Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Anthony
Founding
The old woman who entered the train in Sweetwater Point was never seen again.
The effectiveness of the disguise could not be denied.
Anthony, however, objected based on practicality.
He was unused to navigating with so many layers of cloth to consider and frequently caught the skirt in closing doors and stepped on the hem.
He was simply too clumsy and discarded the disguise, opting to wear a hood, a thick scarf, and gloves. That suited him better. The manner of dress did not reflect the pleasant spring weather, but he did not draw attention to himself with unladylike mutterings and curses, thus he achieved balance.
Founding was far more crowded and louder than he recalled. He had spent a week in the city before he enlisted, discovering as much mischief as an unfettered young eighteen-year-old adult might find.
Then, Founding had been endlessly exciting.
A tower, constructed from the original ship that brought humanity to Nexus, was unfinished and dominated the skyline.
It was unlike anything he had ever seen before, manufactured from gleaming metal and composite materials that could never be recreated.
It glowed at night, illuminated by solar light, the batteries miraculously holding charge after two centuries.
All of Founding glowed, the streets lit up as bright as daylight.
How exciting to be confronted with working old Earth technology.
Now, Founding aggravated him like a pebble in his boot and the unfinished tower was a skeletal limb clawing at the sky.
The scraps of working technology no longer amazed him.
Humanity spent so much time and effort trying to reclaim what had been lost, clinging to equipment that worked poorly or not at all, when efforts should have been made in adapting to the alien environment.
The solar-powered lights that once amazed him offered only a weak illumination and the batteries only held enough charge for a few hours.
The capital city was filled with broken junk, much like Draven’s mountain fortress. Useless, held together by goodwill, and far too crowded.
Too loud, too odorous, and every place he desired to be was already occupied.
A gentleman in a finely tailored suit bumped into Anthony’s shoulder. He growled on instinct.
The man looked startled, as if noticing Anthony for the first time. “I say, watch where you’re going.”
“You walked into me.”
“You’re a peculiar fellow?—”
“We apologize,” Nina said quickly, grabbing his hand and holding tight. “It’s a skin condition.”
When the man glanced down at their joined hands, she added, “It’s not contagious.”
“It absolutely is contagious,” Anthony hissed.
The man hurried away, looking as if he wanted to burn his fine suit and anything else that came into contact with Anthony.
“How are you?” Nina asked.
“I dislike this place.”
“I can tell. Would food help?”
“Do not speak to me as if I were a child.”
She sighed, running her hand down her braid. She wrapped the end over her hand as she spoke. “Yes, I suppose I was being condescending. I forget that this is a new experience for you.”
“I have been to Founding before. Several times.”
“The light is too bright now, yes? And too loud and the odor too strong?”
“I confess, it is overwhelming to the senses,” he admitted.
She blinked, as if surprised that he admitted he was wrong, which was a ridiculous assumption. He had never claimed to be infallible. Their current misadventure was entirely due to his fallibility.
“We haven’t eaten since this morning and I’m feeling peckish. I’d like to eat before my mood sours,” Nina said in a light tone, taking his hand as if they were friends.
That was unexpected but not unwelcomed.
Food did help but a full stomach did not ease the itching, crawling sensation of too many people in his territory. Sweetwater Point was equally chaotic and loud, but it lacked the volume of people. Everywhere they went were more bodies, more voices, and more heartbeats overwhelming his senses.
“Come on, before you make a scene,” Nina said, pointing them in the direction of the river and the docks.
Steam-powered riverboats traveled the length of the continent on the Wilde River and its tributaries and canals. It was a much-preferred mode of transportation over a bumpy and dusty coach.
“Too respectable,” Nina said, walking past the first boat.
“It is leaving soon.” Anthony wanted nothing more than a private cabin. He could endure the journey if he had a clean bed and a firmly shut door.
“We want a captain that needs the money too badly to ask questions.”
“That hardly sounds safe.”
“You can swim, right?”
She said it as a jest, but Anthony honestly did not know.
“You can swim,” she repeated, no longer a teasing question.
“Yes, I know how to swim. This form seems to have an affinity for the water, so I would assume that yes, I can swim and breathe underwater, but you should not rely upon it.”
“Noted. I’ll try not to fall overboard.”
He growled, disliking the notion of Nina in danger, even in jest.
They continued their search for transportation, passing by all the passenger vessels that offered all the comforts of travel.
The boats grew smaller and humbler. These were the working vessels that hauled cargo and the occasional passengers.
Comfort—if comfort existed at all onboard—was a happy accident.
Nina pointed to a white paddleboat in desperate need of fresh paint. It was smaller, had the typical two stories with a wide veranda on the top level, and it sat low in the water. It was fully loaded with cargo and ready to set sail. The name emblazoned on the side proclaimed it the Rita .
The captain leaned against the railings. He was a stout man in his middle years and wore a cap that did little to protect his face from the sun.
“Help you, miss?” he asked, calling to Nina in an overly familiar manner.
Anthony disliked him immediately.
“We need passage north,” she said. “We can pay or work.”
“I’ve got enough hands.” He ambled down the gangway.
Nina held up a shining silver coin. “Two beds and meals, as far north as you can take us.”
It was a persuasive offer. The man’s hand twitched. Before he could take the payment, he pointed to Anthony and asked, “What’s wrong with him?”
“Skin condition,” Anthony answered. “It’s not contagious.”
The captain gave him a hard look.
Nina added another coin to her offering, which was all the persuading the man needed.
“I can give you a cabin with a single bed,” he said.
“It’s improper?—”
“If you want proper, you can wait for another boat.”
“Very well,” Nina said.
“Three meals a day. We eat at the bell. Normally, I say if you’re late, you go hungry, but for you I’ll deliver,” he said, taking the coins. “Keep to your cabin. I don’t want a plague ship.”
Nina
Wilde River
The Rita
A single cabin with a single bed. The furnishings were dingy and the quality of the mattress was questionable, but the ship departed that afternoon.
If she insisted on freshly laundered bedding, she’d have to find another boat tomorrow.
Valuing expediency over cleanliness, Nina decided that the stale air lingering in the cabin was nothing that opening the window couldn’t fix.
“I’ll sleep on the floor to observe propriety,” Pearson said, dropping his bag on the carpet.
Nina didn’t give a hoot about propriety; she just didn’t want her mother finding out.
She stretched out on the mattress, finding that it sagged in the middle.
Two days. She could tolerate the accommodations for two days.
* * *
Two days was a very long time when confined to a small cabin with a foul-tempered companion. The ship held four other passengers and five crew members. Nina initially feared that her fellow travelers would be talkative and ask questions that she would rather not answer.
Happily, this was not the case. Every person on board the Rita was there for precisely the same reason: they needed a quick exit on a ship that would forego inquiries in exchange for coin.
Unhappily, that meant she had only Pearson for conversation and card games.
She should have packed more books. Alas.
The last card game with Pearson stirred some ill feelings and resulted in her storming out of the cabin. She circled the deck three times before she calmed enough to appreciate the crisp night air.
Nina leaned against the railing on the upper deck. Underneath, she could hear voices from the stateroom and smelled cigars. The conversation sounded boisterous, but she’d rather enjoy the quiet.
The boat was moored for the night. The river was too dangerous to navigate in the dark with shifting sandbars, submerged trees, and whatever other hazard the current tossed their way.
Tomorrow morning, they’d disembark at Wilmouth and finish the journey overland.
She doubted that wherever the ship docked would have a bookstore, but she held out hope.
By the end of tomorrow, if they found transportation quickly, they’d be at Saltwick and Pearson would have his cure.
If there was a cure.
Nina had her doubts. After all, if there were a cure for the monstrous transformation that plagued humans since arriving on Nexus, it’d be well known. Celebrated. That was a truth universally known.
The family grimoires were filled with tonics and elixirs to ease the burden, to mitigate symptoms, to pacify and to poison. Not a single drop of ink had been spilled over a cure.
Pearson was chasing a fairytale, and she allowed him to drag her along. Urgency to start the journey immediately kept her from reflecting on the validity of Pearson’s claim.
His family had a cure.
Allegedly.
Fortunately, two days on a riverboat steaming up the river gave her plenty of opportunity to reflect on the impossibility of his claims.
More importantly, why did she keep getting swept away with his nonsense.