Chapter Eight Eugene
Eight
Eugene
As far as abductions go, Eugene has to give this one a grudging eight.
Not on the experience, of course; that’s a solid zero out of ten, would not repeat.
But there’s undeniable competence here that reveals a certain degree of expertise, and he has to at least recognize the work of a professional.
The trick with the peddler was a nice little misdirect; knocking him out without physical force is always appreciated; and for the second time in just over a month, he’s waking up tied to a chair.
Unfortunately, they’ve also thought to blindfold him.
So far, he’s just had to deduct two points.
The first: Blindfold or no, he still woke up to the muffled rush of water and groaning timbers somewhere beyond the walls.
Between that and the limited distance you can reasonably smuggle an unconscious adult man, it probably won’t be too difficult to track this place down when he gets out.
And the second point is why he’s so confident that’s a when, not an if: Whoever bound his hands behind his back got lazy with a clove hitch.
They’re going to lose another point if they take much longer to notice he’s awake. He’s heard murmurs, and multiple distinct footstep patterns have moved in and out of the room; he’s clearly being monitored.
Then the soft scrape of a wooden walking stick punctuates incoming footfalls. Eugene holds his breath, refraining from leaping to conclusions—
“…telling you,” comes Solena’s quiet, raspy whisper. “Eugene would never work for a man like that.”
“Eugene would like to not be blindfolded,” Eugene announces, already bored with pretending to be asleep. “Solena, long time no see. Hypothetically. You know, because of the blindfold.”
A choked silence grips the room.
Eugene rolls his head. He’s found it helps to play melodramatic in times like this.
“Come on now, do you really think I wouldn’t recognize those dulcet tones?
Funny story, I was actually going to visit you the more-normal-less-kidnapping way, but it turns out there’s no official record of you arriving in Astera.
I had some questions about the book you gave me.
The one that apparently came from a private royal collection.
” That too is met with silence. “Really, anytime now, feel free to just jump in and start telling me what the devil’s going on. ”
A strange voice, a sawtooth contralto, picks up much too close to Eugene. “Our questions come first.”
“Sorry,” Eugene snivels, “Solena taught me not to talk to strangers.”
There’s an irate pause. “You may call me Torch. Now—”
“It’s not fair you get a mysterious code name and I don’t,” Eugene protests, internally calibrating his approach.
Whoever this is, they want information from him, and with Solena also in the mix, Eugene doubts he’s in any real danger.
Annoyance makes people slip up and show their hand, and if there’s anything he has an honorary degree in, it’s petty antagonism.
“Who sent you to spy on us?” Torch asks.
That much Eugene can be honest about. More or less. “No one. I’m new in town, and I was sightseeing.”
“You expect us to believe that?”
“Oh, I am very much new here,” Eugene says, fully aware that’s not what Torch meant. “I’m actually a brunet—I just put ash in my hair to blend in. You can give it a good ruffle if you don’t believe me. Go on, fluff around and find out.”
“You left the alley and came back,” Torch growls. “Why?”
Eugene fires back, “I don’t know, maybe it has something to do with why people keep acting like they recognize me.
Any chance we want to dive into that?” When he’s answered with only shuffles and crackling silence, he scoffs.
“Tell you what. No one seems to be getting much out of this conversation, so why don’t you let me go and I’ll write this off as an embarrassing misunderstanding, because I very much have a prior engagement I need to scoot along to. ”
“Your itinerary should be the last of your worries right now.” Fabric rustles near Torch, almost like the sound of a rough gesture—then Solena’s walking stick clacks out of the room. “I’ll ask one more time. Who sent you?”
Eugene’s measure of assurance ebbs a few notches with Solena gone. “No one sent me. Frankly, if you hadn’t made this a whole thing, I would have just assumed you were a very selective book club.”
A new voice, deep and polished, mutters some distance away: “My stars, but the resemblance is uncanny.”
Torch makes a disgruntled hssst sound. There’s a commotion off to Eugene’s left, a flurry of words and footsteps striding closer. Another voice echoes from what sounds like a hallway, oddly warped: “…as soon as I could. I’ll take it from here.”
“But Torch and I are friends now,” Eugene objects. “You can’t just break us up like this. We have rapport.”
The new voice takes that in stride. “I’m sure you do. You two, watch his back. Everyone else, out. Fitzherbert, you can call me Moon Eye.”
“This is just getting rude,” Eugene grouses. “Moon Eye? That’s such a good code name. Everyone else has one and I’m starting to feel left out.”
“You’re right.” Brusque hands yank off his blindfold. “You can be Yappy.”
As Eugene’s eyes adjust, he can see where Moon Eye’s name comes from.
The person in front of him is cloaked and hooded in plain gray wadmal; their only defining feature is a heavy pale mask carved in the shape of a moon eye moth.
Or at least, it matches the drawings of them in Flynnigan Rider.
A strange disk, likely what’s distorting their voice, covers the place where Moon Eye’s mouth ought to be.
Eugene takes quick stock of the surroundings: stone floors, stone walls, wooden door, no furniture apart from his chair. No sign of the source of the water noises or the creaking. Maybe he can aggravate Moon Eye into a hint about where they are.
“Appreciate the attempt, but ‘Yappy’ is a hard nope for me,” Eugene says. “And just to get you caught up, no one sent me, I wasn’t spying—”
“Why did King Enver bring you here?” Moon Eye interrupts.
That’s a new line of questioning. Eugene doesn’t have much to hide there. “He invited Rapunzel to some party for his daughter, and I’m her plus-one.”
“Why? What’s going to happen that’s worth breaking centuries of isolation?”
Eugene can’t help an annoyed huff. “Genuinely: You tell me! I’ve never set foot in Astera before, so whatever goes down at your birthday celebrations is well outside my area of expertise.
The invitation just said something about her coming of age.
If that means anything in particular to you, phenomenal. ”
“Enver didn’t tell you anything else?”
“No. But he did look like he saw a ghost when he met me. And he just about ran off screaming when I said my name. I’m assuming he’s not just coincidentally allergic to handsome scoundrels.”
Moon Eye rocks back on their heels. Then they ask, “Who did you see entering the shop? And don’t pretend you didn’t.”
Eugene himself takes a beat to think. If these people were going to kill him, they wouldn’t bother hiding their faces.
And they’re not the only ones who need answers; maybe he can barter.
“I saw three people go in. Here’s a freebie: Solena was one.
I’ll give you the other two after we get through some of my questions. ”
Moon Eye folds their arms, wordless.
After a moment, Eugene decides to lay one more card on the table, since this is looking increasingly conspiratorial: “I saw the Herbert & Fitz sign inside the shop. Is ‘Fitzherbert’ even a real name, or did someone make it up?”
Moon Eye steps back, the mask tilting as they consider.
“I’m afraid you’ve misjudged your negotiating position, Yappy.
Here’s my counteroffer. No, it’s not coincidence you’re being recognized in Astera.
Yes, the reason involves your birth parents.
And we’ll tell you why…if you keep us informed on the princess’s movements. ”
Behind him, someone sucks in a breath.
“Verette?” Eugene asks in disbelief. “What is this, some kind of secret insurrection club?”
“The other princess. Rapunzel.”
He barks a harsh laugh. “You must be joking. You want me to spy on the brilliant and incredible girl who’s the sole reason I’m not dead or in a dungeon…just so you’ll toss me some scraps about the people who abandoned me? Again, hard nope.”
This time the person behind him makes an uncomfortable noise in their throat.
Moon Eye sighs. “Then I think we’re done for today. The offer’s open, but if you tell anyone…well, we know where to find you. And when you change your mind, you know how to find us. Torch, bag him.”
Eugene ducks his head just enough to make Torch’s hands slip as the hood comes down. He doesn’t see much, just leathery suntanned skin—and at the base of Torch’s thumb, a tiny black tattoo of a dagger. Not the easiest identifying mark, but better than nothing.
He waits until after the hood’s on, then slips his hands out of the long-loosened rope. Just to make it abundantly clear he’s stuck around this long of his own volition, he wiggles his fingers in a flourish. “Now I know Solena didn’t do these knots.”
To his surprise, Solena herself hisses behind him, “What did I tell you about the clove hitch?”
They faked her exit to try to intimidate him more. Out of professional courtesy alone, Eugene adds another half point to his abduction rating.
Eugene’s arms are twisted behind his back and shackled this time, and then he’s hauled to his feet. “Walk,” orders Torch, pushing him toward the door as it rattles open.
“I don’t even get to say goodbye?” Eugene pouts.
Moon Eye says grimly, “You’ll be back soon enough.”
But on the way out Eugene gets one terrible little crumb of something like an answer:
“Your parents didn’t abandon you, Eugene,” Solena calls after him.
Didn’t—
Then how did he end up in an orphanage?
Before he can ask, he hears the door slam shut at his back.