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Chapter 45: The Eye of the Sky
🕑 Added 2025-01-03 18:36:01 +0000 UTCHey necromancers. I didn't have the chance to say it before, but I want to wish you all a very happy new year. Love, joy, courage, fulfilment... All the things which comprise a happy life, I wish them for you. And lots of reading!
Have a wonderful 2025,
Valerios :)
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Boney crossed the manor, following after Master’s mice—or, to be exact, he was following Boboar, who was following Billies One and Two, who were following Master’s mice. After Boney came Axehand, with the master strapped on his back, while Headless and the final two Billies were bringing up the rear.
They were… Well, they were many. An entire circus was not the best candidate for an infiltration, but they weren’t going to leave anyone behind, and besides, they had Master’s expertly crafted shoes—with those, even Boney’s skeletal feet touched the floor as softly and soundlessly as clouds.
Really, the master was too kind.
A mental ripple passed through the undead, and they halted at once. The master had spoken, told them to stop, and they obeyed. Only the mice kept going, reaching a moonlit opening on the left wall and peeking through it.
It led to the inner courtyard, where their prize awaited—the airship, the Eye of the Sky. Master’s words rang out from behind Boney. “There is a guard, and he’s way too far for Soul Severing… What should we do?”
“We can make a run for it, Master,” Boney whispered, then gazed behind Master, where Billy Three struggled to carry the heavenly soft chair—Master’s most prized possession. “Then again, maybe we shouldn’t. If something happens to the chair…”
“You’re right, we can’t risk that,” Master replied seriously, still not opening his eyes, as he needed to maintain control over the mice.
“Maybe Axehand can rush the guard, Master.”
Axehand gave a confident grunt. He could easily take care of one pesky human guard.
“Maybe, but we’ll have to be careful. These people are innocent, so we should harm them as little as skeletally possible—and we should also be fast enough that they can’t make any sound. These ones may be weak, but if people understand what’s happening, the town’s guards will flood in at a moment’s notice—and there are many strong people around.”
Boney shivered, thinking back to Master’s description of the nature spirit that fought a death knight to a standstill. Axehand might be able to handle her, but there could be more, and in any case, the rest of the undead—and Master!—would probably die in the ensuing onslaught.
“In hindsight, that’s too dangerous, Master.” Boney clenched his jaw. He raised a hand to scratch his gray cap, the one that Master had made so long ago—he loved that cap, though lately, he often wore the party hat for practical reasons. “Have we reached a dead end?”
“Of course not, Boney. At worst, we’ll just have to take a small risk. Maybe we can wait for Marcus to—oh! They just found something. Wait, let me check.”
Master fell silent. A few moments later, he opened his mouth again chuckle.
“A treasure hunter indeed,” he whispered. “It’s a good thing we need that money.”
“Why do we need it, really, Master? I thought taels were useless in the Dead Lands.”
“Well, I plan to—”
A faint clanking interrupted them. Boney turned around so quickly his waist cracked, while the mice by the corner were jumping and running around each other in panic.
“Hey, what’s—”
A guard rounded the corner, and his eyes went wide. “Aw, hell no…”
***
George had really been looking forward to a quiet night in the count’s manor. No necromancers, no nature spirits, no troublemakers or pickpockets. Only him and a long, quiet night on the deck of the old airship.
When he saw a mouse peek through an entrance of the courtyard—George always had good eyes—he thought it was an opportunity to alleviate some boredom. Therefore, he stood up, said, “Come here, you little thief,” and casually walked to the opening. The mouse retreated. George chuckled.
“Hey now, what’s the—”
He stepped past the threshold and into the darkness. He looked to the right, and the moment his eyes adjusted, he came face-to-face with the entire undead circus. He froze.
“Aw, hell no…”
Time slowed down as he took in everything. There was a normal-looking skeleton staring at him alongside its bulkier brother, with the necromancer sleeping strapped to the latter’s back—for some reason.
There was a zombie holding its head at chest-level, eyes gawking, and mouth formed into an ‘o,’ and there were four more zombies carrying furniture—or rather, one of them was carrying a chair, another a toolkit, a third carried a big sack, and the fourth what looked like random tools. There was even a skeletal boar thrown in the mix.
These all take time to describe, but George noticed them instantly.
His first reaction was to freeze. The second was to curse his luck which just wouldn’t give him a break. The third was to scream, because he saw the lumbering brute of a skeleton, the one with axes for hands, charge him.
Unfortunately, no sound left George’s mouth, for he was already drowning.
***
Fiona worked as a maid in the count’s manor. Everything was normal until she opened her bedroom’s door to visit the outhouse and came face-to-face with an army of coin-carrying mice. Leading them was a wide-eyed man with a really heavy sack.
Fiona froze. So did the man.
Then, in a voice that should be reassuring but only came across as suspicious, he said, “Don’t worry; I’m here on official business. I’m looking for a…circus permit.”
They stared at each other for a moment. The man sighed. “Okay, I understand you’re going to scream now, but at least nobody heard that.”
The only thing louder than Fiona’s scream was the colossal bang which suddenly shook the entire manor, making Fiona fall on her butt.
The man shouted, “Shit! Run, boys! For the money!”
***
The undead stared at the guard who stared at them. For a moment, everyone stood frozen before Axehand exploded into motion. His form blurred in Boney’s vision, but he wouldn’t make it in time, as the guard had already opened his mouth to scream…
A tendril of water slapped the guard from behind, unraveling in place to surround his head. The guard’s obvious terror intensified as a small burst of distorted sound left the bubble, and where he expected air, water came to fill his lungs. He instinctively held his breath and fell to the ground with a clang, manically trying to push the water away from his face.
Axehand paused. Boney looked around.
This wasn’t their doing.
“Took you long enough.”
A form stepped out from across the opening, entering the light. She had frizzled blond hair and vivid blue eyes, while she wore a knee-long blue dress with painted flowers and a wooden flask strapped to her waist. It was a striking change from the provocative dancer’s attire they’d last seen her in.
Boney recognized her at once. She was the flower girl, and they had also met her yesterday, when she danced for the count.
“You,” he said.
“Boney,” Master said, “you handle this, please.”
The skeleton could feel the strain in his master’s voice. The shock from seeing the guard had caused a lapse in his concentration, and regaining control of the mice would need his full attention.
“Yes, me,” the girl replied, strolling past the struggling guard and stopping before Axehand’s menacing form without a care in the world.
“Who are you? What are you doing here?” Boney asked.
“I was waiting for you. You’re going to steal the airship—I want in.”
“In?”
“Yes. Take me with you.”
“We’re going to the Dead Lands!” Boney protested, his jaw clacking.
“I know.”
“Then why?”
“Because I want to escape.”
“Escape what? Life?”
“None of your business.”
Boney’s jaw moved without sound as he considered this girl, who, against all odds, had appeared here.
“You’re a hydromancer,” he said.
“Yes. Can we please discuss this later? They’ll come after us anytime now.”
“Are you two going to ignore the drowning person?” Master’s voice came from behind Boney, and his mind was instantly filled with shame. The master had assigned him a job,, and he’d failed already.
“Stop that,” Boney said. “These people are innocent. We don’t want to harm them.”
She raised a brow. “They’d kill us if they could.”
“But we won’t.”
“He will shout.”
“Not if Axehand slaps him fast enough.”
The girl did not comment further. The water bubble dissipated, flowing back into the flask she carried and letting the red-eyed guard cough out one desperate, grateful mouthful of water before the flat side of Axehand’s axe hand knocked him out cold.
“There,” Boney said, “job done.”
“Can we go steal the airship, please?” the girl said.
“Hold on a second.” Boney brought his hands to his hips, finally catching up to the situation. “First of all, we aren’t stealing it, we’re borrowing it. Master’s words. And second, who the hell are you?”
“I’m Laura,” she replied simply.
Boney stared, waiting for the rest of her answer. It never came. “That was not my question.”
“What more do you want to know? I’m a hydromancer who wants to escape to the Dead Lands, and I’m desperate enough to hide here on my own while hoping for an undead circus to come pick me up. Is that not enough?”
“But you’re a flower girl. And a dancer. And where’s your blue feather?”
“I’m incognito, obviously.”
“Why?”
Laura smiled. “I’m going to the airship, skeleton. Feel free to follow.”
She turned around, letting her dress swivel in the night wind as she stepped past the opening. Speechless, Boney turned to Axehand—Axehand’s back, specifically.
“Master!” he said. “What should we do?”
“Let’s take her along,” came the reply. “The more the merrier, and I can feel she’s not a bad person.”
“She would drown a man to death without batting an eye.”
“Because she’s scared. I can sense her soul, Boney—it’s way more terrified than she lets show, but pure.”
Cursing, the skeleton rushed after her, and all the undead followed. The guard they’d noticed before now lay unconscious behind them.
Boney exited the opening, finding himself in the manor’s inner courtyard. Being surrounded by windows was a sight, but decoration-wise, this place was similar to the outer courtyard, with the glaring exception of a large airship placed right in the middle of everything.
This was the first time Boney ever saw an airship. It resembled a sixty-foot-long caravel—a double-decked wooden ship—except its sails were placed at the far back and front of the ship, and between them loomed a massive, round cloth balloon attached to the deck through slim steel columns. The ship was brown, though the paint was flaking off after years in the wind and rain, while the balloon was red.
All in all, this was an impressive contraption, but Boney only gawked for a split-second before rushing at the ramp that led to its deck.
“I’m Boney,” he said, catching up to the girl, “not Skeleton.”
“Good for you. Now come; you know how to fly this thing, right? What do we do?”
Boney stared at Laura. Laura stared at Boney.
“You do know how to fly this, right?” she asked.
“I…know someone who does.”
“Oh, Hydra! Why would you try to steal an airship without knowing how to use it?”
Shouts came from all around, along with the sound of boots stomping on stone. They’d been noticed—there were too many windows, after all.
“I told you, we have someone who does! It’s just not me!”
“Well, where are they? We’re in a hurry if you didn’t notice.”
“He’s on the way!”
“By Hydra!” Laura cursed again, turning to the Billies. “Drop your stuff and come with me, all of you. There should be barrels below deck; we need to quickly get them up here.”
“We don’t take orders from you,” Boney cut in.
“You do if you want to live—or whatever you undead do. Hurry, we’re running out of time.”
Boney tried to frown. “Now, listen here, you bi—”
An explosion rang out from beyond the manor, followed by a series of screams. Everyone looked over. Boney looked back at Laura.
“You know what? On second thought, I’d be happy to—”
Another explosion resounded, this time much closer. A part of the manor’s walls exploded, sending wood flying everywhere as a small, debris-filled tunnel was formed between the inner courtyard and the outer one. The entire building groaned as three figures walked out of the new opening.
One was an impossibly tall, fat, one-eyed humanoid wielding a large iron club. Another was an oily-haired, dark-eyed, barefooted man. And the third was a person with a horizontal scar across his forehead and a wicked smile on his lips, with sharp blue eyes that instantly locked onto their still forms.
Jerry’s eyes snapped open, and they widened at once.
“Jericho!” he exclaimed.
“Maccain,” said the scarred man, announcing himself, “and you’re coming with me.”
