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Secrets are brought out of the shadows

  By ,
A sailboat glides across glass-smooth water and over the reflection of white clouds piling on the horizon

Out of Shadows

BY SHANEL WILSON AND FRASIER ARMITAGE

PART THREE

Raindrops slashed at Solanio’s face as he and Butch made their way up the river. Solanio pulled the hood of his cloak up and hoped the storm that was brewing would give them the cover they needed. Two quick flashes of light shimmered through the tall grass when they reached the mouth of the inlet. 

“Drop anchor,” Butch said. 

Solanio cut the engine and steered the skiv silently through the reeds. Three ragged shadows slinked toward the skiv. 

Photo by Joran Quinten.

“Oy, we ain’t got all night lads. Quick step,” Butch growled at his companions.

“And quietly, while you’re at it,” Solanio hissed.

A stout, barrel-chested man stomped aboard. His matted hair was tied back into a rattail that wagged down his sweaty back. He gave Solanio a toothless grin before moving aside for his mate. A wooden peg jabbed the deck, nearly missing Solanio’s well-oiled boot. The peg’s owner sat his skeletal frame on the crates next to Butch, his gaunt face glowering. Lastly, a brute that matched Butch in size and number for belt-knives sagged the skiv even further in the water. 

“Tiny, Bones, and Dagger, at your service.” Butch gestured to each of his mates. 

“Pleasure. Shall we?” Solanio swallowed hard and started the engine.

The pelting rain blurred Solanio’s vision, making it difficult to scan for the barge. Tiny gave a low whistle and nodded ahead into the growing darkness. Sure enough, the lights of the barge twinkled in the rainfall and river mist. 

Solanio scanned the skies. 

“What are you looking at?” Butch snapped. 

“Do you see any drones?” Solanio asked. 

Butch laughed. “Trust me. There won’t be a Whitehall drone pass over this side of the river for some time.” He tapped his temple, as if he kept the inner workings of the drones inside that thick skull. 

“Alright. I’ll pull alongside the barge and then you do the rest.” Solanio gripped the controls.

“We know the plan. Smash and grab. Done it a thousand times.” Butch drew a pair of knives from his belt and ignited their laser blades. “Ready, boys?” 

Solanio shuddered under their unnatural glow and silently nudged the skiv to the starboard side of the barge. 

On the barge, the barge he owned but had been tasked with raiding, his trusted crew relaxed on the deck as if the rain were a summer breeze. 

Butch and his men secured rigging, and silently attached the skiv to the barge, entwining them in a lattice of knots. Solanio rubbed his gold signet ring–a ring signifying his membership in the Guild–trying to summon any last luck it might supply.

Photo by Thomas Couillard.

The skiv aligned with the barge, and in that instant, everything stilled. The river seemed to pause, even the breeze dropped, as if the world held breath for what was about to happen. 

But the moment soon passed, broken by the pirate crew bounding onto the barge’s deck and mounting their attack. 

“Pirates!” the barge captain bellowed, snapping his crew to attention. 

Solanio sunk further into his hood, not only to hide from his barge crew but also from the squelch of soggy punches and the metallic clang of blades connecting. A mighty clap of thunder shattered the sky above, tearing at the frayed edges of Solanio’s nerves. He flipped the helm to automatic and scurried below deck as mist engulfed the skiv and barge. 

Solanio paced in the darkness, shaking his head. The clash of steel rang out from the deck above. A sickening thud pounded the boards. He closed his eyes and tried to push out the screaming voices. 

“Ghost!” 

“Where is he?” 

“Show yourself!” 

Ghost? That wasn’t one of Butch’s pirate friends. 

A gust of wind ripped through the hull, shaking its metal plates. Terrified shouts and shrieks pierced the air, drifting down to him in echoes.

“There’s another one!” 

A second thud sounded, followed by a splash on the port side.

“Coward! Show yourself!” Butch screamed through the raging storm. 

What was going on up there? This was supposed to be a simple smash and grab. Butch had said as much. 

Another clap of thunder shook the skiv, threatening to roll it. Solanio knew he was needed at the helm, otherwise this hover would become his coffin. But he couldn’t bring himself to enter the fight. 

Photo by Johannes Plenio.

His fingers tapped the pistol below his cloak, remembering Prospero’s promise that its wide beam would eviscerate anything in its path. He breathed deeply, tightening his hood to mask his face. Prospero had better not have been exaggerating. 

As the skiv rolled in the rising river, Solanio crashed onto its deck. He squinted through the rain and mist to steal a look at what was happening on the barge, but he couldn’t see beyond its prow. The sounds of the fight quieted and all Solanio could hear was the lapping of water against the barge’s hull. 

Solanio blindly scrambled up the rigging, and pulled himself onto the barge. He tripped and crashed onto the deck, glancing back at what had sent him toppling. Tiny’s limp body twisted, soaking the deck with crimson blood. 

Solanio scrambled to his feet, drawing his pistol. He whirled around to find the bodies of the three barge crewmen gruesomely slain. Dagger lay in two halves, cut clean through. The crate containing the eye still sat on its pedestal in the center of the barge next to Butch. Butch’s eyes widened in a maddened frenzy. Beside him, Bones quaked. 

“Come out, ghost!” Butch shouted into the air, drawing the thunder closer. 

“What the—” Solanio’s voice caught when, from nowhere, ten silhouettes of men surrounded the barge. They drew swords which flashed like lightning in their hands. 

All the blood drained from Solanio’s face as he aimed his pistol at the closest silhouette, but before he could fire at the man, their body vanished into mist. Butch lunged at another attacker, nearly falling over the railing. Bones threw himself at the specters. Solanio continued to aim erratically at each figure that appeared before him, but each disappeared before he had the chance to shoot. 

In no more than a blink, all the shadows vanished. Bones lay on the deck, blood spilling from a gash on his neck that no medicine could mend. 

Photo by Solen Feyissa.

“I said show yourself!” Butch bellowed.

A figure landed in front of Butch. The mysterious man knelt, his face obstructed by the pitch-black cloak he wore, before he theatrically unsheathed a long, gleaming sword. He brought the blade in front of his face ready to strike. Solanio beheld a piercing blue eye in the sword’s reflection. A Newlondoner? 

Butch roared, daggers gripped tight, and pitched himself at the assassin. The man swiftly dodged Butch’s attack and swung his sword, catching Butch in the arm. Butch howled in pain through gritted teeth. The figure stood motionless while he waited for his opponent’s next attack. Solanio watched the mysterious man perform a graceful ballet of parries and feints as Butch lumbered clumsily, failing to land a single blow.

Butch slammed his body into the man and stabbed his attacker’s cloak. It rebounded off their armor plating, sending Butch crashing to the deck. Butch grabbed an edge of the cloak as he tumbled, entangling the two. Butch swung his fists wildly, finally connecting with his foe’s face to land a satisfying crack. Solanio tiptoed toward the crate which held the kraken’s eye, never daring to look away from the fight. The man spun and expertly pinned Butch. He pressed the edge of his sword against Butch’s pulsing neck.

“Who ordered you to this shameful task?” The man pressed the edge deeper into Butch’s skin.

“The Guild. It was the Guild.” Butch lifted a bloodied finger toward Solanio. “Ask him. He’s one of them!” 

Solanio froze with his hands hovering just above the crate. The figure flicked his wrist toward Solanio while maintaining his hold on Butch. 

“Your disgraceful deeds have sealed your fate.” The man bowed his head and, in one fluid motion, killed Butch with a slice of his sword.

As Butch crumpled to the deck, the man flicked his wrist again. A drone cut through the mist to face Solanio, a red light near its lens flashed. Solanio swerved to avoid the drone’s rotors. It was no Haller drone. He aimed his pistol at the figure as they approached.

“Stay where you are!” Solanio’s pistol hand shook.

“Everyone will know what you and the Guild really are.”

Solanio caught a glimpse of the blue eyes beneath the hood again. 

“I said, stay back!” Solanio yelled. 

“You cannot stop what is coming.” 

“Maybe not. But I can stop you.” Solanio pulled the trigger of his pistol. A crack boomed through the air and a flash of light illuminated the dense fog, blinding him. He stumbled backward, shielding his eyes with the crook of his arm. The pistol’s blast shrouded everything in its hot beam. What did Prospero need a weapon like this for? 

The gun’s glowing report relinquished itself to the darkness. Surrounded by shadow once again, Solanio peered across the deck at where the man’s body should have laid in a charred heap, only to discover that the man and the crate with the kraken’s eye were gone. 

“No!” Solanio slammed the pedestal that once held the crate. 

He ran his fingers through his drenched hair when Leonardo’s words echoed in his ears. Shadow Walkers. Could they actually be real? He knew his fair share of skilled Newlonders, but this man’s skills were unlike anything Solanio had ever witnessed. He was more than a myth. More than a ghost. He was real. 

Solanio forced the madness of what he’d witnessed out of his brain. He had larger worries to contend with than a fictional group of mysterious crusaders. What would that man do with proof of the Guild’s misdeeds? Of his misdeeds? Mind racing, Solanio jumped back to his skiv to race back to Newlondon. He had to warn the Guild, find a way to shore up the damage before it was too late. Before the shadow struck again. 

Balthasar steered his skiv towards the Westminster dock. Sebastian and Gonzalo stood waiting. 

“What happened to the barge?” Gonzalo asked. 

Balthasar said nothing in reply. 

“This isn’t good business.” Sebastian frowned. “Who are you, and where is the barge?” 

“I believe this is yours,” Balthasar growled, unloading the crate single-handed, as if it weighed nothing. 

Sebastian and Gonzalo’s mouths gaped like a couple of river fish. 

Balthasar bowed towards them and pulled away from the jetty. An honorable trade. When he was out of sight, he angled the mirrored panels to disappear into the coastline. 

Balthasar found the mouth of Limnoreia Estuary and guided his skiv to a pocket behind the high reeds. He closed his eyes to listen to the wind on the water. He placed his sheathed sword before the shrine in the skiv and bowed. 

“I thank the wind for its power, and the ocean for its patience,” whispered Balthasar.

He recalled the drone and replayed the attack on the barge. Holograms projected everything it had recorded. A smile played at the corner of his lips. The effort to reprogram the drone had paid off. The drone’s duplicate projections of himself around the barge proved to be perfect decoys to confuse his quarry. Balthasar tapped his wrist to enable the audio playback when the hologram replayed the moment he had pinned the pirate to the deck.

Who ordered you to this shameful task?

The Guild. It was the Guild. 

Balthasar flicked his fingers and the hologram spun to show the face of Solanio approaching the crate. He paused the recording and keyed in a command for the drone to deliver the recording to Leonato. 

Photo by Ethan Vander Tuin.

“It is done.” Balthasar watched the drone disappear down the river. He snatched the communicator from his buckle, knelt before his shrine, and sent a message through the water to every Shadow Walker on the Globe. All at once, their pendants would shimmer with the same call, the same cry, the labors of their purpose realized at last. Just as every dawn began with the smallest glimmer, so too, they would rise with the words that every Shadow Walker had been waiting for, and Balthasar had finally spoken. Those fateful words could not be undone, could not be escaped, nor could the raging storm that came with them. 

His message was simple. “Out of the shadows, there shines a light.” 

If you enjoyed Shanel and Frasier’s story, feel free to leave comments below. If you would like to read more about Newlondon, read “The Beast Below” which kicked off the Newlondon stories in the Globe Folio series.

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

P.S. Now you can enjoy the Globe Folio from the beginning:

Act 1: Night of the Rocket

Act 2: Nights of Revelation

Now you’re all caught up. But don’t worry, we have more stories from the Globe on the way soon!

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

No comments

The Guild pulls Solanio deeper into their ranks

  By ,
A sailboat glides across glass-smooth water and over the reflection of white clouds piling on the horizon

Out of Shadows

BY SHANEL WILSON AND FRASIER ARMITAGE

PART TWO

Solanio led Captain Ward and her litany of bodyguards along the pier and up the steps of the Guild Hall. Through the large double doors, they entered the Guild’s chambers. Robed figures wound a route between the soldiers to the semicircular desk and took their respective seats. Prospero reclined in the central throne. 

Ward crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “Are these the city’s leaders?” she asked Solanio. 

“Captain Ward of the Polity, may I present you to the Guild of Fisherman.” Solanio gestured in a reverential bow between Prospero and the Polity. 

Photo by Adolfo Félix.

“And why are you not among them?” Ward asked. “You were the one who represented the city on the eve of our arrival. Did Newlondon not consider the Polity important enough to send one of their own?” 

Prospero rose from his seat. “Captain Ward, allow me to introduce myself. I am Prospero. And it was my choice to send Solanio to meet with you for the simple reason that he was best qualified in the art of diplomacy. The same reason he was selected as our auctioneer. Surely you can appreciate that holding a rank does not necessarily make a person the best equipped for a given task.” 

Ward heaved a sigh. Politicians. How many more of these insufferable double-talkers would she have to suffer? Just once, she’d have liked to draw her weapon and put a bullet through the forehead of these so-called diplomats. Bullets were the plainest form of communication. 

Leonardo blundered his way to the front and took Ward by the elbow. “Captain, Prospero is an honorable man. You will find no greater authority in Newlondon.” 

At least she wouldn’t have to repeat herself. Saying it once was painful enough. “Very well. Has Solanio informed you of the purpose of my visit?” 

Prospero took his seat once again, the balance of power restored. “He advised us of your tour. You would be visiting each city to assess what resources could be of use to the Polity. I trust the auction was an adequate demonstration of the esteem in which Newlondon is held by the rest of the Globe.” 

“I don’t care for your little rivalries and power squabbles,” Ward said bluntly. “I’ve seen places like Newlondon on every planet I’ve ever stepped foot on. It has that same stink to it. This city is nothing but bait.” 

“Bait, Captain?” 

“It’s a place for reputable folk to hide their dirty, little secrets. Where husbands can attend ‘business meetings’ with their secretaries, away from prying eyes. Where gamblers can place their bets at a card table or backstreet fight. This city’s an enticement, and you think it’s hidden behind the netting and the fishing and the family-friendly amusement arcades. But we both know that nothing remains hidden forever. Time has a way of exposing all things. And the time for Newlondon has come, Prospero.” 

“Why, Captain, you make it all sound so unseemly. Newlondon has its fair share of amusements, but we take pride in the services we provide. Wouldn’t your men benefit from a little relaxation when they’re off-duty? Where better to find a pleasant diversion than in one of our motels, where I hear some wonderfully talented ladies are currently performing. Would that not be something of value to men who’ve spent years stuck inside one of your sterile ships?” 

The soldiers glanced between each other with a spark of giddiness. 

Photo by Jordan Harrison.

Ward turned her head, her glare snapping them back to attention. “All bait is dressed up to appeal, Prospero. But it doesn’t stop it being bait. Where others might look at this city and see the glamor and the lights, all I see are a sorry collection of ramshackle buildings and some fishing nets. What have you got to offer the Polity which we could make use of?” 

“What of the pollium? There are always more krakens in the sea. I’m sure with the Polity’s resources, and our fishermen’s skills, we could collect enough pollium for the entire Polity of Planets.” 

Ward cackled a laugh. “You think the Polity have any need of pollium? It’s garbage. We have more power in a single engine cell aboard the smallest of our ships than a thousand eyes of pollium could ever produce. What can you give us, Prospero? Leonardo tells me that you Newlondoners can do much for us. But all I see is trash. Give me one good reason why Newlondon shouldn’t be torn to the ground and stripped for parts like the scrap it is?” 

The Guild members turned to their leader, and Prospero clasped his hands together, reclining in his chair. “Tell me, Captain. The other cities you’ve visited—have you found minerals and materials that might be of value?” 

“There are resources on this planet that are of value,” Ward answered. 

Prospero smiled. “And I take it your men are experts at transporting such ‘resources’ across the Globe.” 

“My men are capable of almost anything.” 

“Is that so? Do they know where the Mirrim lurk? Have they mapped out every turn of the river? Can they recognize the roar of the savagelands or sense the ambush of bandits? How many of your men can feel a ripple on the river and know whether to run or hide from what rises below? There are beasts on this Globe that would swallow your men without a sound and slither into your skin without you even knowing. And this cargo, these minerals, are fodder for these creatures.” 

“We carry weapons. We’re trained in combat. I think you’ll find we can handle ourselves.” 

“Of course. Your men have nothing better to do than babysit cargo, have they? And their weapons work against enemies you cannot see, or hear, or touch?” 

Ward bit her lip. 

Prospero opened his hands and gestured around the table. “We understand if you take no pleasure in our city. But we of the Guild are tasked with the burden of setting the rates of guides and transporters who can protect the many assets of this world. We are its guardians and its shepherds. Ask your friend, Leonardo here. How long would Whitehall last if Newlondoners did not protect the oil pipeline hovering above the sand? All the way from Westminster to Whitehall, we guard it.” 

Leonardo blushed, but he remained silent. 

“Come, Leonardo, there is no shame in admitting that you wish for us to strike a deal with the Polity for the sake of Whitehall. For the sake of all the cities. And for the sake of the Polity. After all, without Newlondoners, what would be left on the Globe for the Polity to take besides corpses and beasts? These resources you speak of are valueless unless they can be transported safely to your vessel. Wouldn’t you agree?” 

Ward gritted her teeth in the knowledge that the old man spoke the truth. She only had so many Marines at her disposal, and she couldn’t afford for her best Marines to become couriers and delivery pilots. Any goods she mined from the planet would be worthless if she couldn’t transport them to her ship and lift them to the UPS Pacifica. “What would stop us from hiring our own guides from among your people?” she asked. 

“Newlondoners know better than to work without the Guild’s approval. And they’d never be granted a license unless it was passed by one of us. Without a license, they’d be no better than smugglers. And if you knew anything about Newlondoners, you’d know that they’d sooner kill you than let you call them a smuggler.” 

Ward nodded. “Alright. Let’s say we came to an arrangement. What price would you name to extend these services to the Polity?” 

“My dear, we would be only too happy to assist the Polity. We Newlondoners are traders at heart. What do you propose would be a fair trade for such services?” 

Ward pinched the bridge of her nose. This is the part she hated. Playing diplomat was just another form of haggling. “You spoke of the technology to hunt krakens. Would that make a fair trade?” 

Prospero shook his head. “It’s a fair place to start.” 

“What else do you want?” 

“Were you not at the auction?” Prospero raised an eyebrow and stroked his whiskers. 

Ward sighed. “Fine. We’ll match whatever doubloons you deem appropriate. Name your price.” 

“Why, Captain. How generous. I believe we have an accord.” Prospero rose and extended his arm to Ward.

She stomped across the chambers and grasped it, grimacing, as if she were dipping her hand in a nest of eels. 

“As a courtesy,” Prospero said, “allow us to welcome your Marines in the truest Newlondon tradition. Free drinks at any tavern they desire.” 

Ward’s skin crawled, but she could hardly refuse. “Very well. They could do with some time to recharge.” 

The Marines around her loosened their shoulders and beamed smiles. Leonardo breathed a sigh of relief. 

“If that is all, Captain, then we have business with Solanio,” Prospero said. 

Ward stroked her chin. “There is just one more thing.” 

“Oh?” 

“Leonardo was telling me about a group known as Shadow Walkers. I was hoping to meet one.” 

Prospero gripped his stomach and howled in laughter. “Oh, Leonardo. You should know better than to play pranks on the Polity.” 

Ward scowled. “What do you mean?” 

“Stories of the Shadow Walkers are just tales told to children. They’re nothing but myths. I mean, really, who could appear from the shadows to fight for justice and disappear just as quickly? Such warriors exist only in stories.” 

“But,” Leonardo spoke up, “if they aren’t true, then what of the rumors about—”

“Rumors?” Prospero interrupted. “Leonardo, you know better than to listen to gossip. The Shadow Walkers are just a fairy tale, I assure you.” 

Captain Ward turned to her Marines. “Right, you jarheads. All who wish to return with me, get ready to depart. The rest of you, enjoy your drinks. Dismissed.” 

The Marines rushed out of the chamber, their tongues wagging. 

Ward marched out of the chambers with Leonardo in tow. 

Solanio stood before the Guild. “Fairy tales, Prospero?” he said. “Were not the Polity a mere fairy tale? Yet, here they are.” 

Photo by Jonas Jaeken.

“Don’t tell me you believe in the Shadow Walkers, Solanio?” 

“Not at all. But who knows what else she might have given us if she’d been allowed to think they were real?” 

Prospero nodded, casting his glance across the chamber. “What did I tell you, brethren? Will he not make a wonderful addition to our Guild?” Prospero extended his palm, and inside, a Guild ring shimmered gold. 

Solanio stepped forwards and took the ring, placing it on his own hand. 

“Congratulations, my boy. You have business to attend to, I believe?” Prospero asked. 

The image of Butch flashed across Solanio’s mind. “Yes, I have a customer waiting. Thank you.” Solanio bowed and turned on his heels, cradling the signet ring that commanded the respect of all. Inside the fold of his jacket, the pistol Prospero had given him—the one that would wipe out everything in its path—felt insignificant when compared to the power in the band of gold wrapped around his finger. If only Bianca could see him now. 

Perhaps Bianca suffered from the same delusion that Ward did? That there was no value in the Guild. How could a woman so calculating as Ward be so naive? Dismissing Newlondon and all it had to offer—was she even human? 

Solanio shook his head. 

“Shadow Walkers,” he scoffed below his breath. “The Polity have much to learn.” 

Balthasar watched from his skiv on the water. The two men with purple eyes lingered with the crate and the bounty of the kraken’s eye within. Another Newlondoner guided them away from the amphitheater and across the dockyard to a pristine barge. They boarded the polished hovercraft, outfitted with the finest weaponry across its mount, and surveyed it. The men nodded and returned to the dockyard as Newlondon haulers lifted the crate onto the barge. 

All the while, the bandit at the window stalked the crate like prey. 

Balthasar gripped his buckle in one hand, and the hilt of his sword with the other. 

“Grant me patience,” he whispered to the ocean, “so that I do not strike too soon.” 

Solanio slipped along the crowded thoroughfare, past the taverns where Polity Marines indulged in pitchers of ale, surrounding themselves in the skirts of blue-eyed beauties. 

From the amphitheater behind him, the Polity flier lifted in a whirlwind of salt and sand before it blasted heavenward, its roar fading into the distance. Goodbye, Captain.

Across the docks, Solanio crept to his barge. The brothers Sebastian and Gonzalo of Westminster waited by the hovercraft. 

“Gentlemen,” Solanio said, approaching them. “Is everything in order?” 

“The eye is on board. But are you certain it’s safe on your barge, Solanio?” Sebastian asked. 

“If you wish to tour the barge, I have no objections.” 

“We’ve already checked it over.” 

“And . . . ?”

Gonzalo shrugged. “It seems in order.” 

Solanio smiled. “Excellent. Do you have the contract for the Westminster Brides?” 

“Signed and sealed.” Sebastian handed over the documents. “And we deposited the doubloons with one of your Guild people at the amphitheater.” 

“Then I wish you well. My men will see you in Westminster.” Solanio bowed and stepped back from the berth. He gestured to the men aboard the barge, and the engines fired, lifting it from the water. 

Spray dashed the brothers Sebastian and Gonzalo, and they watched their cargo shrink as it disappeared up the river. 

Photo by Vasily Ledovsky.

Solanio darted across the harbor, and from his pocket, he removed his chain of keys. He bounded up a flight of stairs to his office on the first floor of a building overlooking the sea. When he reached the top, he selected the key, but the door was broken in two. Splinters of wood covered the floor.  

He entered the office, and Butch stood by the window, surveying the dock. 

“Was it really necessary to break the door down?” Solanio asked. 

Butch bared his teeth, flashing Solanio the look of a growling wolf. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Solanio said. “Are you ready to depart?” 

“My crew are waiting in an estuary up the river.” 

“Then let’s go and meet these fine fellows of yours.” 

“After you,” Butch snarled. 

Solanio led the giant down the steps, but he hesitated before emerging into the street. He turned back and placed a hand on Butch’s chest, stopping him dead. 

“It’s better that we’re not seen together,” Solanio said. “Watch where I go, and follow without drawing attention to yourself. Can you do that?” 

Butch sighed. 

Solanio paced over the cobblestones, through the berths to a sleek skiv with all the trappings. He boarded, and from his keychain, selected the combination of keys that would start the engine. 

Butch blundered a path behind him, and when he stepped aboard the skiv, it dipped and rocked under his weight. 

“Stay down.” Solanio turned the keys and the engine ignited. With movements swift as a striking snake, Solanio piloted the boat out of the bay and up the river. 

He pressed his hand against the pistol in his pocket and prayed that he need not use it. The craft skittered over the waves with the speed of a skycrawler’s dive, following the barge which held the eye. The eye he was about to steal from his own men, trained to withstand any ambush. Trained to kill. 

He rubbed the ring on his finger. This had better be worth it, he thought. 

Balthasar watched the soldiers emerge from the Guild Hall. They entered taverns and swigged ale in a raucous manner that befitted animals, not officers. He shook his head at these so-called “warriors.” Where was their code, their creed, their honor? The only war they seemed capable of fighting was the one with their liver, judging by the amount they drank. 

Through these louts, Solanio–with a Guild ring on his finger!–made his way to the barge, and with a wave of his hand, the kraken’s eye began its journey upriver. 

Balthasar’s fingertips bristled with the urge to follow the eye. But the bandit in the window didn’t move. Something else was going on here. Something else lurked in these shadows.

The two purple-eyed men returned to their hovercraft, and its violet sail followed the barge. But Balthasar focused on Solanio. He entered a building and appeared in the upper window with the bandit. 

The Guild in league with bandits? No surprise there.

Balthasar traced Solanio and his bandit lapdog as they boarded another skiv and ventured up the river. Balthasar adjusted the mirrored panels of his hovercraft to better reflect the riverbank and struck after them, carrying the storm with him. For plotting with criminals, Solanio deserved all that was coming to him. They all deserved the thunder. And Balthasar would bring it, for there was no stopping the wind. 

If you enjoyed Shanel and Frasier’s story, feel free to leave comments below.

And in just two more days, on Friday, we’ll bring you the exciting conclusion of “Out of Shadows” in Part 3!

If you would like to read more about Newlondon right now, try “The Beast Below” which kicked off the Newlondon stories in the Globe Folio series.

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

P.S. Now you can enjoy the Globe Folio from the beginning:

Act 1: Night of the Rocket

Act 2: Nights of Revelation

Now you’re all caught up. But don’t worry, we have more stories from the Globe on the way soon!

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

No comments

Secrets swirl in the Newlondon Harbor

  By ,

Out of Shadows

BY SHANEL WILSON AND FRASIER ARMITAGE

PART ONE

Sea fret clouded Newlondon’s winding streets, hiding Solanio as he scurried to the dock. The tang of salt tinted the air, stinging his eyes. His keys jangled at his side, masked by voices which echoed from the harbor, filling the narrow alleyway with a clamor of anticipation. 

“Solanio,” a voice whispered, and a shadow cut through the air. 

“Is that you, Prospero?” Solanio asked. 

“The same. And we have company.” 

Photo by Maksim ŠiŠlo.

Solanio ducked around the corner, following Prospero’s shadow, and stumbled into the hulking frame of another man. His tattered camouflage and the scars down his cheeks revealed him better than the knives he carried. 

“Solanio, meet the ‘Butcher of Wildcat Fields.’ ” 

“You can call me Butch,” the man said through gritted teeth, with a grimace that Solanio interpreted as an attempted smile. 

“Butch has served the Guild for many a cycle,” Prospero said. The Head of the Guild seemed out of place in this alleyway. Solanio had witnessed Prospero granting waivers of entry to the auction over the kraken’s eye these past few days, his gold chains radiating an aura of invincibility about him. But here, crouched before a giant whose reputation as a bandit haunted the nightmares of many a Newlondon boy, the glint of Prospero’s gold could not stave off the frailty of age. Beneath his chains hid a shriveled old man, exposed by the gloom. 

“What use has the Guild of a man with Butch’s talents on such an auspicious day?” Solanio asked. 

“You already know that delegates from every city are coming to bid for the eye.” Prospero ran his thumb across his whiskers. “When was the last time pollium washed up on our shores? This is an opportunity too good to pass up.” 

“But Prospero, it didn’t wash up. Antonio slayed the kraken and retrieved the eye.” 

“Details best forgotten, Solanio. How much would the pollium in that eye be worth if it were dissected and sold to friends of ours, like Butch here?” 

“You mean bandits?” 

Butch snarled a grunt at Solanio’s carelessness. 

Solanio patted him on the arm. “No offense, friend.” 

“A guaranteed fortune,” Prospero said. 

Solanio frowned. “I doubt even the richest bandits could afford to compete with the other cities in the auction.” 

“Precisely. Which is where Butch comes in.”

Solanio scratched his head. Even the depths of his cunning could not fathom Prospero’s machinations. “How?” 

Prospero rolled his eyes. “By stealing back the eye after it’s been sold. Think of it. We shall take the profit of the sale, and then double it once the eye is returned to us by Butch and his companions.” 

“But what of the reputation of our transports?” Solanio balked. “Would the Globers not think we’ve lost control of the riverways? What security would they trust to us then?” 

Prospero rubbed his eyes. “Solanio, you think so small sometimes. Really, I’m surprised at you. This wouldn’t be the first time the Guild has elicited the help of roamers and bandits. No offense, Butch.” 

Butch grunted once again, crossing his arms. 

“Sometimes, ” Prospero continued, “it’s good for the other cities to be reminded how dangerous the riverways can be. Help them see why they need our guides and protection. Isn’t that so?” Prospero nodded to Butch. 

The giant smiled, or at least, that’s what Solanio hoped the baring of Butch’s sharpened teeth meant. 

“And you—” Prospero turned and placed his hands on Solanio’s shoulders, “—you shall be right by his side the entire time, my dear boy.” 

Solanio’s eyes bulged. “But, Prospero, am I not needed here?” 

“Your barge is being used to transport the eye, Solanio. Don’t you want to make sure nothing happens to your ship when it runs aground?” 

“Well, of course, but—”

“Besides, Butch and his cohorts will require a skiv to derail the transport. And who better to supply one than your own reliable self?” Prospero raised an eyebrow. 

Solanio was shrewd enough to know when he’d been backed into a corner. But there are opportunities even in the darkest corners. “Does this honor not belong to a Guild member, Prospero?” Now it was Solanio who cocked his eyebrow. 

Photo by Tigran Hambardzumyan.

Prospero’s lips curled. “Of course. If all goes well at the auction, your membership will be assured. You’ll accompany Butch with a Guild ring on your finger.” 

Solanio reached across to Butch and offered his hand. Butch shook it, his grip crushing Solanio’s fingers. 

“I believe we have reached an accord,” Solanio said. “Do you know of my business? My office on the docks?” 

Butch nodded. “Prospero told us where to find you.” 

“Meet me there after the auction, and we’ll take the swiftest skiv in my fleet.” 

“As you wish.” Butch released Solanio’s hand and disappeared into the fog. 

Prospero tapped Solanio’s shoulder and lowered his voice to barely a whisper. “It’ll be up to you to make sure those fish-brained thugs don’t get greedy and keep the eye for themselves. Take this.” Prospero slipped a pistol into Solanio’s hand. “It’ll fire a wide burst, killing everything in its path.” 

“If you have a weapon such as this, what use have you of me?” Solanio concealed the pistol in the folds of his jacket. 

“This is a task for a younger man, Solanio. Besides, the first thing a man of influence must learn is the art of deniability.” 

“I understand.” 

With knees as weak as Prospero’s, it’s no wonder he wanted Solanio to take the fall. “All eyes will be on Newlondon at the auction today. Do not let us down, my boy.” 

“Have no fear, Prospero. It won’t be the first auction I’ve helmed.” 

“And may it not be the last.” Prospero’s good wishes were always laced with the menace of an underlying threat. The old man withered into the alley, leaving Solanio to navigate a path through the cobbles to the harbor, to the auction that would determine his fate. 

Ripples washed against the side of Balthasar’s skiv. A whisper of grass swayed across riverbank meadows. Pale light from the moons above reflected across his face as Balthasar opened his eyes, finished his meditation, and stood from the shrine aboard his skiv. 

He breathed a lungful of river air and sensed he was alone. With one swift motion, he lowered his arm through a gap in the hull and adjusted the mirrored panels to better reflect the riverbank, concealing his craft from any who might sail across it. 

Satisfied that nobody was watching, he straightened his back, and removed a long samurai blade from its sheath. He pulled a hood over his face, completing the full suit of his black, armored robes, and activated a drone. 

“My blade is the wind,” he said aloud.
Photo by Krys Amon.

“My blade is the wind,” he said aloud. 

He swung the sword in a perfect circle, as one with the breeze. 

“Gentle, yet strong.” 

He pirouetted and lunged the tip of his steel at an invisible enemy, sweeping back in a lightning-fast arc that sliced the air. 

“I command the quietest breeze and the fiercest hurricane.” 

There was no sound to his movements. Only his whisper, and the whistle of the sword as he wielded it in a ritual that sharpened his mind, his senses, and his muscular frame as well as the blade itself. 

“The wind obeys me.” 

He finished in a flurry, missing the drone by no more than an eyelash, before the blade came to rest in its sheath, and he knelt before the shrine to bow one final time. 

With a flick of his wrist, he recalled the drone and projected the holographic recording it had captured across the deck. The machine had kept up with his movements, and he watched the transmission from beginning to end, satisfied his reprogramming of the device was finally complete. 

From the buckle of his belt, a light emitted, blinking a code. 

Shadows meet at dusk. 

A message from Leonato. Balthasar knew his task. He understood his mission well enough. 

Balthasar took the talisman from around his waist, the eel that looped to eat its own tail, and composed a sonar-gram in reply. 

I walk among them. 

Balthasar sent the message through the water, carried up the river along the network of sonar relay units the Shadow Walkers used in secret. He had accepted the task. His path would be in shadow. 

In a single leap, he bounded to the navigation console of his mirrored craft and pitched it across the water towards Newlondon and the auction, the wind whipping his hood and watering his eyes. 

Solanio slipped slicker than an eel through the bustling dockyard. The rising sun had sent its heat to accompany the light reflected from the moons, and it burnt through the smog to reveal barges and sails littering the bay. Finsbers, Hallers, and Westies flooded the docks, filling taverns with their cheer. 

Photo by K. Mitch Hodge.

Solanio wouldn’t have minded sharing a drink with a Finsber or a Westie. But the thought of Hallers swigging good Newlondon ale churned his stomach tighter than a stormy sea. 

Those brown-eyed lubbers thought they owned the Globe. Solanio still remembered the tales his father had told him—how the men of Whitehall long ago had dumped waste from their engines and factories into the ocean. How Newlondoners had objected to the pollution of the sea, and the Hallers dismissed them as simpletons. And how the creatures of the deeps absorbed that toxic sludge, and grew into gigantic monsters.

Scores of fishermen lost their lives to the beasts that glowed in the dark and swallowed ships whole. Cycle after cycle, ever more ferocious krakens demolished the city when they crept out of the ocean in search of food, before the pulsar cannons warded off their attacks and confined them to the abyss of the ocean’s deep. Sure, the creatures’ bodies may have become a source of pollium, a mineral precious to the Globers which Newlondoners could sell, but at what cost? All those lives lost because the Hallers thought they had the right to dispose of their garbage in Newlondon’s domain. Because they thought they were better. 

And here they were, brown-eyed Haller knaves filling Solanio’s city with their pomp and snobbery. He wished he could put them all on deathships and sail them into the waiting maws of the creatures their arrogance had made. The way he’d sent Antonio to his supposed death. But look at how that had turned out. 

Now his only friend, his brother, Antonio, festered as a smuggler in the Hallers’ cells. And Antonio had only himself to blame for it. No. It was the Hallers. It was they who’d sent their drones and recorded Antonio when he’d defended himself against men like Butch. The Hallers had driven Antonio to that deathship. And if Antonio had not betrayed him by stealing Bianca, then all would’ve been well between them still. Antonio’s haughtiness had put him in that cell, with the Hallers, where men of his sort belonged. 

Solanio passed the amethyst sails of barges from Westminster, the emerald flags of Finsbury farmers, and the pearlescent glow of Whitehall’s insignia as he reached the amphitheater constructed on the pier specifically for the auction. 

He took his place on the podium, in front of where a curtain hung to hide the kraken’s eye displayed behind it. A breeze fluttered the drapes, the fringe of a storm at sea. He glanced across the seats laid out in a semi-circle, and beyond them, to the horizon and the roiling waves. 

Photo by Birger Strahl.

Guild members entered the arena. Prospero approached, his beaming chains strengthening him with the air of dignity and authority. 

“Greetings, Prospero!” Solanio waved as if they hadn’t seen each other in an age. 

“Solanio, how goes it?” the old man replied. 

“All is well. Have representatives from each city arrived safely?” 

“Indeed they have. Allow me to summon them, and I shall introduce you.” Prospero turned and nodded to another Guild member, who vanished, and a great horn blasted across the dock. 

Crowds of Globers swarmed the amphitheater, the many colors of their eyes sparkling in a kaleidoscopic mix. 

One by one, a chosen few emerged from the audience and approached the platform. 

“This is Egeus of Finsbury,” Prospero said. 

A robed figure bowed to Solanio. They wore the sleekest apparel to cover their portly frame, but despite their finery, the trace of soil beneath their fingertips revealed their Finsber roots. No farmer could disguise their true station, not even in the noblest garb. “We hope the kraken’s eye will add to our storehouses.” The Finsber licked their lips. “Quite a delicacy, or so I’m led to believe.” 

“Trust a Finsber to think of food,” Prospero said, and the men laughed, before the farmer took their seat. 

“Next, may I present the honorable Rosencrantz and Guildenstern of Whitehall,” Prospero continued. 

Solanio gritted his teeth, but he managed to smile ingratiatingly at the two men whose smug demeanors made them tower like Whitehall’s city spires. 

“The Governor looks forward to when the eye will be delivered to Whitehall,” Rosencrantz said. 

“As does the Mayor,” Guildenstern added. 

“Will you both be bidding separately?” Solanio asked. 

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern flashed each other threatening looks before Rosencrantz forced a laugh to break the tension. 

“We are together in everything. Are we not, Guildenstern?” 

“Most assuredly. Have you ever known the Governor and Mayor to be at cross purposes?” Guildenstern rolled his eyes, yet, behind the show, the two men itched beneath their collars like hunters competing for prey. 

“The eye will replenish our pollium reserves, tripling the efficiency of our energy supplies,” Rosencrantz boasted, as though the kraken’s eye were already his. 

“I wish you success in your bidding,” Solanio said. 

“The sooner this is over and the pollium is in our factories, the better.” Guildenstern swept his cape back and impatiently took his seat. 

“And finally,” Prospero said, “may I present the brothers Sebastian and Gonzalo of Westminster.” 

“Ah, Eglamour’s sons, yes? We met the night of Captain Ward’s arrival. Is Eglamour unwell?” Solanio said. 

“Thank you for your concern about our father. He entrusted us with his invitation to ensure we win the bid,” Sebastian, the taller brother, said. A sly smile slid across his narrow face, and his violet eyes gleamed.

“We think you will be pleased with our offering,” Gonzalo added. He flicked his curly brown hair and grinned widely at his brother.

“Welcome, then. Please take your seats.” Solanio gestured to the chairs before them. He watched the brothers as they stationed themselves in their chairs. Their boyish excitement betrayed their inexperience in official affairs such as these.

Solanio scoured the audience, where people strained themselves for a view beyond the edges of the amphitheater. Where was Bianca? She should have been here to see him taking the lead, center stage, in command of all the Globe. But she was nowhere to be seen. He sighed and extended his arms, calling for quiet. The curtains parted, revealing the glowing, green eye, and a hush descended on the crowd. 

“Welcome, one and all, to the—” 

The cobalt hull of a Polity flier thundered down in the center of the theater.
Photo by Brian McGowan.

A crash of engines whirred overhead, interrupting Solanio’s speech. The cobalt hull of a Polity flier thundered down in the center of the theater. Its thrusters pushed chairs out of place to make room for its bulk, and the landing gears crunched as it settled on the ground. 

From inside, Leonardo led Captain Ward of the Polity down a ramp, and onto the stage. Solanio recognised Leonardo from that first night when the Polity arrived. Kite Night. Was Leonardo to play tour-guide to the Polity? Trust them to put their faith in a Haller. Fools. Behind Ward, Polity officers swarmed out of the small craft. 

“Captain Ward,” Solanio said. “How good of you to join us. Are you here to bid on the kraken’s eye, too?” 

“What does the Polity need with a trinket like that? We’re not here to pick up souvenirs.” Her expression was as stern as her marine body armor. 

Leonardo stepped between Ward and Solanio. “I think what Captain Ward means to say is that she would like to tour the city, and assess its value to the Polity. If you would permit her the honor to do so?” 

Solanio cast a glance at Prospero, who nodded. 

“I believe that we can accommodate the good Captain. But there is no finer place to analyze the value of Newlondon than right here. Let the bids of the other cities show the Polity that Newlondon is a treasure of the Globe.” 

Captain Ward shrugged. “It’s not like there’s anything else here besides a few brothels and casinos masquerading as hotels and taverns along this crummy dock.” 

Solanio forced a smile to slither across his lips and pointed to the few vacant spots around the theater. “Won’t you and your men take a seat, Captain? I’m sure you’ll find it enlightening to observe the auction.” 

The other delegates made way for the Polity officers to station themselves around the arena. Guild members smothered the newcomers with welcoming smiles. The esteemed bidders from the remaining cities crowded in front of the flier. 

Solanio silenced the fury that burned inside his stomach. Ward had made him look a fool in front of the entire Guild. But he’d defused her condescension better than any Guild member. Still, her presence in the auditorium made him question what else could go wrong. 

“Now that we’re all here, is everyone ready to begin?” 

Balthasar throttled his skiv around the bay. He angled the mirrors to reflect the ocean back towards the coast and powered around the multitude of barges competing for space at the docks. 

A crowd surrounded an open theater constructed for the purpose of pure ostentation. Inside the arena, a metallic flier rested. The Polity, no doubt. 

He eased off the throttle and let the rising tide sweep him closer. 

On a stage, he spotted his target. The kraken’s eye. It bulged in a greenish glow, radiating pollium through the swollen gloop of its hide. 

Balthasar knelt before his shrine and closed his eyes, whispering in a voice soft as moonlight. “May the ocean forgive me for what I am yet to do.” 

Solanio turned to the kraken’s eye displayed on the stage behind him. It sat on a hand-carved pedestal, it’s dripping, green goo contained within a custom-made glass-and-metal globe handblown and crafted by none other than the reclusive and mysterious Artist of the Wildcat Glassworks. Solanio himself had commissioned the work, insisting to Prospero that the extra cost would easily be recovered in the enhanced bidding the functional artwork would attract.

Photo by TheMIS Photography.

“Shall we start the bidding at ten thousand?” 

Egeus raised an eager hand, though it looked more like a grubby paw to Solanio.
“Thank you to our Finsbury delegate for opening the bid. Do I hear twenty thousand?”

“Twenty thousand,” Rosencrantz and Guildenstern echoed in unison.

“Twenty thousand to Whitehall.” Solanio watched them smile at each other through gritted teeth. “Thirty thousand?”

The Finsber raised their hand again. Solanio swore he could see saliva dripping from their chin as well. 

“Thank you for thirty thousand. Forty?” Solanio avoided looking in Prospero’s direction, fearing what he would see in his expression.

“Why don’t we make this interesting, shall we? One hundred thousand.” Sebastian stood, smiling broadly to the crowd.

“A generous raise from the Westminster delegate.” Solanio nodded to Sebastian. “One hundred thousand. Any other offers?” 

Egeus wiped their mouth and looked sullen. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern exchanged tentative glances, waiting to see if the other would bid any more.

“It is an impressive bid, but this is a once in a lifetime opportunity! Any other takers?” Solanio gestured to the eye as enticingly as he could. 

“One hundred and fifty thousand!” cried Guildenstern. 

Rosencrantz gaped, red-faced. He opened his mouth to speak, when Gonzalo of Westminster jumped to his feet, next to his standing brother.

“One hundred and fifty thousand and ten of our Brides. One for each of the Guild House members!” Sebastian said. Sebastian’s eyes swept the crowd, from Solanio to Prospero, finally landing on Captain Ward. 

Gasps rippled through the audience. Gonzalo proudly preened under the attention their bid gave them. Sebastian had not taken his eyes off Ward. A hint of malice swirled in his violet eyes above his ever present smile. Ward crossed her arms and returned her attention to the podium. The murmurs grew until Solanio pounded his fist on the podium.

“Quiet, please!” Solanio demanded.

“I was under the impression only monetary bids would be accepted! This is outrageous!” cried Guildenstern.

“Whitehall controls the employment of Brides, not Westminster.” Rosencrantz stamped his boot. “The Governor will not stand for this bid to be accepted!” 

“Don’t be sore because you cannot outbid us, Whitehaller. Our Brides are just as valuable without your surgical intervention. And I am sure members of the Guild will be glad to utilize all their skills, not just their vision.” Sebastian winked at Prospero. 

Solanio looked to the Head of the Guild. A chuckle rippled through Prospero’s thick gut, and he nodded for Solanio to continue. 

Solanio raised his hands to calm the crowd. “Gentlemen, please. Your invitations indicated that the most valuable bid would win. There was no mention of what form the bid must be made in. Can anyone match the value of ten Westminster Brides?” It was a pointless question. Who on the Globe could have matched the value of even one Westminster Bride? Let alone ten! “Very well. If there are no more bids, I will close the auction.” 

Solanio paused for the delegates to respond. 

Egeus shook his head, his eyes already scanning for the nearest pub to get something to eat. 

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern steamed, but their hands remained firmly in their laps. 

Solanio clapped his hands together three times. “Sold. The eye belongs to the brothers Sebastian and Gonzalo, representing Westminster. Congratulations, gentlemen.” 

Sebastian and Gonzalo bowed and waved to the crowd. A round of uncomfortable applause broke out among those who had gathered to view the auction. 

“As agreed prior to the sale, I shall arrange transport of the eye to Westminster,” Solanio said. 

“Thank you, Solanio. We are most grateful that you accepted our bid. You and the Guild will not be disappointed.” Sebastian placed his hand on his heart in an exaggerated gesture of sincerity. 

“This concludes the auction. Peace be with you all.” Solanio exited the stage, and Prospero was the first to greet him. 

“It sold for more than any of us had hoped for. A fine performance, Solanio, despite the interruption.” Prospero glanced at Ward, who stood and marched directly towards them. 

She carried herself with an assassin’s deliberation, deadly as a bullet. 

Solanio puffed out his chest. The other cities were willing to pay such a high price for the eye. Surely she could see how valuable the Guild’s cooperation would be to the Polity. How valuable he might be. This was a victory even she would have to concede. With the riches this haul of pollium had drawn, Newlondon would no longer be the city on the edge of the world. It would emerge from the shadows as a beacon to the Globe. A lighthouse on the shore. And Solanio would be at the heart of the resurgence, casting the light where he wished. 

“Captain Ward,” Solanio bowed. “We meet again. How did you enjoy our little gathering? I trust you found it . . . educational.”  

Leonardo hurried behind her. “But there’s so much they can do,” he said. “You don’t need to go through with it. Newlondon is rich in—” 

“Pack it in, Leonardo,” Ward snapped, batting him away like an insect. Her men swarmed around her, hands on their weapons. She glared at Solanio with a look so sharp it could cut a kraken’s hide. “Gather your leaders.” Her voice boomed with the authority of thunder. “We need to talk.” 

Balthasar watched the commotion unfold on the shore until Solanio clapped thrice. The woman in the sleek white uniform–the one from the Polity flier–marched towards Solanio. 

The Guild members followed Solanio out of the amphitheater, down the pier and into the Guild Hall, towing Polity soldiers in their wake. Balthasar did not know Solanio well, but everyone in Newlondon knew everyone else to some degree. He always thought Solanio smiled too much; had never fully trusted the man. Clearly, Solanio had risen in station lately.

Balthasar tracked the green eye. Men packed it in a crate and lifted it from its pedestal. 

Two purple-eyed men signed a contract, and handed over bag after bag of doubloons. 

The crowd dispersed along the harbor wall, and from a window above them, Balthasar spotted the outline of a giant peering down at the dock. A bandit. His scarred face glowered at the crate which held Balthasar’s target. 

Balthasar reached for his blade but checked his hand. He could afford to wait. The time would come for the storm he carried within his palms to break. But not yet. Now was the time for stealth, the time for shadow. 

In the distance, on the horizon, the air grew hot. He closed his eyes and sensed the war between sky and sea. He felt it on his skin, on his breath, on his blade. The coming storm. 

“The wind obeys me,” he whispered to himself, and he opened his eyes, cemented them on the crate, and waited for the thunder. 

Dark waves crash beneath a glowering sky of clouds.
Photo by Charl Folscher.

If you enjoyed Shanel and Frasier’s story, feel free to leave comments below.

And in just two more days, on Wednesday, we’ll bring you Part 2 of “Out of Shadows” and on Friday, we reveal the exciting conclusion in Part 3!

If you would like to read more about Newlondon right now, try “The Beast Below” which kicked off the Newlondon stories in the Globe Folio series.

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

P.S. Now you can enjoy the Globe Folio from the beginning:

Act 1: Night of the Rocket

Act 2: Nights of Revelation

Now you’re all caught up. But don’t worry, we have more stories from the Globe on the way soon!

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

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Bianca joins the Shadow Walkers to save her love

  By ,
Bianca stands atop the seaside cliffs of Newlondon

Siren’s Song

BY SHANEL WILSON

PART TWO

Nearly a week had passed and still no real news from Emilia or from the Shadow Walkers. Bianca’s feet tapped under her desk anxiously. Leonato was out at a “meeting” and all of the traders had their assignments early because of the Kraken eye auction this afternoon. She could only organize the same stack of logs for so long. Bianca placed the last stack into her desk drawer then stood, stretching.

“I’ve been cooped up here long enough this week. I need the sea.” Bianca closed her hand around the twine that encircled her finger.

“That is a wise plan, M’lady. Would you like me to set the closing mode?” Meg asked.

“Yes, please.” Bianca walked to the front of the office.

“Have a pleasant rest of your day, Lady Bianca.” Meg switched off the overhead lights, leaving the office lit by the late morning haze. 

“Thank you, Meg.” Bianca felt the salty air on her cheeks as she opened the door.

Bianca pulled out her key and twisted it in the lock. She strode down the cobblestones. She needed to get out to the sea cliffs where she used to meet Antonio, the same cliffs where he had proposed before all of this mess got in the way. She needed the salty air and the crash of the waves against the rocks. She needed something that would make her feel closer to her love when he was so far away.

The quickest path was to cut through the docks. With the last minute preparations for the auction, the docks were full of activity. She saw colorful sails of ships from the other cities’ delegates arriving in the harbor. She was bombarded by the shouts of crews preparing the slips for their arrival. Bianca hoped she could sneak through the chaos without drawing too much attention to herself. She gracefully navigated through the twists and turns of the ropes strewn about. Overhead, the amphitheater cast an eerie shadow like a massive deathship looming taller than the masts and barge ships. Bianca sneered at the sight and turned to find a different way around to avoid it.

She gracefully navigated through the twists and turns of the ropes strewn about.
Photo by Denise Jans.

“Dear Bianca! What a surprise to see you out and about today!” A cold voice echoed off the sails surrounding her. 

Bianca stopped dead in her tracks, every muscle in her body tensing. The approaching sound of leather boots clicking on the wood planks of the dock sent a chill through her like someone had slipped a codfish down the back of her dress. Bianca fought to relax her face before she turned to see Solanio standing before her.

“Hello, Solanio. I hope you have been well.” Bianca strained to give a polite smile.

“Much better now that I have found you. I’ve missed that radiant face.” Solanio reached to touch her cheek. 

“Well, I see you have been very busy recently.” Bianca sashayed out of his reach and gestured to the amphitheater. 

“Ah, yes. Looks quite impressive, doesn’t it? Today is the culmination of much toil. Seeing you on this fateful day is a good sign. Please, will you walk with me for a while?” Solanio offered his elbow to Bianca.

Bianca hesitated as she felt the bile rise in her throat at the idea of touching the repugnant creature before her. Then she thought of the filthy Haller prison Solanio had sent Antonio to. Before her anger could boil over, Bianca swallowed hard and gingerly slipped her hand into his arm, letting him guide her toward the amphitheater. She remembered her father’s words, Shadow Walkers must use the cards they are dealt and gain the advantage. She might not be a Shadow Walker herself, but this was her chance to do something to help Antonio. 

“So where have you been hiding those blue eyes?” Solanio puffed his chest out as they passed a group of rough-hewn seamen, displaying Bianca for all to see. 

“I have been working in my father’s office, as always. With the arrival of the Polity, we’ve been quite busy. That commander of theirs must be important to need my Antonio for all this time.” Bianca tried to appear casual, glancing around the barges to avoid Solanio’s piercing gaze.  

“Ah, yes, well. I would have thought you had heard by now.” Solanio stretched his neck awkwardly. “I am sorry to bear this tragic news to my best friend’s fiancée, but Antonio has betrayed you, betrayed us all. He was caught smuggling by the Hallers while on the way to meet with the Polity. Terrible business, really. The silver lining is that we found out what kind of man he really was before you two were wed.”

Solanio barely hid his serpentine smile. Bianca’s blood boiled seeing how much delight Solanio was taking in telling her his deceptive tale. To cover the heated flush rushing to her cheeks, she let tears rim her eyes.

“No, that can’t be! You know Antonio would never do such a thing.” Bianca froze in place for dramatic effect and used the chance to pull her arm away from Solanio.

“It must be such a shock to hear. I was shocked to learn of it myself.” Solanio shook his head grimly. “I see now that his charm was a great disguise. Don’t be hard on yourself for believing him. I thought of him as a brother, and yet he turned out to be the most vile of villains.”

“I can’t believe he would do such a thing. Where is he? What is to become of him?” Bianca let her tears fall freely, hoping Solanio would believe her poor damsel act instead of seeing her hatred of him brimming inside her.  

“That is for Whitehall to decide. He’s better off there if you ask me. If he were to show his face in Newlondon after what he’s done, there would be a far worse fate than, say, being locked on a deathship for that traitor.” Solanio’s teeth clenched below his furrowed brow. 

Bianca took a step back as Solanio’s bared his teeth menacingly and his breathing grew ragged. A crewman’s whistle broke through the air, snapping Solanio out of his rage. He flicked his hair and smoothed his collar. The calm facade was restored, unnerving Bianca more than the monster below the surface she had just glimpsed.

“I really need to go.” Bianca backed away, not taking her eyes off of Solanio.

“I understand. I, myself, must meet someone before the start of the auction.” The darkness returned to Solanio’s eyes for an instant, confirming an undercurrent of malice before his long stride closed the gap between them, trapping Bianca against the side of a barge. “I am sure your pretty little head is just reeling with this sad news. Fear not though, I am always here for you, my dear Bianca.” 

“That is kind of you.” Bianca paled, barely summoning the words as he loomed over her.

“Bianca, would you promise me something? Would you honor me by coming to the auction? I believe you’ll find it highly enlightening.” Solanio took her hand, kissing it.

“I will try.” Bianca pulled her hand away as she slipped around him disappearing into the crowd before he could trap her again. 

Bianca pulled her hand away as she slipped around him, disappearing into the crowd before he could trap her again. 
Photo by Cas Holmes.

Bianca raced as fast as her legs could carry her, dodging nets and fishing pots. She shuddered, still feeling his hot breath on her cheek. She ran past the edge of the jetty, trying to escape from any lingering part of Solanio’s presence that might be clinging to her. Only once she reached the slope leading to the clifftop, did Bianca allow her pace to slow. 

She nestled into a soft patch of tall grasses and stared out at the tumultuous sea. She pulled out her medallion. She traced the curve of the eel and stopped at the crystal eye. She closed her eyes, willing it to blink with news from Valentine. When she opened them again, the crystal was still dull and lifeless. 

Bianca let the sea air wash over her, losing herself in thought. Hours passed and dark clouds began to gather over the rough waters. It felt like an omen blowing toward her. A song swelled in her soul and she let the words sail on the wind. A blue light pierced through the grey that swirled around her. The blue crystal eye of the eel medallion blinked. Bianca closed her eyes and squeezed the center of the medallion. The automated voice relayed Valentine’s message.

Bianca’s heart soared, knowing she would soon be reunited with her dear Antonio. She sang as she raced to meet Valentine, 

Carve the waves to save my beau,
It’s time to change this tale of woe,
Yohoho, row nonny, row.

Water sprayed Bianca and Valentine’s cloaks as they sliced through the Elizabeth River toward Whitehall on Valentine’s stealthy skiv. The sisters sat pressed together behind the controls since the bow was covered in a tarp securing Valentine’s rigging and gear. Bianca couldn’t understand why the sharp smell of salt burned her nostrils this far up the river, but her thoughts were interrupted when Valentine handed Bianca a small key. 

“That key will unlock Antonio’s cell. Emilia’s message said that she would override the shielding and security protocols with her Bride trainer, Cleo, from the inside.” Valentine gripped the skiv controls as they edged around a sandy bank. “You need to get the key to Antonio. Emilia also sent a map that will lead you to a window slit in Antonio’s cell.”

Bianca stared at the delicate key. The small piece of metal was light as a quicksilver’s scale yet Bianca felt like she held the weight of the world in her hand. Without this key, there would be no rescue. 

“Me? Where are you going?” Bianca closed her hand around the key. 

“I have my own tasks. I need to make sure the Guild believes they’ve gotten away with their deceptions while keeping the meddling Hallers in the dark.”

“But once we have Antonio, we can’t let these villains get away. Solanio and the Guild have to pay for their cruelty once and for all!” Bianca’s cheeks burned as her anger bubbled to the surface.

“You know that Father has been waiting for his chance to uncover the treachery of the Guild for ages. Trust me. They will not be able to hide for much longer.” Valentine gently placed her hand on Bianca’s. “It is my job to make sure the Hallers don’t send their drones after us and alert the Guild. So I need to make sure the cell isn’t empty.”

“What are you trying to say?” Bianca’s brow furrowed.

“Do you remember the Shadow Walkers helped remove the body of that pirate I found on Antonio’s skiv?” Valentine slipped her hand back to the controls. 

Bianca’s eyes flew to the tarp in the bow. 
Photo by Shane.

Bianca’s eyes flew to the tarp in the bow.  

“No. You can’t be serious. How . . . ? Where . . . ?” Bianca stammered, her face turning green.

“Shadow Walkers embalmed the pirate in the brackish waters of one of our hidden estuaries when we got word of Antonio’s imprisonment. It became apparent that we would need a decoy to avoid suspicion if we hoped to successfully help Antonio escape.” Valentine slowed the skiv at the edge of the Forest of Arden. “The Hallers won’t even notice it’s a different person, though the salt did shrink him closer to Antonio’s height. As long as they have a body, they’ll think Antonio died, and their uneasy alliance with the Guild will be complete.” 

Bianca, mouth gaping, stared at her sister’s calm face. Although she knew the lengths the Shadow Walkers went to in order to complete the missions Leonato set for them, she was somehow unprepared when it was her own sister that was given such a grisly task. Bianca reached forward and pulled back a corner of the tarp. She found a pair of black boots identical to Antonio’s awkwardly pressed against the bulkhead. Her hand flew to cover her mouth with the sudden fear that if she removed the rest of the tarp, she would see Antonio’s face instead of the pirate’s. Valentine reached over Bianca and replaced the tarp over the pirate.

“Bianca, think for a moment. What a fitting end for the pirate that attacked Antonio, ultimately  bringing on all of this heartache and strife. Left in a cell to rot, it is exactly what a scoundrel like him deserves.” Valentine steered the skiv into a tall patch of shrubs and killed the engine.

Bianca intertwined her fingers to keep them from shaking. Valentine wrapped her arm around her sister, holding her for a moment. Bianca gave Valentine a squeeze back and a half-hearted smile in an unspoken gesture to let Valentine know she was okay once again. Valentine returned the squeeze then reached into her pack and pulled out a scroll.

“This is the map you’ll need. It will lead you to the wall to find Antonio’s cell. When your medallion blinks, send the key through the window slit. Then return here and stay out of sight.” Valentine handed Bianca the scroll. “Emilia will meet Antonio in the cell block and escort him through the Vestra work passages to an external door. I will get the pirate to his final resting place with Cleo. We will all meet you here.”

Bianca unrolled the map. Valentine used the secret code they had created as girls to label the landmarks. If someone found the map, they wouldn’t even know which way was up let alone where it led. The last bit of tension melted out of Bianca’s shoulders, knowing Valentine had thought of everything. 

“Okay, I will see you soon.” Bianca smiled at her sister, confident the plan was going to work. She would have Antonio in her arms again soon.

Bianca carefully made her way to the edge of the forest when Whitehall’s shining exterior wall came into view. She stayed within the safety of the treeline but kept the wall in her line of sight. Bianca read the next map point, labeled Anchor’s White to Bitter End. A white light usually was lit at the top of the mast when a boat was anchored. The boat Valentine meant must be Antonio’s cell. Bianca scanned the exterior wall again. Sure enough, she found a floodlight illuminating the pristine white wall. Through the light’s glare, she saw it.

“A window slit!” Bianca gripped the map tighter. “And to Bitter End . . . That means the end of an anchor. Antonio! It’s Antonio’s cell! Valentine, you clever girl.” Bianca hugged herself knowing Antonio was so close.

Bianca pulled the key out from her pocket. She unwound the twine Antonio had put on her finger and tied it into a small bow on the key. With the key in one hand and her eel medallion in the other, Bianca waited for her signal. Her legs shook and her palms became pools of sweat. She could barely restrain herself from running straight across the open field while screaming Antonio’s name. Bianca closed her eyes and took a long meditative breath. When she opened her eyes again, the eel’s eye pulsed blue. A jolt of electricity shot through Bianca’s veins. She carefully looked to see if the coast was clear. Satisfied that it was, she pulled her hood over her head and silently crossed the open field toward the light. 

When Bianca reached the edge of floodlight’s reach, her melody from the clifftop echoed in her mind. She waited just outside the pool of light and whistled her siren song, hoping Antonio would know she was close. A whistle of the same tune echoed in response. Antonio! It’s him! Bianca’s heart sang within her. She crossed into the light only long enough to throw the key through the slit. She heard a faint clank of metal hitting metal. She leaned against the wall separating her from Antonio for a moment to say a silent prayer of protection to Elizabeth Hathaway before she raced into the darkness to wait for her love.

Bianca tried to sit patiently in the skiv while she waited for everyone to return. Thunder clapped overhead and rain started pelting her cloak. The unease she felt watching the storm roll in over Newlondon’s cliffs earlier settled back in the pit of her stomach. She climbed out of the skiv to get some cover from the pounding rain. In a concealed patch of shrubs and trees, Bianca paced to keep warm and keep her mind from drowning in dread. 

A bolt of lightning illuminated the dank forest for a moment followed by an explosive rumble of thunder. Photo by Sebastian Unrau.

“What can be taking so long?” Bianca muttered to herself, feeling the panic rise in her throat as she squinted into the rainy darkness.

A bolt of lightning illuminated the dank forest for a moment followed by an explosive rumble of thunder. Bianca jumped at the commotion, gripping her cloak tighter around her shoulders. She slumped into the squishy patch of muddy grass, pulling her knees into her chest.

“What if they have been captured? I can’t bear to think what they will do to Antonio or Valentine, or to poor Emilia!” Bianca buried her face in her hands. 

“We can worry about that another day,” a deep voice called in the dark.

“Antonio?” Bianca bolted up. 

Squelching footsteps crept closer and Antonio, Valentine, Emilia and another woman came into view. They were dripping under the cloaks that Valentine had brought to conceal them during their escape. The new woman’s eyes were a light violet that shone in the darkness. The deep hollows of Antonio’s cheek were covered in long stubble and dark circles rimmed his eyes. Bianca leapt up and threw her arms around him, tears already streaming down her cheeks. 

“My dearest Bianca! I knew you would come for me.” Antonio nestled into the curls of Bianca’s hair.

“Always and forever, my love.” Bianca kissed Antonio deeply.

Antonio brushed the tears from Bianca’s cheeks as they both smiled. Antonio replaced the twine onto Bianca’s finger and kissed it gently. Bianca squeezed Antonio’s hand and turned to Valentine and Emilia. She wrapped them in a strong hug.  

“Bless Hathaway, you are all safe. Thank you, both of you. You have no idea the gift you’ve given me.” Bianca squeezed them both tighter. 

“I could not have done it without Cleo.” Emilia drew Cleo into the group hug. 

“Thank you, Cleo. I thought Emilia was unique in her willingness to aid a complete stranger, but I see it must be a remarkable trait you Westies share. It is a pleasure to meet you.” Bianca’s eyes glittered with new tears. 

“No one should be caged. I am glad that more than one of us could be freed tonight.” Cleo winked. 

Bianca’s heart felt as if it would burst out of her chest. Her family was complete once again.

Bianca entwined herself in Antonio’s arms. “Let’s go home.” 

If you enjoyed Shanel’s story, feel free to leave comments below. If you would like to read more about Newlondon, read “The Beast Below,” which kicked off the Newlondon stories in the Globe Folio series.

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

P.S. Now you can enjoy the Globe Folio from the beginning:

Act 1: Night of the Rocket

Act 2: Nights of Revelation

Now you’re all caught up. But don’t worry, we have more stories from the Globe on the way soon!

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

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Antonio returns a hero after slaying the kraken

  By ,

The waves of the South Sea break against the docks of Newlondon on the morning after “The Night of the Rocket” . . .

Eyes Up the River

Part I

by Shanel Wilson and Frasier Armitage

The Tempest’s engine sputtered to a halt as the deathship reached its berth. Creaks and moans rippled through the ship, its ropes straining against the hull in the still churning water. Laid strewn across the deck, the massive creature’s corpse towered above the sail. The only piece missing was its grotesque, green eye that Antonio cradled in his hands. 

“Your valor will not be forgotten, men,” Antonio said to the few remaining members of the crew.  

Footsteps pounded down the dock toward them, shouts growing louder as they approached. 

“It’s true!”

“A kraken! I never thought I’d see the day!”

Antonio scanned the crowd for Bianca’s blue eyes. 

Prospero, the head of the Guild, pressed through the masses and reached the ship first. “Antonio? Is that you?” Prospero gawked. His gaze slipped from Antonio to the eye in his hands and then to the slain beast. 

Footsteps pounded down the dock toward them, shouts growing louder as they approached. Photo by Doruk Yemenici.

“We have returned with a slain Kraken, and here is the eye.” Antonio stepped off the ship next to Prospero. 

Prospero gingerly accepted the eye as if it were a bomb ready to detonate. “But how? Why are you here, on this deathship?” 

Antonio searched for words when his eyes landed on Solanio lurking toward the back of the throng. Antonio flushed with anger, forgetting Prospero altogether.

“I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation for all this, but now is not the time. There are more pressing issues,” Prospero said, grabbing Antonio’s attention. “We will secure the beast and you can report to the Guild House as soon as you’ve cleaned yourself up. Agreed? To think, all on the same night as the Rocket.”

“The rocket?” Antonio asked.

“Ah, yes. You’ll be filled in at the Guild House.” He turned to his men and motioned to the beast. “Get to work!”

Antonio twisted back to the crowd to find Solanio, but he was gone.

Dressed in his best shirt and pants, Antonio wound through the narrow streets of Newlondon to the Guild House. He wanted nothing more than to find Bianca, but he couldn’t keep the Guild waiting. The kraken would ensure a better future for them both. Besides, whatever the Guild decreed, Bianca was sure to find out soon enough. 

The jingling of keys caught Antonio’s attention. He turned down the alley toward the metallic rattle. “Why didn’t you stay at the docks and greet my return, brother?” he said to the figure who slipped a key in the door in front of them.

He turned down the alley toward the metallic rattle. Photo by Edoardo Frezet.

“Antonio!” Solanio stepped out of the building’s shadow. “Hero of the day! Quite the feat you’ve achieved, dear friend.”

“Yes, dear friend. An opportunity I would never have been given if it wasn’t for you, I think.” Antonio’s pulse raced as he approached the man he’d wrongfully trusted.

“A happy accident. You are alive with quite the prize in hand. No need to thank me for your good fortune. I wished only to help you in your time of need. Who knew I’d be more successful than either of us could’ve imagined?” Solanio’s tone dripped with affection to mask the biting jealousy barely hiding below the surface. The effect was not lost on Antonio. His rage burned brighter as he loomed large over Solanio, whose back was now pressed against the door he was trying to open.

“Solanio,” Antonio menaced, his finger digging into the other man’s chest. “Your great help was to lock me on a deathship knowing full well that none have returned before today. That is no ‘happy accident.’” Antonio reeled back to swing at Solanio’s smug, rat face. 

Solanio raised his hands in defense. “But it was an accident!”

Antonio dropped his fist, his shoulders still vibrating. “Enlighten me, then! How did this accident come about?” 

“You came back in the pitch-black, foggy night, desperate for my help!” Solanio roared in Antonio’s face, stepping forward. “Between the fog and darkness, I thought I was stowing you on one of my father’s ships. I returned to the docks this morning to fetch you when the deathship moored up. I was as shocked as anyone to discover you there.”

“Do you think I am that stupid? You can navigate the docks blindfolded!” 

“Stupid, no. Could a stupid person defeat a kraken? It’s clear you are exceedingly clever, dear Antonio. And as you can see, even I can make mistakes. I am just so thankful this mistake turned out so well. For you.” A mocking smile spread across his lips. “Aren’t you due at the Guild House by now?” 

Antonio glanced down the alley toward the street, then he turned back to Solanio. Before he could open his mouth to speak, Solanio had vanished. The door in front of him locked from the inside.

Antonio blew out an exasperated breath from his lips. “Will you stop disappearing like that!”

Solanio’s apparent betrayal churned in Antonio’s mind like a restless sea on his walk to the Guild House. Everyone makes mistakes, but Solanio wasn’t that careless. Was he? What would he gain if I hadn’t returned? 

People skittered in a frenzy along the dock, where seedy rooms-to-rent overlooked the bay. Trawlers queued for a berth to land. Everyone seemed to be searching for a skiv bound for Whitehall. All these people, and Bianca nowhere among them. Where can she be? 

Antonio passed through the milling crowds to the building jutting out at the pier’s end. He traipsed the stairs, his footsteps following him in echoes. A huge door with an emblem of a fish barred the way. He took the fish by its fin and knocked it thrice on the iron door. 

Creaking open, it swung on its hinges, and Antonio entered a lavish room. A dozen people sat in a crescent behind a ceremonial table. They sported the finest garb, all ruffles and trims. And their white moustaches were waxed with the utmost care. 

“Welcome, Antonio!” Prospero’s voice boomed from the center of the crescent. Golden chains hung around his neck. “On behalf of the Guild of Sailors, may I be the first to congratulate you on all you’ve done for Newlondon.” Applause shook the glass windows overlooking the sea. 

When was the last time any of these men were actually on the water? They might have owned the boats and gleaned the city’s wealth, but they’d lost their sailing legs a long time ago. 

“It takes a lot to impress the Guild, Antonio,” Prospero continued, rubbing his paunch. “But bringing back a Kraken? There’s enough pollium in the eye alone to restore prosperity to this city.” 

“I wish only enough to buy a ring for my bride,” Antonio answered. “As for the rest of it, you gentlemen would know far better than me what to do with it.” 

A murmur of smiles swept the room. “Your words do you credit, Antonio. And I think we’re all in agreement. Among the Guild, we recognise a good catch when we see it. And there’s no finer catch among men than you. Which is why we’re electing you to be a member of this Guild, for the services you’ve rendered to Newlondon. What do you say?” 

Antonio’s eyes popped. He’d have chosen wrestling with the tentacles of a kraken over facing the false smiles of the Guild any day. But how could he refuse? He knew better than to cross these men, or else any life with Bianca would sink to the bottom of the ocean. They might as well have placed an anchor around his neck. “I am honoured,” he said. “But what would be expected of me?” 

Prospero toyed with his golden chains. “Even when bestowed with this great honor, you are still thinking about how you may serve. Bravo, Antonio. There is one thing we were hoping you may do to cement your place at the table. I take it you saw the purple lights in the sky last night?” 

Antonio nodded. “They appeared after the battle with the kraken. I thought they were another beast coming for us.” 

Prospero raised an eyebrow. “You may be right about that. A Polity rocket landed near Whitehall. You know of the Polity, I take it?” 

Antonio frowned. “I know that Captain Elizabeth of the good ship Shakespeare warned of them when the first settlers landed all those generations ago.” 

Prospero folded his hands together, leaning forwards in his chair. “History is a funny thing. It has the habit of repeating itself. We heard from Leonardo at Whitehall that the Polity seek an audience with a representative from each of the five cities. We can think of no better sailor to send than you.” 

“You want me to go to Whitehall?” The blood drained from Antonio’s face. The drone. The pirate. That’s what landed me on the deathship in the first place! 

Prospero smiled. “It seems like all the world wishes to go to Whitehall. I take it you already have a skiv?” 

“Is there no one else more deserving of this,” Antonio paused, “privilege?”

Prospero shook his head. “None.” 

If the drone had reported back to Whitehall, I’d already be under arrest, from the moment I landed. Maybe it’ll be alright? Antonio chewed his lip. “Then I have no choice but to accept.” 

The only other chains he’d seen like the ones they’d bestowed upon him were the kind they kept in prisons. Photo by Vishnu Prasad.

“Excellent. Welcome to the Guild, Antonio.” Prospero stood and beckoned him forwards. He approached, and Prospero lowered the golden chains over Antonio’s head as the others applauded. The only other chains he’d seen like the ones they’d bestowed upon him were the kind they kept in prisons. 

“May I see my bride before I depart?” Antonio asked. 

“Of course. But don’t take too long. We don’t want to keep the other cities waiting. Or the Polity for that matter. Find out what they want and report back to us. We can then decide what should be done about the newcomers. And in the meantime, we’ll make arrangements to auction the kraken’s remains. Here.” Prospero took a signet ring from his pocket with an anchor engraved upon it. He placed it on Antonio’s finger before he lifted the chains from Antonio’s shoulders. “The ceremony is complete. If you get into any trouble, just show this ring. You’re a Guild member now, Antonio. Remember that.”

“Thank you.” Antonio stroked the ring as it pinched his skin. He bowed, and hurried out of the chambers, back along the pier. Bianca. I must find Bianca. 

Antonio sprinted to the one place he hadn’t looked for Bianca yet, their secret hideaway on the cliffs above the sea. He could barely fathom that it was at that very spot, two days ago, where Bianca agreed to be his forever. As he came over the crest of the hill, there she was. Her chestnut curls gently swayed in the breeze as she stared at the horizon.

“My sweet Bianca,” Antonio said quietly.

She spun toward him, her eyes wet as she wrapped him in a tight embrace. “Bless the Arrant Moon you are safe.” Bianca clasped Antonio’s face in her delicate hands, studying his face. 

A storm knitted in his brow and a fog clouded his eyes. 

Purple clouds over the cliffs of Moher. Photo by Simon Moore.

“I heard about the kraken,” she said. “I thought you had a trade run. And that same night, the Polity arrived? I believed they were little more than legend. Has the Globe changed so much in so little time?” 

Antonio looked away from her searching eyes. “The only thing that has not changed is my devotion to you, Bianca.” He took her hands in his and kissed her finger with the small cord wrapped around it.

“What are you hiding from me, Antonio?”

“I hide nothing. It’s just . . . there is so much to share but no time to do so.”

Then she saw it. The Guild ring on the finger where his matching cord had been. Bianca eyed the ring with surprise as she pulled her hands from his. A blush of suspicion spread across her cheeks to the tips of her ears. She knew his distaste for the questionable nature of the members. “There is no hiding that ring. Guild membership? How, when?”

“It is just one of the many things I wish to tell you about,” Antonio said. “The slain kraken secured my membership. You must understand, I could not refuse without risking both our lives. You know the rumors of what happens to those who oppose the Guild. And I am now to meet the Polity as their representative to Newlondon.”

“Luckily for you, that isn’t the strangest thing I’ve heard today. And how were you on the Tempest?”

“My trading run, well, let’s say it did not go as planned. I turned to Solanio for help and instead he locked me aboard. He claims it was an accident, but I have my doubts.” He paused and looked out over the sea. It had brought him a fortune. Perhaps it had really brought him a curse. 

“I cannot make sense of it. I have so many questions.” 

Antonio turned back to her. “Bianca, let’s stem the tide. Forget the Guild, the Polity, all of it. Let’s run, now. We can be free together.” The fog lifted from his eyes, revealing the man she had fallen in love with. Trusting, naïve, wistful. It made him beautiful, but also doleful. 

Bianca closed the gap she had made between them. “Why do I love you so much, my dear fool? You know we cannot flee, and that you must fulfill your duties. You have no choice in the matter.”

“Then come with me. To Whitehall. You are my compass rose. I have never needed your direction more.”

Bianca’s head fell. “I must stay here. Don’t forget, my dear, you managed to defeat the kraken. What awaits you in Whitehall cannot be worse, can it?”

Antonio swallowed hard, thinking of the chains and shackles awaiting him if the drone had indeed captured the ill-fated encounter on his skiv. And then he shook off his doubts. “No matter what awaits, know that I love you, with all the deeps of my soul.” Antonio looked deeply into her glistening blue eyes.

“And I love you.” 

“Keep your eyes up the river for me,” he said. 

“Always. Don’t sail close to the wind and return home to me.” Bianca cloyed at the twine of her ring as they parted, and she watched him leave. There wasn’t time to explain to him what had happened, why she must stay. And she couldn’t bring herself to burden him more. Not with the rocket waiting for him, and the Polity breathing down both their necks.

You are my compass rose. Photo by Aron Visuals.

She remained on the cliff for as long as she could, clutching her ring to her heart, knowing that beneath the Guild’s signet which weighed upon Antonio’s finger, the twine that bound them still remained. “Antonio, my love, you are right. If only we had more time.” 

Antonio forced himself away from their cliff top, wind scolding his cheeks with its frigid bite. He descended down the hidden path to the pier. Sea fret rolled in to cloud the air with a salty tang, masking the rush of crowds. 

He shimmied a route to the visitor’s slip and found the dock where he’d stored his skiv. There his ship hovered undisturbed. Waves sloshed beneath it. A roll of tarp made for a poor man’s casket, covering the body of the dead pirate. Antonio’s chest sagged. He glanced over his shoulder, but between the dense fret and the frenzy of the crowds, all eyes were up the river, and no one saw as he reached for the tarp’s corner to pull it back. 

He winced, and then his eyes widened. Where a body should have been, bundles of netting clumped together. A shiver swept through Antonio. He yanked the tarp back, scouring the empty nets, but found not even the trace of blood. Bodies don’t just disappear. Not without a reason. Who could’ve done this? 

A leather cylinder fell from the web of netting, and he scooped up the container, popping it open. From inside, he unfurled a parchment. In blotches of ink, a note was scrawled — 

The gold a monster slain bestows,
Conceals a secret hid below.
Beware of what you think you know.
Yohoho, row nonny, row. 

No signature hinted at the author of the elaborate handwriting. Antonio scrunched the parchment in his hands. His eyes flashed everywhere at once. I never told Solanio where I’d docked the skiv. And the weasel would never have left a note like this. Who else knows of what I’ve done? 

A storm tossed the waves of Antonio’s thoughts into chaos. He reached for the twine, and the comfort of Bianca’s promise to him, but he found the anchor of the Guild instead. The Guild. Could they have done this? He had no time to think. No time for doubt. He must get to Whitehall, and trust that with the body gone, he had nothing to dread from the city’s drones. 

I must get to Whitehall, no matter the cost. For Bianca. For both our sakes. 

He pocketed the crumpled parchment and swung the hover from its berth, charging upstream amidst the cavalcade of rocket-chasers. Spray kicked up from the hover’s pads. The Elizabeth River undulated beneath the pressure of so many barges all heading for the city, and the purple light of whatever monster waited for them.

On Friday, we release the conclusion of “Eyes Up the River“! The tentacles of Newlondon’s Guild of Sailors grasp Antonio’s future more closely than even the kraken’s deadly grip, and the unfaithful Solanio reveals his secrets.

If you enjoyed Shanel and Frasier‘s story, please make sure and share some kind comments below.

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

P.S. Now you can enjoy the Globe Folio from the beginning:

Act 1: Night of the Rocket

Act 2: Nights of Revelation

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross