– – – – – – – – – –

  Epos (Maltia)

  ?? ?? ????

  Ethan’s 2nd day on Tersain

  – – – – – – – – – –

  Two of them came to get me. They’re not the same ones who locked me up in the cell hours ago, but they’re still big guys. I can’t help finding them a bit much for someone of my size.

  “Come along,” they order, while Jim opens the cell.

  I leave the bunk and move closer. One of the two men takes a piece of cloth and uses it to blindfold me.

  They don’t want me to see the inside of the airship, eh?

  “Where are you taking me?” I ask.

  “Can’t you guess?” replies one of the big guys.

  That said, I’m grabbed by the shoulder and led off at a brisk pace, who knows where.

  I can’t measure how far we go, but one thing’s certain: they’re taking me to the upper areas of the ship. Indeed, I’m often made to stop, then feel the sensation of going up in a lift.

  When the blindfold is removed, I find myself in a modest room that immediately makes me think of an interrogation chamber. There are no windows, and the only furnishings are a table and a couple of chairs. Two doors provide access to the small space, and a large mirror covers part of one wall.

  I get it… so they want to interrogate me. That must be the classic one-way mirror, with someone behind it watching me.

  The two who escorted me leave the room. I look around. Several tubular lamps emit a bluish light that adds an alien atmosphere to the place, where everything—from the walls to the furniture—is made of metal.

  Wait a minute… could they be the kind of people who use torture?

  The idea strikes me suddenly, creating a new wave of anxiety. After all, there’s no guarantee that such practices are forbidden here.

  What a situation!

  My hand moves to nervously rub my face where Antony’s punch landed, still painful. The burns on my wrist and torso also throb, as though warning me. I tense up so much that my palms begin to sweat.

  It takes a few minutes before anyone shows up. The second door opens, and in comes a man dressed in black. He’s tall, with dark brown hair, and a matching moustache and goatee. He looks over forty, a fact made clear by the various wrinkles standing out against his tanned skin.

  He regards me with a neutral expression, though I notice his pupils quickly scanning me from head to toe. Instinctively, I sense he has a strong personality.

  “Sit,” the stranger says, indicating a chair.

  I comply, while the man in black takes a seat on the opposite side of the table.

  “I’m Martin Young, the captain of this ship,” he introduces himself. “And who are you?”

  “Ethan… Ethan Knight,” I answer hesitantly.

  “And what’s your trade?”

  “I’m… a student.”

  “A student?” the captain repeats. “At which academy?”

  “Er… the Stanstead Secondary School in Hoddesdon.”

  At that answer, the man blinks, apparently surprised. Then he shakes his head.

  Of course he’d react like that… what on earth can I tell these people?

  “All right… let’s skip the pleasantries and cut to the chase,” the captain decides. “How did you end up on the fragment where you met Cyrus Sanders?”

  “Who?”

  “I’m talking about the man who healed you.”

  “Oh… well… I fell there.”

  “Fell from where?”

  “From the sky.”

  Who knows what he must think of me… I’m making a fool of myself. But the truth is this…

  “Don’t play dumb,” Martin Young replies. “You jumped from a craft hidden in the clouds. You’ve been trained to use mayea to protect yourself from falls, but something went wrong. Even though you limited the damage, you still got injured.”

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  What kind of story is he spinning here?!

  “No, no, hang on!” I exclaim. “First off, I didn’t jump from anything. Second, I don’t know any magic… mayea… that stuff. Third, my injuries weren’t from falling. It was a lightning strike.”

  “A lightning strike?” the captain repeats. “Sure…”

  “It’s the truth! I was heading into town, but I ran into a storm, and a bolt of lightning hit me. I blacked out, and when I came to, I was plummeting.”

  What in the world am I saying?

  “Which town?” he asks.

  “Hoddesdon.”

  “Perhaps you should tell me where that is.”

  I remain silent for a few seconds. A host of thoughts crowd my mind, each vying to overpower the others. Amid all this confusion, I settle on the simplest thing to say.

  After all, I’ve already shared enough unbelievable facts that I may as well finish what I started.

  “Hoddesdon is a small town near London, the capital of England,” I declare then. “I’ve realised by now that you don’t know any of those places. Probably, they no longer exist here… or maybe they never did. I come from Earth, a world not composed of fragments but a single globe, where the rocks don’t float.”

  Silence falls. I watch the captain with a frown, as though daring him to contradict me, while also feeling anxious about how he might react to such a statement. As for him, he hides any trace of emotion behind a mask of impassivity.

  Come on, say something!

  After a few seconds, Martin Young begins to speak slowly:

  “I’m not sure I understand… are you saying you come from the past, back when Tersain was still in one piece?”

  “No,” I reply with a shake of the head. “I don’t think I’m from the past. I believe Earth—my world—isn’t ancient Tersain but something else. Even so, I don’t know how these two worlds relate to each other, or where one might be located in relation to the other… nor how I ended up here.”

  The captain pauses in silence once again. His gaze drifts away from mine, turning glassy as he mulls over who knows what.

  I couldn’t have explained it any better… if he won’t accept this, I don’t know how else to put it.

  Finally, the man sighs.

  “For now, that’s enough,” he decides, standing up.

  With that, Martin Young leaves the room, and the two big fellows who brought me here re-enter through the door behind me. I’m blindfolded again and then led away.

  ???

  “He’s either mad or making fun of us,” the captain declares.

  He’s in the small room next to the interrogation chamber. From there, it’s possible to observe the adjacent room through the semi-reflective mirror. Throughout the entire interrogation, Dawn, Samuel, and Antony have remained in that space, watching the interrogation unfold.

  “Did he happen to take a blow to the head?” Martin Young asks.

  “Perhaps when he fell,” Samuel suggests. “Antony did punch him in the face… but I doubt that was enough to drive him insane.”

  “If you ask me, he’s just telling a pack of lies,” Antony says. “Maybe he’s doing it precisely so we’ll think he’s mad.”

  “Well, if that’s the case, we’d have to admit it’s quite a performance,” Samuel observes. “So far, he’s shown surprise at perfectly normal things… like the absence of magnetism in the spaces between islands. Dawn, what do you think?”

  “I’m not sure,” she replies. “While he was with me and Dad, he was shocked even by the fact that this world is made up of fragments… at first, he didn’t even know what they were.”

  “I expect a spy to be good at acting,” the captain says. “But I’m not ruling out that he’s simply deranged… or he’s just an unfortunate wretch who, realising he’s in a tight spot, is pretending to be crazy to wriggle out of trouble.”

  “Why did you end the interrogation so soon?” Antony asks.

  “I need time to think… and I want him to have some time to think too—or to recover from a possible blow to the head,” the captain replies. “Besides, I intend to use a different type of interrogation before returning to the traditional one.”

  – – – – – – – – – –

  ??? (Maltia)

  Same day

  – – – – – – – – – –

  The room into which Cyrus Sanders has been brought seems unnecessarily large. Inside airships, space is limited, and so whatever is available is usually used efficiently. Here, though, it looks as if quite a bit of it has been wasted to create a long, high-ceilinged hall, perhaps for the sole purpose of giving it a luxurious appearance.

  Two rows of soldiers form a human corridor along which Cyrus is escorted. There are no ropes or chains binding his wrists and ankles, nor are they needed: two armed men have been at his sides ever since he was taken aboard, and there’s no way for him to escape.

  He comes to a stop near the far end of the hall, where a tall man in a spotless white uniform stands waiting for him. At the sight of him, Cyrus darkens. So, after many hours of waiting, he now meets the one who oversaw the attack in which he was captured.

  “Welcome aboard the battleship Diamanti,” the man in uniform greets him. “Cyrus Sanders of the Resistance. Your reputation is enough for you to be recognised even though I’ve never seen you in person.”

  “Admiral Ivor Jericho,” Cyrus replies. “The same goes for you.”

  The man in uniform smiles. He’s younger than Cyrus, probably still in his fourth decade of life. Even so, the first signs of age can already be seen under his eyes. Those eyes, a bright green, stand out beneath dark eyebrows, seeming somewhat shadowed by two locks of hair that hang from his forehead on either side of his face. His dark hair is thick and falls almost to his shoulders—a stark contrast to the white attire he wears.

  “I’m honoured you know me,” Ivor Jericho remarks, giving a slight nod. “You were wise to surrender. It’s truly unfortunate that the men with you weren’t equally docile.”

  Cyrus stiffens, shooting the admiral a fierce look.

  “I hope you’ll be cooperative,” Ivor continues. “You’ll be taken to Amathia soon. I expect to hear of many contributions from you to our cause.”

  Damn him… he won’t tell me what’s become of Dawn, Samuel, and Antony.

  That thought crosses Cyrus’s mind accompanied by a sense of frustration, though without any surprise. He knows a great deal about the Resistance, and the Republic knows it. It would have been na?ve to hope that its members wouldn’t use every means at their disposal to pry information out of him. In his view, keeping him in the dark about his children’s fate is probably among their more “humane” methods of persuasion.

  “I’ll have you taken to your quarters,” Ivor says. “If you’d like to talk, I’ll be happy to listen.”

  “How did you find us?” Cyrus asks. “Was it that boy?”

  “A boy?” Ivor repeats. “Ah, no… no spy, if that’s what you mean. We just followed a velivus that fled yesterday’s battle in the Coal Archipelago. The one piloting it pulled off quite a few evasive manoeuvres to prevent that very outcome, but their considerable skill wasn’t enough.”

  Is that the truth? Huh… that Ethan seemed like a decent lad, but if he were a spy… well, Martin will see to that.

  “I wish you a good journey,” Ivor says, dismissing him with a nod to the men who escorted Cyrus.

  They wait for the prisoner to move of his own accord, then lead him out of the hall to lock him up in some cell.

  So much trouble just to tell me this… it’s true what they say: Ivor Jericho perfectly embodies the Republic’s penchant for showmanship. A pity he’s also damned good at doing his duty.

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