CHAPTER 42: GULLMARK, THE HOLY BLACK MARKET
FIELD NOTE:
If you can buy a blessing, it is not a blessing.
It is a receipt.
The warehouse still smells like melted wax and burned lies when we leave it behind.
Lyra walks like she wants to light the whole district on fire just to feel clean again.
Roth walks like a door that learned how to be angry.
Livi walks like she is doing the ground a favor by stepping on it.
Pyon blinks between our shoulders and the roof beams like he is checking for more assassins.
…more?
“Yes,” I whisper. “Always more.”
We move fast.
No main roads.
No clean routes.
Just service alleys and drainage paths and canal-side stone that the city pretends is not part of it.
The east waterway lead sits in my pocket like a hot coin.
Gullmark Exchange.
Pilgrim vessel handoff.
G.
My new skills hum quietly under my skin like nerves that learned how to read.
Crowd Sense.
Cipher Sniff.
Case Threading.
Everything points east.
Nothing points to Mina.
Not directly.
And that means the people hiding her are doing a good job.
I hate that.
We cut through a strip of warehouses until the canal opens up again into a narrow lock lane.
The skiff we used is still tied where we left it, like the world forgot to be petty for five minutes.
Lyra eyes it.
“I hate boats,” she mutters.
“You were born to hate,” I say.
Lyra points at me.
“Do not,” she warns.
Roth steps into the skiff without comment.
Lyra stares at him.
“You’re okay with boats,” she says.
Roth’s expression stays flat.
“I am okay with leaving,” he says.
That makes Lyra quiet.
I untie the skiff.
The current grabs us.
We slip into the canal throat again.
Stone walls rise.
Water goes black.
Sound gets swallowed.
Livi sits in the middle of the skiff like a queen forced into a peasant cart.
She looks at the low ceiling.
“This is disgusting,” she says aloud.
Lyra smirks.
“Don’t worry,” Lyra says. “If we die in here, you’ll have room.”
Livi’s eyes narrow.
[Livi: Your fire speaks too much.]
Lyra laughs like she heard it anyway.
“Yeah,” Lyra says. “And your water sulks too much.”
I stare forward and pretend this is normal.
It isn’t.
The canal forks.
One branch goes toward city sewage.
One branch goes toward a maintenance lock with old runes.
MZ style.
We don’t need another mailbox.
We need a path out.
I choose the maintenance lock anyway because the sewage branch smells like regret and cholera.
The lock gate is sealed.
A chain wraps around the winch wheel.
A little brass tag hangs from it, stamped with a gull.
Gullmark.
My stomach tightens.
“So this is the east artery,” I whisper.
Roth leans in.
“Can we open it,” he asks.
“Probably,” I say.
Then Cipher Sniff pings.
There is a charm embedded in the brass tag.
Not a bomb.
A bell.
Trip it and someone hears.
Lyra’s eyes narrow.
“Of course,” she says.
I crouch and pull out wax and charcoal and a strip of contamination seal.
Quick work.
I wrap the tag.
I muffle the rune groove.
I scratch a counter rune that looks like a priest’s boredom.
[CRAFTING SUCCESS]
Silent Tag Wrap (Uncommon)
Effect: suppresses alert charm (Minor)
Duration: 20 minutes
Lyra watches me.
“You are the worst kind of smart,” she says.
“Thank you,” I mutter.
Roth cranks the winch.
The chain groans.
The gate rises.
Cold air from outside hits us like a slap.
The canal mouth opens into a wider channel that leads straight to the sea.
And the sea waits.
Not calm.
Not angry.
Just watching.
Livi stands and looks toward it like she can hear her real body calling.
[Livi: Finally.]
“I know,” I whisper.
We push out into open water at night, hugging the cliff shadow, letting the city fade behind us.
Verena’s lights become a distant glow.
Then nothing.
Just water and wind and a horizon with teeth.
I breathe in salt air and feel my shoulders unclench for the first time in hours.
Then I feel the eyes.
Someone is always watching.
Crowd Sense is quiet now, but something else is tugging.
Logistics Sense.
The pull of routes.
The way the world moves goods and bodies like it is all the same.
East.
We go east.
---
We don’t ride Livi yet.
Not immediately.
Because the moment a leviathan surfaces near trade lanes, every spy in a fifty mile radius starts writing poems about it.
So we do something dumber.
We ride a skiff.
Across open sea.
At night.
With a fire mage who hates boats.
Lyra sits with her cloak wrapped tight and glares at the waves like they are insulting her.
“This is miserable,” she mutters.
Roth rows.
Yes.
Roth rows.
His shoulders move steady.
His breathing stays calm.
His face stays blank.
He is a wall with oars now.
Lyra watches him, baffled.
“You’re good at this,” she says.
Roth nods once.
“Boats are predictable,” he says.
Lyra stares.
“Everything else in our lives is not,” she says.
Roth rows harder.
“Yes,” he says.
Livi sits in the back, arms crossed, watching the water like she is offended that it is not listening.
[Livi: You are dragging me across my own body.]
“You can tow the skiff,” I whisper.
Livi’s eyes flick toward me.
“No,” she says aloud.
Lyra smiles.
“Levi,” Lyra says, sweet as poison.
Livi’s gaze sharpens.
“My name is not Levi,” she says.
Lyra’s smile widens.
“It is when I’m annoying,” she says.
Livi’s jaw tightens.
[Livi: I will drown her.]
Lyra leans back, relaxed.
“She says she loves me,” Lyra announces.
I sigh.
“Please don’t kill each other until we find Mina,” I say.
Lyra and Livi answer at the same time.
“No.”
Yes, Livi says no too. Out loud. With perfect timing.
Pyon blinks onto my head.
…bad team
“Yes,” I whisper. “Bad team.”
We drift through the night.
The sea gets rougher.
The wind gets sharper.
By dawn, we see the gull cliffs.
White rock walls stained with bird droppings.
Huge flocks circling like the sky is full of knives.
And below, a port city built where a river meets the sea.
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
Wood piers.
Stone warehouses.
A temple spire.
A market canopy spread like a patchwork scar.
Gulls scream overhead.
A sign hangs over the main pier gate.
GULLMARK EXCHANGE
Lyra squints.
“I already hate it,” she says.
I nod.
“Same,” I say.
Roth pulls the skiff in under a shadow pier.
We climb out and move fast.
No big entrance.
No announcements.
Just blending.
Except we don’t blend.
Lyra looks like a trouble magnet.
Roth looks like a threat.
Livi looks like a myth.
And I look like the guy who keeps surviving.
So we do the only thing that makes sense.
We lie.
---
I craft pilgrim cloaks in a warehouse alcove while Lyra stands guard and complains.
Salt cloth.
Gull feather lining.
Cheap holy bead string.
Fast.
Dirty.
Good enough.
[CRAFTING SUCCESS]
Gullmark Pilgrim Cloak x4 (Common)
Effect: reduces suspicion (Minor)
Note: only works if you act humble
Lyra stares at the note.
“I cannot act humble,” she says.
“Yes you can,” I say. “You just have to look bored.”
Lyra blinks.
“That’s my default,” she says.
“Perfect,” I reply.
I craft tokens next.
Not real mint.
Not real seals.
Just convincing weight and stamped wax that looks official for ten seconds.
I press the gull stamp I stole from the brass tag wrap into wax and stick it onto wooden disks.
[NEW SKILL ACQUIRED]
Forgery (Rank F)
Effect: creates convincing official-looking items
Warning: people will stab you if caught
Lyra leans in.
“You just learned Forgery,” she says.
“Yes,” I say.
Roth looks at the fake tokens.
“Useful,” he says.
Livi watches silently.
Then she speaks in my head.
[Livi: Humans build entire worlds out of fake circles.]
Lyra snorts.
“See,” she says. “She gets it.”
Livi’s eyes narrow.
“I did not agree,” she says aloud.
Lyra smiles.
“You did,” she says.
I slap cloaks and tokens onto everyone.
Lyra’s cloak makes her look like an angry priest.
Roth’s cloak makes him look like a boulder pretending to be religious.
Livi’s cloak makes her look like a noblewoman playing poverty for fun, which is dangerous.
I adjust her hood lower.
“Keep it down,” I whisper.
Livi’s eyes narrow.
“I am not hiding,” she says aloud.
“You are,” Lyra says, instantly.
Livi stares at her.
Lyra stares back.
Then they both look at me.
I feel the dogpile coming.
“Do not,” I warn.
Lyra smiles.
“You’re the one who brought her,” she says.
Livi nods once.
[Livi: He is the cause.]
“I hate you both,” I mutter.
“Good,” Lyra says.
“Yes,” Livi says aloud, like it is agreed policy.
Pyon blinks under my cloak hood, only his ears peeking out.
…pilgrim?
“Yes,” I whisper. “Holy rabbit.”
Pyon looks pleased.
---
We enter Gullmark.
The pier gate guard eyes our cloaks and our tokens and our faces.
He squints at Lyra.
“You look angry,” he says.
Lyra smiles.
Not warm.
“Devotion burns,” she says.
The guard flinches.
Then nods like that makes sense.
“Blessings,” he mutters and waves us through.
Inside, Gullmark smells like fish, incense, and money.
The exchange is split down the middle.
On one side, a temple market.
Blessed salt.
Holy charms.
Pilgrim soup stalls.
Clergy in white beads chanting over cargo crates like that makes the crates behave.
On the other side, black market disguised as commerce.
Shady scribes.
Dock brokers.
Carters who never look up.
Men with too-clean boots and too-dirty eyes.
Everyone is smiling.
Which means everyone is lying.
My Crowd Sense pings lightly.
Not hostile.
Just hungry.
My Detective skill pulses.
This city runs on information the way a body runs on blood.
If Mina passed through here, someone knows.
If Mina did not, someone will still pretend they know and charge us.
So we start with the simplest method.
We buy soup.
Not for food.
For ears.
We sit at a pilgrim soup stall, bowls steaming.
Lyra pokes her soup like it offended her.
“This is worse than temple food,” she mutters.
“It’s fish broth,” I say.
“It’s despair,” Lyra says.
Roth eats without comment.
Livi stares at her bowl like it is an insult.
“I do not eat this,” she says aloud.
“You’re a fish,” Lyra says.
Livi’s eyes narrow.
“I am not a fish,” she says.
[Livi: I am insulted.]
Lyra smiles.
“I know,” she says.
The stall owner, an old woman with bead chains and scarred hands, watches us.
“You’re not pilgrims,” she says quietly.
Lyra freezes.
Roth’s posture shifts.
I smile politely.
“We’re pilgrims,” I lie.
The woman snorts.
“Pilgrims don’t sit like soldiers,” she says. “Pilgrims don’t look like they’ve killed a warlord.”
Lyra’s eyes narrow.
“How do you know,” she asks.
The woman taps her bead chain.
“I hear,” she says. “Gulls carry everything.”
I lean forward.
“We’re looking for a shipment,” I say. “White Candle.”
The old woman’s expression tightens.
Lyra notices.
“That,” Lyra says, “was a reaction.”
The woman looks away.
“I sell soup,” she says.
I slide coin across the table.
Haggling hums.
The woman doesn’t take it.
“Not coin,” she says. “Coin is loud.”
I swallow.
“What then,” I ask.
She looks at my cloak.
At my token.
At my face.
Then she says quietly.
“Dock seal,” she whispers. “Get the dock seal. Then you can read what you want. Without seal, the ledgers lie to you.”
Lyra’s eyes narrow.
“Where,” Lyra asks.
The woman jerks her chin toward a small building tucked behind the temple market.
A sign hangs over the door.
GULLMARK LEDGER HOUSE
Two guards stand outside with clubs and bored faces.
“And how do we get a seal,” I ask.
The old woman nods toward the quest board by the docks.
“Work,” she says. “Do something for the dockmaster. Prove you’re useful. Then he stamps you. Then you can ask questions.”
Lyra makes a sound of disgust.
“I hate bureaucracy,” she mutters.
Roth’s voice is calm.
“Then we do the job,” he says.
Livi’s eyes flick toward the quest board.
[Livi: Humans always demand obedience before truth.]
Lyra smirks.
“Welcome to society,” she says.
---
The dockmaster is exactly what I expect.
A man with a thick coat, thicker moustache, and a smile that belongs to someone who has sold the same lie for twenty years.
He looks at our cloaks and tokens.
He looks at Roth.
He looks at Lyra.
Then his eyes catch on Livi and he visibly forgets how to breathe for a second.
“What,” he says, voice cracking, “are you.”
Livi tilts her head.
“A pilgrim,” she says aloud.
Lyra coughs.
I cough harder.
The dockmaster swallows and forces his smile back into place.
“Right,” he says. “Pilgrims. Yes. Of course.”
He points at the quest board.
“You want a seal,” he says. “You do a task. Simple.”
Lyra crosses her arms.
“We do it,” she says.
The dockmaster’s smile widens.
“Good,” he says. “Harbor pilings are infested. Something big. Eats wood. Eats rope. Eats men if they fall in.”
He lowers his voice.
“Not fish,” he adds. “Something… wrong.”
Blue thread wrong.
My lockbox hums faintly.
Lyra’s eyes narrow.
“Show us,” she says.
He leads us to the edge of the pier where the water under the planks is dark.
Too dark for morning.
He points.
“Down there,” he says. “Kill it. Bring me a proof piece. I stamp you.”
Lyra looks down.
“This is gross,” she says.
Roth kneels and taps the pier with his knuckles.
Hollow.
Weak.
The pier is already being eaten.
I pull out a Prism Bomb and slot it into my buckler.
Then I look at Livi.
“We need water eyes,” I whisper.
Livi looks at me.
“No,” she says aloud.
Lyra smiles.
“Levi,” she says.
Livi’s eyes sharpen.
“Stop,” she says.
[Livi: I will drown her.]
Lyra leans closer.
“You can’t,” she whispers. “You love me.”
Livi’s jaw tightens.
Then, with visible annoyance, she steps to the pier edge and places two fingers on the water.
The water shivers.
Her eyes go distant.
Then she speaks in my head, sharp.
[Livi: There is a worm. It is not natural. It is threaded.]
My stomach tightens.
“How big,” I whisper.
Livi’s eyes narrow.
[Livi: Big enough to make boats apologize.]
Lyra cracks her knuckles.
“Perfect,” she says.
Roth stands.
“Plan,” he says.
I don’t overthink it.
“Item magic,” I say. “If it’s threaded, normal hits will be trash. We lure it up. We nuke the core.”
Lyra nods.
Roth nods.
Livi looks unimpressed.
Pyon blinks onto the pier rail.
…eat worm?
“No,” I whisper. “Do not eat worm.”
Pyon looks sad.
---
We lure it with the oldest trick.
We throw meat into the water.
The meat disappears.
Then the water bulges.
Then the pier shakes.
A long shape rises.
Not a fish.
Not an eel.
A Harbor Spineworm.
Black body.
White salt plates like armor.
Blue veins pulsing beneath the plates like the worm swallowed thread and it never stopped writhing.
It opens a mouth full of needle teeth and the smell hits like rotten brine.
My system flashes.
[ENEMY DETECTED]
Harbor Spineworm
Level: 67
Traits: Threaded Carapace, Pier Collapse, Salt Spray Blind
Weakness: Item Magic, Purity, Shock
Lyra’s eyes widen.
“Level sixty-seven,” she says.
Roth’s expression stays flat.
“Good,” he says.
Lyra stares at him.
“You’re enjoying this,” she accuses.
Roth replies calmly.
“I’m awake,” he says.
Lyra makes a sound like she wants to scream.
The worm lunges.
The pier cracks.
Wood splinters under us.
I sprint forward, Athletics SS making the shaking planks feel like a suggestion, and slam my buckler into the worm’s face.
The item slot rune flashes.
Prism Bomb triggers.
Pop.
Light erupts.
The worm convulses.
A huge damage number flashes.
62,400
The worm screeches.
Salt spray blasts into the air, blinding white.
My ashmask hood catches half.
My eyes still burn.
Lyra’s Heat Mirage flickers and splits our outlines.
The worm snaps at the wrong Kenta and bites empty air.
Roth steps in and drives his blade into a seam between plates.
The blade barely sinks.
A pathetic damage number appears.
2
Roth does not react.
He simply pulls an Impact Bomb from his pouch and presses it into the seam like he is planting a seed.
Then he steps back.
Pop.
Shatter pulse.
The plate cracks.
Blue vein pulses exposed.
Lyra laughs.
“Found it,” she says.
She throws a Flame-Salted Flask straight into the crack.
The flask bursts.
Sticky burn clings to the blue thread like glue.
The worm thrashes.
The pier screams.
Wood collapses under the worm’s weight.
The whole edge of the pier starts to sink.
The dockmaster screams from behind us.
“My pier,” he wails.
Lyra yells back.
“Get a new one,” she snaps.
The worm rears, trying to drop its weight.
Pier Collapse.
If it drops, it takes us with it.
I jump.
Athletics SS.
Clean arc.
I land on the worm’s plated back like an idiot.
The blue veins pulse under my boots.
My lockbox hums.
The worm bucks.
I almost fly off.
Then Livi speaks in my head, cold and sharp.
[Livi: Do not die. I have not finished humiliating you.]
“Motivational,” I gasp.
Livi lifts her hand.
The water under the sinking pier surges upward and hardens into a pressure column, supporting the collapsing boards like a temporary bone.
The pier stops falling for two breaths.
Two breaths is enough.
I pull a Shock Needle Ofuda from inventory, slam it into the exposed seam, and trigger it.
Crack.
Electricity rips through the blue vein.
The worm stiffens.
Lyra’s eyes flash.
She launches Flame Thread.
Not at the body.
At the seam.
The thread cuts the exposed core channel like slicing a tendon.
Roth steps in and finishes with one clean decapitation strike.
The worm’s head hits the water.
The body spasms, then goes still.
Silence.
Then loot.
[ENEMY DEFEATED]
Harbor Spineworm (Lv 67)
EXP +38,600 (Party Split)
Loot: Threaded Carapace Plate x6 (Hazard), Spineworm Core x1 (Rare), Blue Vein Sinew x2 (Hazard)
[LEVEL UP]
Kenta: 64 -> 65
[LEVEL UP]
Lyra: 50 -> 51
[LEVEL UP]
Roth: 45 -> 46
Lyra stares at her level.
“I leveled from pier maintenance,” she says, offended.
Roth nods.
“Yes,” he says.
Lyra points at him.
“Stop agreeing,” she snaps.
Roth blinks once.
“No,” he says.
I climb off the worm body and stagger onto stable boards.
My shoulder screams.
My lungs burn.
Pyon blinks onto my head.
…win
“Yes,” I whisper. “We win.”
Livi watches the dead worm.
Her expression is unreadable.
Then she speaks aloud, quiet.
“Thread tastes wrong.”
Lyra looks at her.
“That’s the first normal sentence you’ve said,” Lyra says.
Livi’s eyes narrow.
“Do not get used to it,” she says.
Lyra smiles.
“I will,” she says.
---
We bring the dockmaster the worm core.
He stares at it like it might bite.
Then he looks at us like we might bite.
Then he does the only sensible thing.
He stamps our token disk with a heavy iron seal.
CLACK.
GULLMARK DOCK SEAL.
“Take it,” he says quickly. “Read whatever you want. Just do not destroy more infrastructure.”
Lyra smiles sweetly.
“No promises,” she says.
The dockmaster flinches and pretends he didn’t hear.
We go straight to the Ledger House.
Two guards at the door glance at our dock seal and step aside without asking questions.
Inside, the air smells like ink and salt.
Tables.
Shelves.
Stacks of manifest books thick enough to stop arrows.
A scribe looks up from a ledger, eyes tired.
“Dock seal,” he says.
“Yes,” I reply.
He points at a stack.
“Do not tear pages,” he warns. “Do not spill blood. Do not cry. Do not flirt.”
Lyra stares at him.
“Why the last one,” she asks.
The scribe looks at Lyra’s face.
Then he looks at mine.
Then he sighs like he has seen too much life.
“Because it causes incidents,” he says.
Lyra snorts.
“Fair,” she mutters.
I pick the ledger labeled EAST WATERWAY PILGRIM CARGO.
It weighs like guilt.
I touch the cover.
Contact Reading triggers.
This time, it works.
Information slams into my skull like a wave.
Routes.
Dates.
Ship names.
Cargo codes.
My system pings.
[SKILL EXP]
Contact Reading +18%
Reading +6%
Case Threading +14%
I flip pages fast.
White Candle.
White Candle.
White Candle.
The ledger tries to be boring.
Then I see it.
WHITE CANDLE
CATEGORY: SPECIAL PASSENGER CARGO
AUTHORITY TAG: TRIPLE BLESSING
ROUTE: MZ
Lyra leans in.
“MZ,” she whispers.
Roth’s eyes narrow.
“Destination,” he says.
The destination is still blocked.
Not with burned ink.
With the same solid magic censor blocks.
██████████
But the margin notes are not blocked.
Because scribes are human and humans leave traces.
In the corner, a tired clerk has scrawled two words in small letters.
Mizunagi Route
My throat tightens.
Because I know that word.
I have been there.
I remember the pleasure district lanterns.
The wooden sidewalks.
The way the far east tried to wear Japan like borrowed clothes.
Mizunagi.
MZ.
Lyra reads the margin note.
“Mizunagi,” she says slowly.
Roth’s voice is calm.
“That is where you were,” he says, looking at me.
I nod once.
“Yes,” I say.
Lyra’s eyes sharpen.
“And you didn’t think to mention that MZ could mean Mizunagi,” she says.
I swallow.
“I did,” I say. “But I didn’t want to hallucinate connections. I didn’t want to say it and make it real.”
Lyra points at the ledger.
“It’s real,” she says.
Livi’s voice appears in my head, quiet.
[Livi: The letters were always a leash. Now you see where it leads.]
Roth’s gaze flicks to the page again.
“Ship,” he says.
I scan the line.
HANDOFF VESSEL: GULL OF MERCY
DEPARTURE: NEXT MOONRISE
BERTH: EAST PILGRIM PIER
ESCORT: CROWN OF NAILS
Lyra’s lips curl.
“Of course,” she says. “The same people trying to kill us are escorting the ship.”
Roth’s voice is flat.
“Then we board,” he says.
My stomach tightens.
Next moonrise.
That is tonight.
We don’t have days.
We have hours.
I flip one more page and see something that makes my skin crawl.
A second entry.
WHITE CANDLE
CATEGORY: REPLACEMENT
CONTENT: WAX CANDLES
ROUTE: MZ
STATUS: DECOY
Lyra stares.
“They have decoy candles and real White Candle cargo,” she says.
I nod slowly.
“They learned,” I whisper.
Roth’s eyes narrow.
“Then Mina could be the decoy,” he says.
“No,” I say instantly.
Lyra looks at me.
“What,” she asks.
I swallow.
“Because decoys are for objects,” I say. “People are harder. People fight back. People leave traces. If they built this much decoy structure, the real thing is something they can’t afford to lose.”
Lyra’s jaw tightens.
“Like Mina,” she says quietly.
I don’t answer.
Because saying it out loud makes it heavier.
The scribe clears his throat.
“You’re reading special cargo,” he says. “That’s expensive attention.”
I look at him.
“What do you want,” I ask.
He glances at our dock seal.
Then at Lyra.
Then at Roth.
Then he lowers his voice.
“Leave,” he whispers. “Now. Before the escort notices you’re not pilgrims.”
Lyra’s eyes narrow.
“They already noticed,” she says.
Crowd Sense flares.
Hostile intent.
Outside the Ledger House.
Approaching.
I close the ledger.
“Thanks,” I say.
The scribe doesn’t smile.
“I like ink,” he says. “I don’t like blood on it.”
We leave.
---
The exchange district is louder now.
More pilgrims.
More guards.
More movement.
East Pilgrim Pier is lit with lanterns.
A large ship sits docked there, hull painted white, gull emblem on the prow.
GULL OF MERCY.
Priests chant at its gangplank.
Guards stand in a line wearing the silver nail pin.
Crown of Nails.
My stomach tightens.
Lyra’s heat rises.
“Tonight,” she whispers.
Roth’s posture shifts.
“Now,” he says.
Livi stands beside us, hood up, face calm.
Then she speaks in my head, cold.
[Livi: That ship smells like cages.]
I swallow.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Mine too.”
We stand in the shadow of a fish stall and watch the ship load cargo.
Crates.
Barrels.
Bundles wrapped in cloth and bead chains.
Then one crate rolls past on a cart.
Smaller than the rest.
Triple-wrapped.
Wax sealed.
Blessing tags hanging like teeth.
The label on the side reads:
WHITE CANDLE
SPECIAL PASSENGER CARGO
Lyra’s fingers twitch.
Roth’s jaw tightens.
My heart hammers.
Not because I know what is inside.
Because I don’t.
And that uncertainty is how they win.
Lyra leans close and whispers.
“What’s the plan,” she asks.
I stare at the gangplank.
At the chanting priests.
At the Crown of Nails guard line.
Then I exhale.
“We become pilgrims,” I whisper.
Lyra makes a face.
“I hate being humble,” she mutters.
“You don’t have to be humble,” I say. “Just boring.”
Lyra blinks.
“That’s harder,” she says.
Roth’s voice is flat.
“We board,” he says.
Livi’s eyes flick to the ship.
She speaks aloud, quiet.
“I will not fit.”
Lyra smiles.
“You will,” Lyra says. “In my heart.”
Livi’s eyes narrow.
[Livi: I will drown her.]
Lyra leans closer.
“She says she loves me,” Lyra whispers.
I close my eyes for one breath.
Then I open them and step forward.
Because moonrise is coming.
And the Gull of Mercy is about to leave.
With a White Candle crate on board.
With an escort wearing nails.
With a destination called Mizunagi.
And with the world holding its breath, waiting to see if we are brave, or stupid, or both.
