The Inquisitor

Rippling water disappeared into fog. It was a sight to make any traveler apprehensive; although logic said that the river’s distant shore had to be out there somewhere beyond the mist, it was too far for the naked eye to see.

Nevertheless, Pacifica Casull didn’t seem the least bit worried.

She stood near the docks and gazed out across the river, a smile of excitement on her face. She looked to be in her mid-teens. Her striking, sun-streaked blonde hair often seen among the nobility of the Linevan Kingdom was tied behind her head. Despite her slight frame and innocent expression, something about her implied an unexpected toughness that one might find in a stray cat. Her tan and vermillion travel clothing was kissed with tiny water droplets from the mist.

“Wow!” she exclaimed, leaning out over the water. “I wonder if this is what the ocean looks like?”

“I’ve heard the ocean smells different,” the girl sitting beside her replied. She was Pacifica’s adoptive sister, Raquel. Raquel was an older girl of about twenty, with black hair that reached down to her waist. Despite the sinister black cloak she wore, it would be impossible to imagine someone less frightening—Raquel’s face seemed permanently frozen in an expression of good-natured contentedness.

“Really?” Pacifica turned to her sister in disbelief.

“Father once told me that.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense—salt doesn’t smell like anything. He must’ve been playing a joke on you.” The blonde girl scrunched up her face in thought. “I know that ocean water is supposed to be salty, so it must be a different kind of water… but wait! Aren’t rivers connected to the ocean?”

The older girl shrugged. “I think so.”

“So shouldn’t the ocean water keep getting less and less salty with all that fresh water being dumped into it?”

“Maybe it does,” Raquel replied. “It makes sense.”

Blissfully unaware of how ridiculous they sounded, the two young women gazed out across the water as they bobbed their heads in unison.

The Mosburg river flowed through the eastern part of the Linevan Kingdom and served as a border between the central kingdom and its outer regions. It was well known as one of the five major rivers of the Dustovin Continent, and was so wide that many travelers coming across it for the first time mistook it for a sea or giant lake. Despite its gentle current, it was so wide that it took an entire day for boats powered by horses or cows to cross, and up to three days for smaller boats rowed by men with oars.

Commerce across the river was common, and most merchants preferred to make the relaxed, if lengthy, journey across the river at its wider points rather than risk crossing its narrow yet rapid tributaries upstream. The towns on both sides of the river that flourished from the brisk ferry business were called West and East Mosburg, named for the river that gave the residents their livelihood.

Pier Four in East Mosburg mainly served boats used to transport travelers. There were so many types and sizes of boats (for different types and sizes of passengers) that the dock was like a ship exhibition. Pacifica and Raquel waited, their small horse-drawn carriage resting innocently behind them. Of course, upon closer inspection, their common-looking carriage was far from common—many unexpected pieces of equipment were installed around the black frame, not unlike on fully armed military carriages.

But even the most careful observer wouldn’t be able to see the most unusual thing about them.

“I wonder what’s taking Shannon so long.” Pacifica sighed as she slumped against the coach, which was coated with fire resistant paint.

“I’ve heard that fewer boats cross the river during the flooding season. It’s probably hard to find an inexpensive ride for all of us,” Raquel replied as she absently fed the nearest horse. Without the animals, it might’ve been easier to find a ferry across, but their horses had been their traveling companions for so long that Raquel had vehemently opposed selling them and buying new ones on the opposite shore.

“Oh, there he is.” Pacifica pointed to a young man with a long black ponytail, a single-edged foreign sword called a tachi at his hip and a scowl on his face. “Hey, Shannon!” she called out across the docks as he walked over from the Mosburg Riverboat Union office. “What took you so long, slowpoke?!”

Shannon rolled his eyes. Despite being Raquel’s age, the listless look in his eyes exuded a far older calm. It was as though he had attained a half-baked enlightenment regarding the ways of the world—or a slanted view of everything on Earth.

“If you’re in such a hurry, do it yourself next time.”

“But you’re the one who carries our money, Shannon.” This was true, although not by Shannon’s choice.

It wasn’t that he was particularly good with money, but neither his adoptive sister nor his twin could be trusted in the least. Pacifica loved spending money and would immediately waste it on expensive food and luxurious lodgings at every town or village they passed, and Raquel, despite being Shannon’s twin, shared none of his common sense and liked to unthinkingly buy any trinket or souvenir that caught her fancy. At least with Shannon controlling the money they had enough to feed themselves.

Or had, up until this point. Crossing the river would probably clean out what little money they had left, if they could afford passage at all.

Shannon sighed and patted his pocket. It didn’t matter how broke they were—his sisters always thought of him as a skinthrift.

“No matter what happens, we’re going to have to be really careful with money from now on.”

“You’re always careful with money, Shannon!” Pacifica exclaimed. “You’d make an amazing housewife— you’d manage household expenses like a pro.”

“What are you talking about?” Shannon gave his younger sister a look.

“You’re already good at cooking and doing laundry, and your hair’s kinda girly, too. You’ll make someone a lovely bride someday!”

“At least I have some useful skills, unlike some spoiled princesses I know. You couldn’t be anyone’s wife—you can’t even take care of yourself.”

Pacifica stomped indignantly. “I don’t care! I’m never getting married anyway! And… and I bet you’d cry your eyes out every time your mother-in-law picked on you!”

Shannon knew there was no way he could stop Pacifica at a time like this—she’d keep arguing until she got bored or something happened to distract her. He looked to Raquel for help, and was surprised to see a different emotion behind the suppressed laughter of her usual expression.

“What now?” Shannon sighed.

“I bet when Pacifica wants to get married you’re going to be completely against it,” she replied. “Aren’t you?”

“Well, there aren’t many men I’d approve of. If she marries someone who can’t take care of her, they’ll both die of starvation within a month.”

Upon hearing this, Pacifica took a wild swing at her brother, but he managed to catch her forehead in his palm and hold her at arm’s length. She swung her arms furiously, but couldn’t reach him. With his attacker thus restrained, Shannon calmly turned to his twin.

“So I take it you couldn’t find us a boat?” Raquel asked him.

“Not really,” Shannon replied. “The river can be dangerous during the flooding season, so most of the ferrymen don’t want to take their boats out. The few that would be willing to take us across are charging way more than we can afford. We need to decide what to do. We don’t have to cross the river, you know.”

“But it’s better if we do, right?” Raquel asked.

“If we cross the river, we’ll be in the outer regions of the kingdom. We’ll be much less likely to run into royal security forces, but there are a lot of other dangers out there because there aren’t royal security forces.”

The land on the west side of the Mosburg river was much less developed. It was technically still part of the Linevan Kingdom, but most of the land beyond the river was ruled by indigenous lords who swore allegiance to the royal family out of convenience. The king then provided the lords with knighthood, claimed the land as part of the kingdom, and for the most part let the lords do as they wished. Because of the ambiguity in the ruling party, the lands to the west of the Mosburg river acted as a haven for all kinds of outlaws and criminals.

“We have to decide which we’d rather deal with: royal forces, or bandits,” Raquel said.

“Bandits are much easier to handle, most of the time,” Shannon replied.

“Well then, why don’t we wait here for a few days? If it doesn’t seem like we can get across by then, we can go somewhere else.”

“Yay!” Pacifica stopped attacking Shannon and grinned at her siblings. “So that means we can stay at an inn tonight, right? We don’t have to eat awful dried food, and we can have a hot meal and sleep in actual beds, right? Right?!”

“You do realize that we’re broke, right?” Shannon replied wearily.

“Gah!” Pacifica clasped her hands to her ears. “I don’t want to hear it! I can’t spend another night sleeping on tree roots and eating dried fruit and getting rained on!”

“Listen to me, Princess.” Shannon scowled at her. “Could you please use half of your brain for five minutes?”

“Half of my brain?!” Pacifica shrieked. “I bet you don’t even use a third of your brain! If we opened your skull, we’d find the rest of the space filled with a piece of clay with the words ‘I’m lazy’ carved into it!”

“Yeah, whatever.” Shannon sighed. “Listen, we’re short on money. If we don’t save what we do have, we’ll end up starving to death on the street.”

Pacifica opened her mouth as if to respond, then shut it again. Shannon knew that despite her protests, she understood their situation as well as anyone. They needed to have enough money on hand to get their weapons and equipment repaired if anything broke… in lives like theirs, working equipment could mean the difference between life and death.

Shannon, Raquel, and Pacifica had been running from the Mauserist church for a long time, and they weren’t going to be able to stop running any time soon. Pacifica wasn’t the ordinary girl that she seemed; she was the Scrapped Princess, cursed daughter of the Linevan Kingdom’s royal family, prophesied to destroy the world on her sixteenth birthday. The church and the kingdom would do anything to hunt her down.

Since leaving their hometown more than a year ago, the Casull siblings had fought countless thugs, mercenaries, and soldiers, as well as a few otherworldly monsters. They’d been caught outside in the worst weather imaginable, and had to survive on traveler’s rations cooked badly over a fire.

Shannon looked at his moping little sister, glanced out at the wilderness where they would have to set up camp soon, and sighed. It had been a long time since he’d slept in a bed. Maybe they could find somewhere cheap?

“But I guess if it’s just for one night…”

“Excuse me,” a quiet voice interrupted them. The siblings turned to see a ragged, painfully thin girl about Pacifica’s age with short-cropped brown hair. She was holding out a wickerwork basket.

“Would you like to buy some medicine?” The girl’s voice was strangely bland, as though her mouth was working on its own while her mind was elsewhere.

“What?” Shannon replied, confused by the interruption. The girl seemed to focus on Shannon as a potential customer when he responded to her. She fixed her blank gaze on him and pulled several packets out of her basket.

“I have ointments, digestives, revitalizers, disinfectants, anesthetics—everything you could possibly need. Our products are guaranteed to work, and you can’t beat our prices. Travelers can’t have enough medicine; you never know what could happen on the road.”

She spoke in a droning monotone. It was obvious that she was reciting from a script. Shannon looked at her uncomfortably.

“Sorry, we have all the medicine we need.”

The girl was clearly selling black-market concoctions. The Linevan Kingdom was strict with drug control for a variety of reasons, not the least being the ritualistic drug use of Mauserist-decreed “heretical groups” that could lead to mental disorders. The kingdom had recently set up a registry for pharmacists, and in exchange for guaranteeing the quality of medicine, the kingdom imposed taxes and regulated market prices.

Unauthorized medicine sellers still got a lot of business, though. They could sell their wares for less than half the price of authorized medicine, which was definitely a draw.

Luckily for the siblings, they could generally avoid the entire system. Raquel knew how to make most medicines from scratch (which cost one-tenth of market price), and even Pacifica and Shannon had learned the basics of medicinal herbs from their father. They even still had medicine given as gifts from the people of Taurus.

“If you don’t need any medicine, would you be interested in… this?” The girl produced a bright red packet from the bottom of her basket; it didn’t look like ordinary medicine. She gave Shannon a significant look. “For your nighttime pleasure.”

“Wait, what?”

“An aphrodisiac,” she replied, deadpan as usual.

“An aphro-what?!” Pacifica cried, her cheeks turning pink.

“You can mix our powerful aphrodisiac into the meal of the person you have in mind, or you can drink it as a couple to enjoy a long, wild night. With one drink, even the shiest maiden won’t be able to keep her hands off you.”

The three siblings stared at her in horror.

“You’re not interested?”

Shannon regained his composure.

“We have all the… medicine… we need. Sorry, but you’re going to have to find someone else to sell to.”

She looked confused for a moment, then put the packets back into her basket and walked away without a word.

“I can’t believe she’s actually selling that.” Pacifica stared after the girl as she walked away.

“You mean the aphrodisiac?” Raquel broke in. “It’s fake.”

“Really?”

“There are many types of medicine that can influence human emotions in a general way, but sexual impulses are quite complicated and very difficult to control. Most medicines that are sold as aphrodisiacs are actually stimulants or hallucinogens. In other words, they’re drugs. Out here in these remote regions, there isn’t much regulation of substances, so they are often sold quite openly in public.” Raquel spoke as though she were reading from a textbook, but with her typically vague grin plastered on her face. “Some villages manufacture drugs officially because they’re so profitable. Father once told me about an operation he was sent on to bring one of those villages under control.”

Shannon could see the girl wandering toward another group of travelers. Besides the issues of legality, he knew that people in the remote regions didn’t consider drugs a taboo. Be it medicinal use or making a festival more exciting, the purpose of use was clear and accepted, which was a possible reason for the much lower incidence of dependency or addiction in the country compared to the royal capitol and other big cities. He sighed and shrugged.

“Whatever the case,” he murmured. “A girl like that selling illegal drugs is just asking for—”

Before he could even finish the sentence, the girl’s short cry cut him off.

Shannon and his sisters turned. Across the square, Shannon watched as the girl was pushed to the ground, her packets scattering around her. Two surprisingly clean-cut young men stood over her; by the way they were moving, it was clear that they’d been drinking.

“What do you think you’re doing, girl?” One of the men sneered. “Don’t you know you need permission to sell this trash around here?” He ground one of the packets into the street with his heel. “You’ll ruin it for hard-working guys like us if you sell this trash on the street.”

Shannon guessed that they were from a rival group of illegal drug sellers—and that meant violence. Shannon scanned the street. None of the people nearby paid any attention to the girl, either because they didn’t notice her or had decided not to get involved.

“Shannon,” Pacifica whined, tugging at his sleeve.

“I know, I know,” he grumbled as he headed over. One of his least favorite activities was getting involved in the affairs of others, yet his steps were brisk and determined.

“It’s not trash,” the girl retorted in her strange monotone. “It works very well.”

“Oh, it ‘works very well,’ does it?” The other one leered at her unpleasantly. “Why don’t you give us a demonstration?” He picked up one of the red packets and grabbed her by the shirt, preparing to drag her away.

Dammit, Shannon thought as he picked up speed. He opened his mouth to demand that the men release the girl, but before he could form the words, another voice rang out.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

A huge hand gripped one of the youth’s heads from behind and lifted him with such force that the young man’s feet actually left the ground. The young man kicked wildly, but he couldn’t escape.

Attached to the hand was one of the biggest men Shannon had ever seen. Shannon himself was fairly tall, but this man was a full head taller, and probably weighed twice what Shannon did. He had thick lips, short-cropped black hair, and rugged features, and his thin gray eyes looked like they were laughing—possibly at the plight of the younger man in his grip. Everything about him shouted “bandit,” except for one unexpected factor: the man wore the white clerical garments of a priest of the Mauser faith.

“I can’t say I approve of violence, young man,” he boomed, his smiling countenance in opposition to his act.

“Gaah!” the younger man choked in response.

“Violence doesn’t solve anything,” the huge man continued. “Besides, it never looks good when a man raises his fists to a woman.”

“L-let go of me! Put me down… Aaaaaaagh!” the young man found his voice for a moment, but in response, the smiling priest flexed the brawny muscles on his thick arms and dug his huge fingers further into the young man’s skull.

“What was that? Did you want to say something?”

The young man opened and closed his mouth, unable to speak.

“You bastard! Let go of Reegs!” The youth’s companion pulled out what looked like a handiwork knife and pointed it at the priest.

The huge man sighed and tossed Reegs aside like a rag doll. He turned to the other young thug and stepped toward him.

The knife-wielding youth looked hesitant—he seemed surprised to face an opponent who wasn’t scared off just by the unsheathing of a weapon. For a few moments, his face screwed up into a grimace, most likely while he debated whether it was worse to fight a fearsome giant or back down from a fight.

The youth suddenly lunged at the huge man. Despite his lack of technique, he was too close for the giant to dodge at such short range. In fact, the priest made no attempt to move out of the way—he used his muscular arm, which looked like a thick twist of many entwined ropes, to block the knife. Shannon winced as the blade plunged into flesh,

Strangely enough, the man didn’t grimace in the slightest. Instead, he gave the youth a ferocious grin.

“So, what now?” the big man asked his attacker, the grin not leaving his face.

The younger man tried to push the blade in farther, but it wouldn’t budge—in fact, it seemed like the knife had barely entered the priest’s flesh at all. He let go of it in confusion.

As Shannon watched, something bizarre happened. The blade actually started inching out of the big man’s arm. The priest didn’t move a muscle, but it looked as if the flesh of his arm was actually rejecting the knife.

“H-huh?!” the young man choked in fear as he backed away.

“Now do you two idiots see who you’re dealing with? This is what your body can do when you know how to train it.”

The knife fell out of the giant priest’s arm, and he caught it in his other hand. He slapped his hands together over the weapon, strained his huge fingers for a moment, and snapped the blade in two with a metallic crack.

Shannon was impressed by the priest’s strength, even though he was a little confused by the religious affiliation and bloodthirsty actions. Suddenly, he noticed the first thug, the young man named Reegs, sneaking up behind the priest with another simple knife in his hand.

Shannon scooped a rock off the ground and let it fly.

“So,” the priest said to the dazed thug in front of him, “I hope you’ve learned your—”

“Ow!” Reegs’ attempt at stealth was ruined when Shannon’s rock hit him squarely on the hand. He dropped his knife and clutched his injured hand.

“I guess I didn’t really need to get involved,” Shannon called out to the man. He dropped the second stone he’d picked up in case he needed to intervene again.

“Thanks a lot,” the priest replied, and flashed Shannon another beastlike smile. “It’s too bad they went down so easily—I was looking forward to beating these two to a pulp.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be a priest?” Shannon asked incredulously. He kept his gaze squarely on the big man—he would obviously be a formidable opponent if it came to that, and Shannon wasn’t exactly on good terms with the Mauser faith.

No matter how much one trained, muscle strength alone couldn’t take hold of a knife or push it outward. Shannon’s late father had told him of a special case in which, through breathing techniques and self-hypnosis, someone could transform his muscles into armor. If mastered, this technique could allow a person to block swords with his bare hands and even stop an arrow fired at close range with his skin.

“So, who are you?” the priest asked him.

“Nobody,” Shannon replied calmly. He didn’t intend to give any more information than was necessary to a Mauserist priest.

“I see. Sorry to hear that.” With that, the priest seemed to lose interest in Shannon. He reached a huge arm down to the medicine girl. Instead of simply giving her a hand up, he lifted her bodily and held her up until she regained her feet.

“Are you all right?” A kind smile softened his rough features.

“A Mauserist priest,” the girl whispered with a trace of fear in her voice.

“That’s right. You haven’t met one before?”

The girl’s face showed emotion for the first time since Shannon had first set eyes on her. But it wasn’t curiosity from seeing someone new, or even relief at being rescued. The expression on her face was one of unexpected revulsion tinged with fear.

“What’s wrong?” The priest bent down to her in concern. “Did you take a hit somewhere?”

“D-don’t touch me!” the girl shrieked.

The priest moved his hand away. “What?”

The girl scooped up her scattered medicine packets and rushed away without another word.

The priest stared after her for a moment, then shrugged. “That’s odd,” he said, seemingly untroubled by the girl’s strange behavior and lack of manners. “Oh, well. Now, let me see.”

He turned to the two young thugs, who were both exactly where he’d left them. They screamed in panic as the huge man grabbed one in each hand.

“Why the heck didn’t you two run away? Oh well, better for me. Maybe I can beat some sense into you little punks.” He laughed evilly.

“Please d-don’t kill us!” one of them begged.

The priest seemed annoyed by that comment. “Watch what you say. You’re talking to a priest who serves Mauser—I would never kill anyone or anything without a good reason.”

An expression of hope appeared on the thugs’ faces.

“I’m just going to take all of your things, tie you up, and throw you in the river.”

They wailed again. “Y-you said you wouldn’t kill us!”

“Oh, shut up. You won’t die.”

“Um, that would kill anybody,” Shannon couldn’t help interrupting.

The priest sighed. “Fine,” he muttered. “You spineless cowards. I’ll just take all your stuff, tie you up, and leave you on the side of the road.”

“Why are you going to rob them?” Shannon asked, his confusion mounting by the second.

“Consider it tuition for the life-lesson I’m teaching them today. It’ll also cover my medical bills.” He gestured to the arm where he’d been stabbed, which had stopped bleeding some time ago—it obviously wasn’t a serious wound. “Consider it an offering to the great god Mauser; maybe in return they’ll get some brains.” The priest started searching through their pockets. “Hey, you’ve got a lot of cash in here.”

“B-but that’s all my earnings for the whole month,” one of the thugs whined.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make good use of it on food and drink and the like. Wow, I didn’t expect to get this much from beating on a couple of thugs.”

“Y-you…thief!” Reegs exclaimed.

Without hesitation, the priest socked him right on the head.

“I’m a thief? You’re the one who stabbed me first. But if you’d prefer, we could go ask the security forces what they think about it.”

The youths fell silent, then started weeping. At that point, Pacifica walked over. Her gaze moved from the priest, to the crying thugs, and back again.

“Don’t you call him a thief!” she scowled at the sobbing thugs. “He’s definitely more of a mugger.”

“A bandit, maybe,” Shannon added in disgust.

The medicine girl ran into an alley. She leaned against a wall and clutched at her chest, trying desperately to catch her breath.

“That priest,” she whispered, her eyes burning with extreme hatred and fear.

“What’s the matter, Sis?” a voice called out from behind her. She jumped at the sound and turned to face the speaker.

A boy stood in the entrance of the alley. He looked two or three years younger than she, with the same brown hair and black eyes. He also carried a medicine basket.

“A Mauserist priest… in town…”

The boy’s eyes darkened with the same fear and hate as his sister’s. “You mean that old priest from the church on the edge of town, right? There’s nothing scary about him—he’s just annoying.”

The Mauserist church on the outskirts of town was quite small and seldom visited by most of the townsfolk; a religion that stressed shunning worldly possessions to focus on the spiritual rewards was not very popular in a town of merchants. Donations from wealthy ship owners came from time to time, but the church itself remained empty. The priest who lived there was slowly going senile.

“N-no, it wasn’t him,” the girl continued, still visibly shaken. “It was a giant priest around thirty. He looked like a traveler from out of town.” She looked fearfully at her brother. “I think he was… an Inquisitor.”

The boy began to tremble.

“Wh-what are we going to do, Sis?” he asked.

“Quart, you go back and tell Sir Ganvas. I’m going to…

The girl reached into her basket and pulled out one of the red packets. She exchanged a significant look with her younger brother.

Quart nodded and ran off. His sister looked at the packet in her hand, a terrible expression on her face.

“I’ll show that Mauserist dog.”

The air was filled with the rich, appetizing aromas of spices, liquors, and oils. Waitress bustled throughout the dimly lit room with steaming platters balanced in their hands. The mingled sounds of people talking and cutlery clinking filled the room like a warm wave of noise.

Pacifica was clearly in a good mood. “This is so delicious!” she cried as she scooped another forkful of cheese omelet into her mouth. Her favorite food was eggs—boiled, scrambled, or fried, she loved them in any shape or form. Although her siblings still had half their meals on their plates, she was already polishing off the end of her Deluxe Cheese Omelet for Two with Special Sauce.

“You can really put it away,” Shannon said as he fussily picked the mushrooms out of his food.

“At least I don’t eat like a five year old,” Pacifica retorted.

“She’s right,” Raquel said as she daintily took a bite of her own meal. “It’s about time you stopped being so picky.”

“Do you understand, wittie boy? You haf to eat your mushwooms.” Pacifica seemed prepared to keep taunting him for hours, so Shannon ignored her and turned to his twin.

“Mushrooms are a kind of fungus. Eating them makes me feel gross.” Shannon looked carefully at his fork, then took a mercifully mushroom-free bite.

Located along a trade route, the town of Mosburg hosted a variety of people and the things they carried with them on their travels. Although the town didn’t have a unique local cuisine, the eateries and inns had a wide range of food.

The dining hall of the White Sail Inn was extremely crowded; although the room could seat more than a hundred people, there wasn’t an empty table in sight. The very accommodating restaurant was known for its great cooks, and many people who weren’t spending the night at the inn would still go to buy a meal.

Despite all the bustling, chattering, and clinking dishware surrounding them, Shannon didn’t mind the disorderly atmosphere. He was a commoner at heart, and this was the commoner’s way of eating.

“Hey, what a coincidence!” A burly hand clasped Shannon on the shoulder. He turned to see the giant priest they’d met earlier that day looming over their table.

Great. Shannon wasn’t surprised to see him—he’d heard the approaching thump of boots and couldn’t imagine anyone else with that swift yet heavy step—but he also wasn’t sure he was thrilled. He went back to picking out mushrooms.

“It’s not that much of a coincidence,” he murmured. “Two travelers meeting at the biggest inn in town.”

“I guess you’re right about that.” Without waiting for an invitation, the priest briskly pulled up a chair and sat down at their table.

“I’m glad I saw you—there just aren’t any empty tables left.” The huge man grinned roguishly at them. “You know, I appreciate you kids sticking up for me today. Dinner’s on me. My name is Berkens.”

More likely on those guys you robbed, Shannon thought.

“Miss!” Berkens shouted to a passing waitress. “I’ll have some of the local Rogak brew, the white stew, the Ithaca-style grilled chicken, a basket of bread, and a side of potato salad. Actually, better make it two orders of everything. And a full bottle of the brew.”

The waitress stopped at their table and started ticking off the order with her fingers. “Okay, so that’s one bottle of the Rogak, two bowls of… oh!” the waitress pinched the priest’s hand, which had reached around behind her to touch her rear end.

The big man grinned in mock embarrassment. “You’re quick, aren’t you?”

The waitress must have really wanted a good tip, because she only looked annoyed for a moment before she gave him a smoldering smile and tantalisingly shook her hips.

“Is there anything else?” she asked in a sultry tone.

The big man laughed, then turned to the siblings. “Go ahead; order anything you want.”

“Really?!” Pacifica shouted in excitement and jabbed a finger at the egg section of the menu. “Can I order this Seacamp-style scrambled egg thing, then?”

“I like to see a healthy appetite in a young girl. You like eggs, I take it?”

“Eggs are my favorite! I love anything that’s made with eggs!” She gave the priest a huge grin.

“Okay, Miss,” he said to the waitress. “I’m going to add to my order. I’ll take one of each egg dish on the menu.”

“Wait a minute.” Shannon tried to stop him, but the priest waved aside his protests.

“All right, Mister! I like your style!” Pacifica actually jumped out of her seat in excitement and punched the air. The priest laughed heartily at her antics.

Shannon rolled his eyes. “What are you, a wild animal? All it takes is a bit of food to win you over.”

“Oh, be quiet, Shannon. A generous diet makes a generous heart!”

“Oh yeah, I guess I didn’t fully introduced myself.” The priest scratched his head. “My name’s Berkens Tanhoglio. I’m an Inquisitor. The church sent me out here to the middle of nowhere on a job.”

Shannon watched him warily, although one hand still automatically picked the mushrooms out of his food. Hearing Berkens’ profession didn’t come as a surprise. Shannon had guessed as much from his appearance. However, now that Shannon’s suspicions were confirmed, it complicated the situation somewhat.

Mauserist Inquisitors were official investigators who belonged to the second external affairs agency of the House of Grendel in the Mauser church headquarters. Their main role was to investigate non-Mauserist religious organizations and prosecute them if they were dangerous to society or involved in immoral acts, such as human sacrifice, devil worship, or substance abuse.

Since the church was separate from the ruling family, they were not government officials, but they were given special privileges by the Linevan kingdom and most of the other countries where Mauserism held sway. Inquisitors could pass through national border crossings without inspection, and were allowed to act as police in emergency situations to arrest dangerous cultists or detain witnesses. Even if they caused injury or death to someone in the line of duty, they were usually exempt from prosecution.

Unofficially, however, the Inquisitors went after any religious group that threatened to win over followers and dilute the power of the Mauserist church. Mauserism was by far the oldest, largest, and most influential religion on the Dustovin continent, and for a time, Inquisitors held a great deal of power over the populace. They stamped out any organization that seemed remotely dangerous, and subjected those arrested to severe punishments. At one point, the Inquisitors’ suppression of pagan religions and the inquisition of infidels was so intense that it was infamously called “heretic hunting.”

However, all that had changed in recent years. Almost all of the pagan organizations were already wiped out, and when a new pope had been appointed eight years earlier, the entire church went through a major reorganization. The Inquisitors had a reputation for abusing their power, so during the reorganization, the church leaders stripped them of most of their privileges. The secretive and unofficial special forces group known as “Purgers” (special forces under direct command of the sixth external affairs agency) did what they used to do, but much more quietly, to avoid negative public opinion. Jobs as Inquisitors were usually given to the church’s more useless or annoying members to get them out of the way.

Berkens gave the siblings a wry smile. “I’ve been demoted a couple times for various reasons. That’s why they sent me out to investigate here, the most remote place they could think of.”

“You’ve had a rough time, haven’t you?” Pacifica made to pat him on the shoulder, but couldn’t reach, so she patted his back instead.

“Thanks for your concern, little girl. That’s awfully nice of you.”

“I totally understand what it’s like to have a rough life. I mean, I don’t have it easy either, traveling with such an unreasonable brother.”

Shannon gave her a look, but she ignored him.

“Well, here’s to sympathetic friends.” Berkens topped up his glass, then poured some of the liquor into Pacifica’s juice.

“Hey! She’s just a kid,” Shannon burst in. Strictly speaking, Mauserism forbade drinking alcohol, eating meat, and committing sexual harassment, let alone encouraging those behaviors in children, but Berkens didn’t seem to care.

“Oh, don’t worry so much,” Berkens jovially slapped Shannon on the back, almost knocking him into his food. “A little booze never hurt anyone.”

“That’s right, a little never hurt anybody!” Pacifica clinked glasses with Berkens and gulped down her spiked juice.

Shannon looked to Raquel for support, but she just sat there, a dazed smile on her face, seemingly unbothered by the entire situation. In the eyes of Raquel, the world was made up two types of people: “bad people,” who were few and far between, and “nice people,” who were the vast majority.

“Well, as much as I complain, I should be thankful that I have a job,” Berkens gulped down his drink, wiped his mouth, and sighed contentedly.

“So,” Pacifica asked him, “what work are you doing out here?”

“Hm? Oh, well, it’s supposed to be top secret, but I guess if you really want to know, I might be able to tell you…” He paused dramatically; he seemed to be enjoying this.

“What? What is it?” Pacifica asked him eagerly.

He leaned forward and said in a conspiratorial whisper. “I’m here looking for the Scrapped Princess.”

Pacifica sprayed juice all over the table.

Berkens laughed. “Wow, was it that surprising?”

“What? No! I mean, yes! I was so surprised, my heart almost stopped! Ha ha ha!” Pacifica’s expression went completely wooden, and the laugh she forced out sounded hollow.

Raquel pulled out her handkerchief and wiped off her sister’s face.

Luckily, Berkens didn’t seem to notice anything strange. “Well, if I managed to surprise you that much, I guess it was worth it.”

“I thought the Scrapped Princess was just a rumor,” Shannon said, trying to sound casual as he fished for information. “Would the church really send you to investigate someone who might not even be real?”

“Well, I have no idea if she’s the real Scrapped Princess or not, but there’s supposed to be a heretical group around here led by a priestess who goes by that title. A group like that can’t be tolerated, so they sent me out here.” Berkens sighed. “I’ve got no real information, no contacts, and no idea where to start looking. The rumors say they’re somewhere in Mosburg River’s area, but they could be anywhere—if they exist at all. All I know is that this Scrapped Princess is supposed to be a blonde-haired and blue-eyed young lady who’s about fourteen or fifteen years old…” Berkens trailed off, looking at Pacifica curiously.

The girl chuckled nervously under his gaze. “Um, ha ha ha.”

Berkens grinned widely. “It’s funny how coincidences work out, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, um, it’s really funny.” Pacifica and Berkens broke into laughter, Berkens heartily, Pacifica painfully.

“By the way, you kids haven’t introduced yourselves yet.”

Shannon scowled. He thought briefly of giving fake names, but it didn’t seem like this Berkens Tanhoglio guy was in a position where he’d have access to highly classified information. Fake names could complicate things later if any of them responded slowly, or worse, used the wrong name. Shannon lightly touched the hilt of the sword under the table. If this guy caught on later, well, he’d just have to deal with it.

He glanced at Raquel. She gave him a tiny nod, so she seemed okay with it.

“I’m Shannon,” Shannon said at last. “And this is Raquel. The loud one is Pacifica.”

“Well, it’s been good meeting you all.” Berkens didn’t press them for a family name or question them any further; it seemed like the siblings were off the hook for the moment. “So, which direction are you folks headed? Have you crossed the river yet?”

“We’re planning to cross soon, but we haven’t had any luck finding a boat.”

“Hm, well, do you want to ride with me? I’ve got a boat lined up.”

Shannon and his sisters looked at each other.

“That’s really nice of you,” Shannon began, “but we have a carriage and horses to take with us.”

“No problem; I’ve got a small boat all to myself. Don’t worry about payment, either. The boat owner is a devout Mauserist—a rare breed for a merchant these days—and he’s sending me across as a special service for the church.”

“We couldn’t impose…”

Although Shannon and his sisters had no particular animosity toward low-ranking members of the church, they were still the enemy. Traveling with Berkens could prove to be extremely dangerous.

“Really, don’t worry about it. I’ve been traveling alone for so long, I could do with some company. Plus, I’ve taken a liking to your little sister. Let’s travel together for a little while, hm?”

“Yeah, let’s go with Berkens. He’s lots of fun,” Pacifica responded, patting the big man on the back. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were blurry—apparently the alcohol she’d been drinking made her forget the danger.

Shannon and Raquel exchanged a look, and Shannon sighed.

On the other hand, Shannon was quite interested in the heretical group that worshipped the Scrapped Princess. Traveling with the priest could lead him to more information. As long as they were careful, going with Berkens could end up working to their advantage.

“We’ll accept,” Shannon said at last. “Thank you very much.”

Berkens laughed heartily. “That’s great! If you need anything else, just ask.”

Raquel bowed politely, which seemed to make Berkens puff up with self-satisfaction.

Whether this would be a brilliant plan or a huge disaster remained to be seen, but now that they were committed, Shannon couldn’t do anything else about it. He decided to put his worries aside for the moment and enjoy his free meal—once he managed to pick out the rest of the mushrooms.

A knock at the door.

Luke Storm didn’t look up. He’d already sensed one of his squad approaching from down the hall; the man at the door was also aware that his presence had been acknowledged. That made the knocking strictly unnecessary, but Luke Storm ran his unit by a very strict code. The code was vital for people in their position.

Luke Storm was the leader of the Special Unit of the Royal Military Intelligence Division, usually known as the Blackhawk, and he and his squad were often put in a position where they had to act ruthlessly, crossing every line of decency and honor to complete their mission. The code drew new lines, created new standards for everything from day-to-day interactions to the most extreme situations imaginable. It was, in his mind, what distinguished warriors from homicidal maniacs.

“Come in,” Luke Storm called out.

Corporal Slay Hiram entered the room. He looked like a stereotypical farm boy, rough and unsophisticated and a little bit small for his age. Looks were deceiving in this case, however—he was one of the more recent additions to the unit, and thus was already capable of killing several armed soldiers with his bare hands. Slay also happened to be a very quick learner.

“Sir, I… oh.” Slay’s eyes widened as he looked around the office.

Every available flat surface was covered with books of all kinds: books on battle tactics and warfare, but also cookbooks, novels, and children’s books. What little space not taken up by books was covered in paperwork. It looked more like the office of a scholar than a military officer. It was a scene that often surprised visitors.

“Have you read all of these, Colonel?”

“I read as much as I can, when I have the time to spare.” Luke gave the document in front of him a final glance and signed the bottom. “You’ve heard about the large-scale cleanup operation related to the Scrapped Princess?” Luke asked the youth.

“The one from about a year ago, sir?” Slay put the documents he’d brought on top of a paper-covered trolley, which started sliding. The youth spent an awkward moment catching the falling papers.

“It was a year and two months ago,” Luke explained. “Right around the time when I was appointed leader of the Blackhawk. There was a lot of confusion around that time, so I’m going over these documents to check for anything that might have been overlooked.”

“I see, sir.” The boy nodded. “Sir, I never imagined that there were so many secret missions being carried out.”

Slay had only been in the Blackhawk for six months— not long enough to truly grasp the scope of what Luke did and ordered to be done on a day-to-day basis.

“The Intelligence Division isn’t involved in all of our missions. My predecessor, General Lugar, made use of military personnel outside of the Intelligence Division, as well as some civilians. Because of that, it’s been difficult to track his operations.”

“Is it true that the general was stabbed by his own daughter?” the youth asked in a conspiratorial whisper.

“Don’t speak ill of the dead. General Lugar was an extremely capable officer, that’s all you need to know.”

The death of General Giorgio Lugar had been a source of rumor and gossip since it had occurred. He was a talented and dedicated officer, known in the Intelligence Division as “The Devil with a Thousand Ears” for his almost supernatural ability to gather information.

It was ironic that he was so blind to his own daughter’s behavior. She spiraled downward into delinquency without his knowledge. When he finally learned of her behavior and confronted her, she stabbed him in the back in a fit of rage.

“In any case,” Luke continued, “I’m looking over these documents that the general left behind so I can carry on his work. I try to be thorough, but with our busy schedule, there simply isn’t enough time to keep up with every single case.”

“Sir, is there anything I could be of assistance with?”

“No.” He paused for a moment, then added, “Or on second thought, you could carry a message for me.”

“Certainly, sir.”

“Tell my wife not to wait up. I’m going to be late.”

The barracks, where unit members slept, were not far from Luke’s residence, where he lived with his wife. It was but a short walk.

“Yes, sir,” Slay answered, obviously trying to suppress a smile. The stoic leader of the Special Unit was actually a very caring and loving husband—a secret only the Blackhawk members knew.

“Is something funny?” Luke gave him a sharp look.

“No, sir. I’ll get to it right away.”

Slay rushed out of the room.

Having woken from a good night’s sleep for the first time in too long, the Casull siblings brought their carriage to the docks the next morning. They spotted Berkens talking to a boatman next to a small ship with the words “The Inox” painted on the side. The captain smiled as they approached.

“The weather doesn’t look too good,” Pacifica muttered, looking at the ominous gray clouds and gathering fog. “Should we be sailing in this?”

The captain waved a hand dismissively. “We’ll be fine. Come on, folks.” He urged them along with a charming grin. “Let’s get this show on the road, hm? Today’s my day off and I’d like to get a move on.”

The siblings led their horses up the gangplank and onto the deck. Although the boat’s only passengers were Berkens, the three Casull siblings, the horses with their carriage, the captain, and his assistant, the Inox was already quite crowded. This was mostly due to the six enormous, specially-bred cows on the bottom floor of the ship that were used to power the two huge wheels propelling the boat through the water. At the boatman and assistant’s shouts of encouragement, the cows treaded along, powering a system of gears and rods to turn the wheels. Boats powered by animals were more reliable than sailboats as they weren’t dependent on favorable winds to make good time.

That left only a cargo cabin on the upper floor for the horses and carriage, and a deck and its passenger cabin for everyone else. It was a bit tight, but nobody complained.

“What an unusual boat,” Raquel commented as she walked along the deck’s perimeter.

“You don’t see a ship like this one every day, do you?” the captain’s assistant said. “Our propulsion system is complex, but with it we can regulate our speed very well.”

The captain’s assistant was a middle-aged man who seemed to have taken an instant liking to Raquel. He’d followed her around since she boarded the boat, and seemed to be trying to put an arm around her. Raquel was far more interested in the ship than in him and didn’t notice his interest.

With the boat’s only low-ranking employee thus distracted, Shannon was left with the task of securing the horse carriage to the floor and walls of the ship’s hold. As he sighed, he happened to glance out onto the pier. He scowled.

“What is it?” Pacifica asked him.

“Nothing much,” he answered vaguely. For a moment, he thought he’d seen the young medicine girl from the day before, but he’d caught such a brief glimpse that he couldn’t be sure.

“All right, the drawbridge is coming up!” the captain shouted. “Is that carriage secured yet?”

Shannon got back to work.

The longer the ship spent on the water, the blacker the sky became. The fog got thinner, but the wind started to pick up. Just before noon, about three glocks after departure, the first raindrops started to fall.

“Oh, boy. This isn’t good.” Mere moments after the captain spoke, a fat raindrop splattered on Pacifica’s nose. Within a matter of minutes, the drops picked up speed until everyone and everything was drenched.

The perpendicular current started to speed up, and the boat tilted under the force.

“We’re gonna be okay, right?” Berkens asked as he ducked into the passenger cabin with Shannon and his siblings. He didn’t sound very concerned.

“It’ll be fine. It might be a bumpy ride, but the Inox won’t sink.”

Boats like the Inox were designed for weather conditions like this, when the winds were too rough for sails. A large hydrofoil protruded underwater to give the boat additional buoyancy and stability—it was designed not to tip even in the worst weather. But nothing could keep it from shaking violently.

Pacifica and Shannon both gripped the railings, their faces pale and drawn with seasickness. They’d never spent much time on boats.

“Come on, you two.” Berkens rolled his eyes at the nauseated siblings. “It’s not that bad.” He didn’t look the least bit disturbed as he sat calmly on the floor. Shannon wasn’t surprised—he couldn’t imagine anything that could make the huge priest ill.

Raquel, unlike her siblings, was fine. She looked completely peaceful as her body swayed in sync with the rocking boat.

“Hmm.” Berkens looked at the floor and furrowed his brow. “Did you hear that?”

Neither Shannon nor Pacifica were in any condition to hear anything, and the captain was at the helm outside in the rain.

But Raquel did respond. “I think I heard a loud thud…”

At that moment, a bloodcurdling cry ripped through the air.

Shannon and his sisters exchanged looks. The captain hurriedly locked the helm and headed toward the door that led downstairs to the cargo room. A moment later, the rest of them followed.

The carriage horses stood calmly in the cargo room. Furrowing his eyebrows, the captain went to the lower level to find the problem. The siblings crouched on the floor of the cargo room to see what was happening below, and their breaths caught in their throats.

A pool of crimson blood was spreading across the floor.

The assistant lay on the floor across the room, spitting up an unbelievable amount of blood and writhing in agony. One of the cows had stamped its huge hoof into his stomach in an act of frustration.

“What the hell is this?!” Clearly astonished, the boatman loosened his grip on the ladder. Unfortunately, at the same moment, a violent tremor shook the boat.

Shannon reached out for him instinctually, but his grasp came up empty. The captain tumbled from the ladder.

A panicked cow lunged toward him, snapping free of the ropes that bound it. A moment later, the rest of the cows followed suit, trampling both the captain and his assistant. The captain didn’t even have a chance to scream.

The cows crashed into the walls of the ship. It seemed like they were unable to stop—each time one hit an obstruction, it simply turned slightly and kept running. The sound of crunching bones as the two bodies were trampled could be heard even over the storm.

After the shock passed, Shannon managed to get a better look at the huge cows. Bloody foam gushed out the sides of their mouths, and their eyes were so bloodshot they seemed entirely red. It was bizarre—even the stormy conditions couldn’t explain this level of panic.

“Dammit!” Unable to look any longer, Shannon shut the door.

“What the hell is going on?” Berkens asked him.

“Somebody must’ve drugged the cows.” Shannon locked the door. He didn’t expect the cows would actually climb up the stairs, but in their current state, he could imagine them jumping out onto the deck.

“Why would anybody do something like that?”

“It was probably some kind of stimulant or hallucinogen. Maybe…” Shannon trailed off as he remembered seeing the medicine girl that morning. He had to guess that she was the one responsible—but why? Shannon and Berkens had met her for the first time just one day before, and if anything, she had reason to be grateful to them. Perhaps she had something against the captain or his assistant.

Whatever the reason, it wasn’t the time for speculation. The commotion from downstairs grew louder as the cows smashed wildly around the hold, and a foreboding creaking sound grew louder and louder. It was inevitable that the cows would soon crash through the walls.

“We’d better do something fast, or they’ll break a hole in the boat,” Raquel commented, somehow remaining calm despite their impending deaths.

The inner wall of the Inox was a simple wooden frame coated with waterproof resin. It had a very limited resistance to shock; it was a matter of time before the ship would flood.

“Does anyone have any ideas?” Shannon asked.

“Well, we could pray,” Berkens replied.

“I meant ideas that might help,” Shannon, an atheist, snapped back.

The loudest crack rang out from below, followed by the sound of water rushing in.

“There’s one thing that might work,” Raquel said, “but it would mean breaking the law.” She turned to Berkens. “Would you be willing to pretend you didn’t see, if I could get us out of this mess?”

“What do you have in mind?” Berkens raised an eyebrow.

“Magic. The military defense spell Midgard.”

Linevan law forbade civilians from using military magic, but since most people didn’t know enough about magic to tell the difference between military magic and the other legal types, few sorcerers were ever prosecuted. However, doing military magic in the presence of a public official (or someone whose status was practically equivalent, like Berkens), could get Raquel in serious trouble.

“If it’ll save us from all this, I’m willing to look the other way. But how are you planning to do it?”

“I’ll increase the shielding density to make it airtight. It’ll be full of air, so we should be able to float… at least, in theory.”

Sorcerers could adjust the shielding density of Midgard, usually to protect troops from poison gasses or airborne chemicals. However, in order to raise the shielding density, the spell would be a much larger burden on the caster’s mind. Even with Shannon there to add his mental capacity to hers, the spell would be difficult to maintain.

“That’s great. Get right on it.”

Shannon looked at the priest. “There’s a problem. Once we have the spell in place, we won’t have any way to move ourselves. We’ll be at the mercy of the current, so if we don’t get lucky and hit something soon, either Raquel or I will pass out and the spell will fail.”

“Also,” Raquel added, “if we run out of air in the bubble, we’ll die.”

Berkens frowned. “This plan just gets better and better.”

“If you have a better idea, I’d love to hear it.” Shannon wasn’t being sarcastic; he actually would have loved for anyone to suggest a better plan. They’d never used Midgard in that way, and Shannon wasn’t at all convinced that it would work.

Berkens shook his head.

“Raquel! Cast the Emulator spell on me.”

Without hesitation, Raquel started chanting. “In the name of our pledge, thou who art lacking, presiding power, worthy of holding the reigns. Though only temporarily, I hereby grant it to you to display your hidden powers…”

As the spell was cast, Shannon was aware of something foreign entering his consciousness—another sorcerer self, separate from him but inside his mind.

The Emulator. As usual, it gave him a dull headache and the vague, uncomfortable feeling of being watched.

If not for their dire situation, he would have avoided using it.

“I’ll cast Midgard with a shielding density of seven. If I faint, you take over.”

“If you think you’re going to faint, don’t forget to release the Emulator beforehand,” Shannon reminded her. Using the Emulator for too long could have dangerous effects on Shannon’s mind—at worst, his own personality could be lost.

“Thou art one to block evil and cast away the wicked, wall who protects us from external harm, obey the commands of the lords. Stand tall here and now!”

In an instant, a sphere made up of sparkling polygons formed around the Inox. Despite the water sloshing in the bottom, the sphere seemed to be floating well.

“We should be all right, at least for a little while,” Shannon muttered.

The mesh pattern of the spell distorted and blurred the scenery, and the rain running down the sides of the sphere obscured their view even more. Barely any sunlight reached through the clouds to illuminate the churning water. If anything that might save them was nearby, it was impossible to tell.

“I don’t know how much longer we can keep this up…” Shannon said, glaring at the dark river.

The rain showed no sign of stopping.

“This is bad.”

In the pouring rain, a young girl talked to herself.

She stood not far from the floating bubble, although not on the land that the Casull siblings were so desperately seeking. She actually stood on the river itself. She had long blue hair tied in a purple ribbon… but despite the downpour, her hair wasn’t wet, and despite the whipping winds, it didn’t move at all. Clearly, she was no ordinary girl.

“My time here is still limited,” she said, her speech much more adult than her prepubescent appearance would imply. “This will be a problem.”

The girl’s name was Arfi, but according to her, that was just an abbreviation of her real name.

“The Peacemakers have been keeping to themselves, but she just can’t avoid getting into her own mess. You certainly are an unlucky one, Scrapped Princess.”

Arfi pointed one small finger at the Midgard bubble, which was drifting aimlessly at the mercy of the current.

“I can help you out right now, but I’ll have to stay away for a while.”

As she spoke, she lightly flicked her fingers at the sphere. The Midgard bubble started to move differently— instead of floating randomly, it seemed to head toward some unseen destination.

“Good luck, Scrapped Princess.”

Arfi nodded to herself in satisfaction, then faded away.

The bubble drifted on toward the closest land.