipped it into her pocket. In the past, she’d only taken one at a time to avoid detection by Fester, but this time, she reached back in and snuck all but one of the twelve vials into her coat. She wasn’t worried about Maud taking the blame — when she never returned, Fester would know it was her. It’s what he deserved, thinking she didn’t know he’d been using her reputation to exploit people who needed medical care.

Before leaving, she checked on the blood donor. He’d finished the apple, but still looked pale and weak. “The poison will have worn off by the time he wakes,” she told the pirates, gesturing to their comrade on the table. “You’re all free to leave when he comes to, but not before you feel well enough, understood?”

The donor nodded, and one of his companions said, “We can’t thank you enough, Miss.”

She smiled and nodded, and then headed for the main door of the clinic, stopping when she reached it and turning to Maud, who’d followed her. “Goodbye, Maud.”

Maud passed her a smile full of sadness and good tidings. “Farewell.”

She went out the door and closed it behind her, but stopped to stand on the porch of the clinic for a moment. She reached up to untie the knot of her curly black hair, using the time she spent shaking it out to look up and down the street. There was never an hour on this neutral island that wasn’t busy. The sun had set, and men and women strolled about through the light cast from the businesses along the dirt road, going to taverns and inns as pirates and merchants enjoyed their time on land, and locals enjoyed the parties they brought with them. None of these people seemed particularly interested in her, and she noticed no loiterers in dark alleys.

Still, she kept her eyes peeled as she stepped off the porch and started her walk home. Whoever the men were that were looking for her that morning could still be around, waiting for her. She wondered if it was even wise to return home, but though she had few belongings, she needed what she could get for her journey to wherever she’d end up next.

No one stopped her on her way, and she made it to her neighborhood without a hitch. Before going home, she stopped at her landlord’s worn wooden door and knocked, calling, “Madam Stanmore, it’s Ophelia.”

The door swung open after a few moments, and Rosamund Stanmore stood before her, her puffy, wrinkled cheeks dimpled with a smile. “Evening, Ophelia.”

“I brought more Vezonol for Marco.” She reached into her coat pocket with both hands, pulling out the eleven vials of medicine that regulated her husband’s blood sugar .

The Stanmores owned their own tailoring business, but even though Barciet’s governor ran his island as a neutral one, he taxed unfairly. Life was hardly better for the locals here than it was for people on Sovereign islands, and she’d been sneaking them the overpriced Vezonol they couldn’t afford as part of her payment for rent. But Rosamund’s forehead furrowed as she handed them over, mouth angled into a confused frown at the sheer amount of it.

“I wanted to thank you for your kindness to me,” Ophelia said. “I’ll be gone by morning,” she tried to smile as she added, “your storage shed will be yours again.”

“Thank you, I…” Rosamund looked from her to the medicine, at a loss for words amidst her shock at the stock of Vezonol that would last them ages and her surprise at Ophelia’s departure.

“Madam Stanmore, was there anyone here today looking for me?”

Rosamund blinked away her shock to think about the question, dropping the vials into the front pocket of her simple dress. “I don’t believe so.” She yelled over her shoulder, “Marco, was anyone here today looking for Ophelia?”

“What?” Marco’s voice called back.

“Ophelia,” Rosamund yelled louder, “was anyone asking about her?”

“No,” he answered.

“No,” Rosamund repeated to her. “You’re leaving, then?” She nodded, and Rosamund waved for her to come in. “Please, let me feed you some dinner. It’s the least I could do.”

“Thank you,” she said, taking a step back, “but I should get going. Thanks again for everything, and best of luck to you both.”

“Where are you going?” Rosamund asked. “Chasing adventure?”

“Something like that,” Ophelia answered, forcing a small laugh. And in case anyone came asking about her, she lied and said, “Thought I’d give Fountain Isle a go, see what’s in store for me there.”

“Exciting!” Rosamund beamed. “I envy you, seeing the world before you’re old. Safe travels.”

“Thank you.” Ophelia turned, waving as she did. “Bye, Rosamund.”

Rosamund waved vigorously as Ophelia disappeared around to the rear of their establishment, toward the storage shed she called home. She’d been comforted by the fact that no one had been around the Stanmore’s asking about her, but as she neared the door of her shed, her heart sank. The door was ajar, the frame broken near the lock that she clearly remembered doing before she left .

She searched for something she could use to protect herself if there was anyone inside, and grabbed a stone off the ground before tiptoeing to the door. She pulled a match from her pocket and lit it against the rock, then nudged the door open to peek inside. There was nobody in there, but her clothing trunk had been rifled through and articles were strewn about the wooden floor, her mattress was overturned, and her money pouch dumped onto the ground so that coins were scattered everywhere. She crept in and closed the door as much as she could behind her.

Nothing had been stolen as far as she could tell, and whatever confirmation about her identity the trespassers had been searching for, they didn’t find it. The only item that she had from her old life was the silver and sapphire ring on the chain around her neck, which she kept tucked beneath her shirt at all times. But she had to leave before she was caught, there was no doubt in her mind.

She dropped the stone and rushed to the bag that had been thrown to the floor with the rest of her clothes, and stuffed a few articles into it before dropping to her hands and knees to gather her savings, returning it to her money pouch. She put that into a pocket of her coat and threw the bag onto her back, grabbing the small knife out of her trunk and scanning the shed for anything she’d missed.

It was strategic that she kept as few possessions as she possibly could and traveled light. She was ready for escape in less than three minutes.

With her knife in hand, she stuck her head out the door to check if the coast was clear, and then slipped out, returning to the main road with the knife tucked into her pocket. She was heading for the docks at a swift pace, intent on catching the first ship out of Barciet.

She didn’t get far before she started to feel like she was being followed. She feigned checking a stain on the collar of her jacket to glance behind her, and her suspicions were confirmed. There was a man who was doing nothing to conceal the fact that he was focused on her. She returned her attention ahead of her, only to find that thirty paces up there was another man approaching, eyes locked on her with intense determination.

She turned to escape down a nearby alley, doing her best to make it look like that had been her route all along instead of that she was running, hoping they’d think they had the wrong person. She nearly reached the other side and came out clean when a third, younger man stepped into the entrance. She stopped, wheeling around to escape back the way she’d come, but the two others had followed her in. Her escape was blocked on all sides.

“I need you to come with us now,” said one of the older men. He had an eye patch and was dressed slightly better than the other two – the leader, and pirates, like Maud had said, even if bounty hunting pirates were an irony.

“Sorry?” she said, trying not to let it show that her heart was racing. She did her best to keep her breathing steady. “I think you’ve got the wrong person.”

“Is that right?” he asked, as quiet footsteps let her know the man behind was getting closer. “Got the papers to prove it?” Of course she didn’t have the papers to prove it, and her silence answered for her. “In that case, you see,” he patted a pocket of his jacket, “I’ve got a warrant for you.”

“I have money,” she said, reaching into her pocket, but her fingers closed around the hilt of the knife instead, “you can have it.”

The second older man hummed, making a show of looking her over. “You don’t know what you’re worth.”

“Please,” she begged, “they’ll kill me.”

A hand landed on her shoulder, and the young man attached to it said, “That’s not our concern.”

Ophelia yanked her hand out of her pocket and whipped around, slicing the knife across the inside of the man’s forearm. He yelped, but she shoved him aside and took off running, bursting out of the alley and tearing down the street. The other two men were already in pursuit, hollering at her to stop. She didn’t dare. She had to get to the docks. Had to get off the island and far away from these men as quickly as possible.

She dodged around people on the street, calculating every second closer to the edge of the island. The men were catching up, their shouts sounded closer and closer with every minute she sprinted, but she’d make it. She was giving it her all and she knew that she’d make it. The docks were visible a mile ahead, framed by the stars and two of the world’s moons that marked the end of the island.

But as she ran, a shadow began to form at her side. It thickened and took shape until it was a corporeal draken, and though it was still as black as shadow and opaque as thick smoke, the breath the Summoner had instilled in it to give it shape had formed into a glowing, ember heart in its chest. It screeched a high-pitched roar, its wings spread and fangs bared as it whipped at her. She ducked just in time for it to go sailing over her head, but she had so much speed that she fell, rolling across the dirt road as the draken skidded to a stop and pivoted toward her, its claws carving deep grooves into the ground.

She didn’t have time to run, and she couldn’t fight a draken herself, and she couldn’t be caught by these men who she knew then weren’t pirates. If they had a Summoner then they were Sovereign bounty hunters, they had to be, and she abandoned any hope at withholding confirmation of her identity.

As she and the draken faced each other, she pushed up onto her knees and put her hands to her mouth as she inhaled a deep breath. She delivered that hot breath into her cupped palms and brought them to her chest, and with all the concentration she could muster, she gestured that breath forward, expanding her hands and arms outward as they got farther from her chest. And a shadow took shape before her, condensing and growing until a mistling stood between her and the draken.

The mistling’s fiery heart beat hard and fast in time with hers as it roared a warning at the larger draken, but she hadn’t summoned it to fight. Its body was slimmer and longer, its chest deeper and its head narrower. It was a creature of speed, and that’s what she needed it for. She threw herself onto its back and wrapped her arms around its slender neck right as the draken heaved itself forward. The mistling’s body curled as it turned around in place, and they were off.

Wind whistled in her ears as they galloped, so fast and so smooth that it felt like flying. The draken was behind but losing ground, and though she couldn’t see the men in the nighttime dark, she knew they’d still be chasing the glowing hearts.

When she got closer to the docks, she began to scan the decks of ships that were gently illuminated by lanternlight. Most of them had none but skeleton crews, but there was one ship flying the Grimstone Mining Company flag that had a full deck. It looked like they were preparing to leave.

A swift glance behind her let her know that she’d put enough distance between herself and her pursuers, so she slowed the mistling to a trot and kept close to the darkened warehouse walls. Before she reached the lighted warehouse that the Grimstone workers were loading from, she dismounted the mistling and gave a twirl of her wrist, reclaiming her breath and returning it to immaterial shadow that dissolved into the air .

Though she’d outrun the bounty hunters, she didn’t have long until they caught up, and while she would’ve loved to catch her breath, it was better if she didn’t. Because she ran out from the cover of shadow and to the closest worker, using her lack of breath to exaggerate her panic.

“Sir,” she implored, and he stopped walking toward the ship as she reached him, and turned to her with a crate in his arms, “I need to speak with the captain of your ship. Please, it’s an emergency.”

“You alright, Miss?” he asked, setting down the crate.

“No,” she answered, gesturing the way she’d come where they could barely make out the outlines of the soldiers in the dark. “I was attacked, and they’re coming. I need help.”

“Captain’s on the ship,” the man told her, “ask for Dillingam.”

“Thank you,” she said, gripping his hand in a hasty shake before she sprinted for the ramp to the ship. She ran up onto deck and stopped amidst the workers, calling, “Dillingam? Captain Dillingam?”

There was a pause as everyone stopped and looked at her, and then a man hurried down from quarterdeck. “Ma’am?” he asked. “I’m Captain Dillingam.”

“Oh, Sir,” she said in breathless plea, “I need help. There are three men on their way who claim to be soldiers. They’re pirates and they’re trying to kidnap me.”

He glanced around her toward the ramp, and then looked her up and down. “Did they hurt you?”

“I managed to get away,” she told him, and as the sound of boots came charging up the ramp, she set her hand on the captain’s shoulder and secured herself behind him. “Please, Sir, I’m afraid, and I don’t think they’ll stop until I’ve escaped the island.”

The bounty hunters pounded up the ramp and onto deck, stopping just at the top as Captain Dillingam drew his pistol. “You’ll not step a foot farther onto my ship until you state your intentions.”

The man she’d cut was holding the bleeding wound in his arm, and all three of them were halfway buckled over trying to catch their breath. Their leader straightened up to point at her. “We’re after her,” he said, “it’s official business and we’re not leaving without her.”

The rest of the ship’s crew had stopped to watch the spectacle, and Ophelia looked around at each of them, relieved to see that everyone appeared ready to help — if there was one thing she knew she could count on, it was merchants’ hatred of “pirates. ”

“If it’s official,” Dillingam said, “then you’ve got a warrant. Let’s see it.”

The leader removed his eyepatch and tossed it aside, and then shut his eyes and drew in a deep breath before opening them again. “We don’t have it. We lost it and haven’t received our replacement yet.” He looked right at Ophelia as her eyes widened with surprise. Was he telling the truth? What if there was no warrant at all? Then what did they want with her? If they were Sovereign assassins, they would’ve killed her in the alley. “But she’s a deserter,” the man added, “and she’s dangerous. Check her shoulder.”

Dillingam hesitated a moment as he considered it, his gaze moving between the three men before he turned to her. “Miss, I’ll not lay a finger on you without your consent, but it is in your best interest to invalidate this accusation.”

She nodded, shrugging her coat off her left shoulder and then peeling away her shirt. The first thing she’d done when she deserted was get the supplies to remove her magic-inscribed Sovereign brand without leaving a scar – it’s what every rogue witch did if they were smart. And at the reveal of her bare shoulder, Dillingam turned a curious look on the soldiers as their leader’s lips pursed with frustration.

“She’s clearly had it removed,” the leader stated, and shoved his own shirt off his left shoulder to show the captain his own shimmering, iridescent mark.

“For all I know,” Dillingam said, “you’re deserters who haven’t had it removed. Who would you trust? Three men dressed as pirates claiming to be soldiers, or a woman who’s clearly afraid for her life?”

The leader steepled his hands over his mouth and sighed his aggravation into them, and then said to Ophelia, “Our orders are to bring you in alive. You’re not in danger if you want to make this easier on all of us.” Ophelia did nothing but stare at him, stone-faced, so he asked the captain, “Your destination? What is it?” Dillingam didn’t answer either, and though the man looked like he wanted to make his fist an acquaintance with Dillingam’s face, he didn’t. “If your destination is a Sovereign island,” he explained, “we’ll meet you there. She can stay with you until you’ve verified our identities, and then you can hand her over to us.”

Dillingam tapped his pistol against his thigh while he considered it for a few moments. “Your names? ”

“Gerald Hartley,” the leader answered. He gestured to the other man. “Abner.” He motioned to the last man, who Ophelia had cut. “Our son, Piers.”

Dillingam nodded and turned to Ophelia again. “I believe this is a fair arrangement, Ma’am.”

Ophelia swallowed down the panicked bile rising in her throat, knowing a disagreement would be an admission of guilt. “Of course,” she said. “And when you can’t verify their identities, we can have these imposters arrested.”

Gerald huffed with laughter. “Well-played, Miss Parker.” And he asked again, “Your destination?”

“Clerwood island,” Dillingam answered. “Breezeport.”

“And your name, Sir?”

“Captain Philip Dillingam.”

“Keep an eye on her, Philip,” Gerald said as he turned for the ramp with the other two. “If you lose her, I’m holding you responsible.”

They disappeared down the ramp and into the night, and Ophelia finally stepped out from behind Dillingam. “Thank you, Captain.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he told her. “I’m afraid you must stay where we can keep track of you until the matter is resolved.”

“I understand,” she said calmly, and let him lead her to the captain’s cabin.

“It’s a short journey, you can stay here.”

“You’re very generous,” she smiled. “I appreciate your kindness.”

He tipped his hat, opened the door for her, and locked her in once she’d entered. And, in the privacy of her prison, she finally inhaled a deep, trembling breath as the panic she’d been holding back surfaced. She doubted Captain Dillingam would let her out until he’d investigated, and the shadow of someone standing guard outside immediately filled the crack under the door. When Dillingam found out that it was, in fact, her that was lying, he would only let her out to deliver her to Gerald. That meant she had two days until they made port to figure a way out of the rune-protected cabin and off the ship, and then, on the Sovereign, soldier-infested island of Clerwood, she’d have to figure out what to do and where to go.

But she would figure it out, because she had to figure it out. She still didn’t know who’d sent Gerald or why, but she had confirmation that they were Sovereign, and there wasn’t a damn thing that Sovereign could want from her that meant her safety. So, she’d take this temporary prison amongst men who didn’t know what she was capable of, so that she could escape the men who did.