Feargus

  A DAY IN THE LIFE ABOARD AN EMBARK WITH RHIANDREI

  ENTRY LOG #1

  Not going to lie, mates, out of everything I’d been through since arriving in Amalia, Strauss and Rhian's relationship was the kookiest thing I’d had to make sense of. Don’t get me wrong—they’re perfect for each other, actually. But in that precious time before they finally smashed their bits together, they were also really, really annoying.

  “Oi, I got you a damp cloth,” she said.

  Aw, sweet, right?

  Right, sweet until she just tossed it in his lap and walked away.

  “Thank you, Sinclair, but I don’t need a damp cloth.” Strauss plucked the cloth from his lap, and it made a loud squishing sound when he dropped it on the wood beside him. She said damp, but you know Rhian. Damp, soaking wet—what’s the difference?

  “All I need,” Strauss continued before heaving into the bucket again, “is to be on solid ground, and to feel better so I can translate this book.”

  “Why?” Rhian asked. “And what’s with all the bloody squiggles?”

  “It’s Symphonic, and as for the why, I—” Strauss hesitated.

  I rolled my eyes and turned around to face the happy couple. Strauss was about to lie to my sister even though he didn’t want to. I knew what that was like, so I reckoned I’d do him a solid and spare him the guilt. “Strauss, I hear standing on your head helps with seasickness.”

  “And where exactly did you hear that, Finlay?”

  “If I tell you, will you try it?”

  “No.”

  “Then I guess you’ll never know.”

  ENTRY LOG #2

  “Aren’t you tired of oats?” I asked.

  Strauss dabbed the now (actually) damp cloth to his forehead. “I like oats. Why would I be tired of something I like?”

  “Because you eat so many oats. Like, I’m not even sure if it’s healthy.”

  “Finlay, how do you know how often I eat oats?”

  “You just look like a man who eats a lot of oats.”

  “Well, you’re not wrong.”

  ENTRY LOG #3

  Strauss was asleep, clutching his book in the fetal position.

  Time to pester Rhian.

  I plopped down beside her.

  “So, are you gonna do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “You know, the straddle.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  She stood, took off her boot, threw it at me, and then she walked away.

  Joke’s on her. Now she only had one boot.

  ENTRY LOG #4

  Strauss still clutched the book.

  I still clutched the boot.

  “Give me the boot,” Rhian said.

  “No.”

  “You know I can easily kick your arse.”

  “Oh, you’re gonna kick my arse for a boot?”

  “Aye, you know I will. Give me the boot.”

  "Fine." I pulled off my boot and threw it at her. “Enjoy the boot.”

  ENTRY LOG #5

  Strauss woke from his nap and heaved in the bucket. He looked to Rhian at one end of the cabin, me at the other. “Why do you each have on only one boot? And why are your two other boots in the middle of the room?”

  “We’re having a stand-off,” I said.

  “I see. And how long before we arrive in Delphia?”

  “Two days.”

  ENTRY LOG #6

  All right, mates. I felt so badly about this one for so long, but look, look, look, I had to do something. I had a food related issue that needed managing, an ancient illusionist to track down for… someone?… and I couldn’t do that with Strauss and Rhian around. First of all, let me set the scene: the two boots were still in the middle of the cabin, and we had one day of travel left before arriving in Delphia. Rhian fell asleep during the stand-off, and Strauss and I were talking about Vincent.

  “Do you know where he may be hiding out?” he asked.

  “Nothing more specific than somewhere on the Isle of Pantomime,” I said.

  Except I knew exactly where he was.

  “Do you have any suggestions how we might find him?”

  “Well.” I ran my hand over my beard. “If I know Vincent Delestade,” and I sort of did, “you’re going to need to get his attention. He won’t just appear for anyone, and he might be wary of us because he still owes us favours.”

  Rhian muttered something incoherent but generally agreeable sounding.

  Thank you, barely there Rhian. “Your best bet is to do something outrageous to call him out of hiding. Something he can’t ignore. But something that shows you come in peace.”

  Rhian was snoring again.

  ?

  And oh, look, Gus is lying again.

  Listen, I don’t snore.

  ?

  ??

  Yes, in fact, she does.

  Sometimes her nose whistles.

  ??

  “So, let me get this straight: something outrageous enough to call a thespian out of hiding, something wild enough to express urgency, but tame enough not to raise concern.”

  “Exactly. Whatever the case, go all out, mate. We have plenty of time, there’s no such thing as hurry when it comes to formulating the perfect plan.”

  Strauss nodded thoughtfully.

  Here he was, having a bout of lucidity after two days in seasickness hell, and there I was, toying with him like nobody’s business. Aye, I wanted to die, and I ate so, so many crackers. But I just couldn’t tell my mates about Sebastian—not only because I literally couldn’t, but because I’d also have to tell them about the Anima, which I’d been explicitly forbidden to do. What other choice did I have? Especially because I highly suspected Alexander would be watching us closely once we were back. We might have known each other’s pleasure noises, but he had no stake in Rhian, Michael, or Strauss. And how was I supposed to ask them to pretend they didn’t know about the Anima? Then I’d have to explain everything, and, look—it was all or nothing here. It couldn’t be all, so it had to be nothing.

  Besides, I wasn’t really lying per se. The elaborate plot would definitely work—even barely there Rhian knew that. But so would leaving him a note at reception. Of course, Rhian, being a touch more paranoid and cynical than I was—I’m so, so sorry, Rhian—would absolutely buy into his avoiding cashing in our favour. And she did.

  So, I set them on a course to creating an elaborate plan that should eat up most of the afternoon, giving me enough time to waltz into the Fool Moon Theatre and ask for Vincent at the front desk like a normal person.

  ENTRY LOG #7

  We arrived alive in Delphia. When we heard the embark dock, all that was left to do was end a war. The boots sat, untouched, in the middle of the cabin.

  I picked up mine.

  Rhian picked up hers.

  We each put them on.

  “Good fight."

  "Good fight."

  We made our way above deck, and Strauss followed.

  “Wait,” he said, “who won?”