The Imperial Guard, ch 14

The Imperial Guard, ch 14

Chapter Fourteen

Catalin did the only thing he could think to do: he turned and sprinted downstairs before anyone had time to react.

As he pushed his way past the gathered crowd, he saw that everyone had come up from the basement sometime during the confrontation. Though they were far enough back to be out of Baltus’ sight, there was no doubt from the way they looked at him that they’d heard everything. Catalin dropped clumsily through the trapdoor, ran down the stairs, and shut himself into the first room he saw.

Wait, he finally asked himself, panting, why am I running? The question brought him back to reality, and he began to calm down. He wasn’t, however, calm enough to go back and explain himself to anyone. Not only had everyone found out that he’d been friends with a future Carmine Guardian, but he had, in his own stupidity, led him right back to the brothel.

If he were anyone but Celeste’s cousin, they would have sent him away with Baltus.

All right, all right, that’s enough of that, he thought, shaking his head. He wasn’t going to think that way. Insecurity had gotten him into this in the first place.

He finally glanced around to see that he had run into the practice room. Attempting to shrug off the feeling that had settled into his stomach, he made his way across the room and picked up a practice sword, then took his stance in the middle of the floor. Frowning thoughtfully, he tried to remember how he had tried to attack Baltus at the base that night.

If I recall correctly… I held it like this. He raised the sword above his head, and realized his mistake immediately. Of course. I left myself completely open. Why the hell did I do that? He moved the weapon down and closer to his body, like he had been taught to do. Readying it, he lunged forward and swung.

But Catalin failed to notice that the floor had been freshly waxed until he lost his footing and hit the ground.

He landed flat on his stomach, and nearly bit down on his tongue; the stitches were gone, but his abdomen was still extremely tender. He made no effort to get up. He just lay there, muttering curses.

“I don’t think that’s exactly how it’s done.”

Catalin glanced up to see Chris walk in, shutting the door behind him and padding across the floor. “What’re you doing down there?”

“Meditating.” When Chris didn’t respond to that, Catalin amended, “I tripped.”

“Be more careful about that,” Chris chided, sitting down in front of Catalin. “We just got you healed once, let’s not do it again.” Catalin moved into a sitting position, but didn’t quite look at Chris. Finally, Chris said, “We’re going to take Mr. Baltus at his word for now. I don’t like it, but if he’s telling the truth and we evacuate this place anyway, Reiselle and the others would be tracked down.”

“… did they say anything about me?” Catalin asked, trying to sound casual.

“Well…” Chris said. “Victor and Reiselle think that, just to make sure this doesn’t happen again, you shouldn’t go anywhere alone for the time being.”

Catalin looked up, blinking. “That’s it?”

“What’s it?” Chris stared back. “You weren’t expecting punishment, were you?”

“Something like that.” Catalin’s shoulders slumped. “I could have gotten us all arrested.”

“… you trusted him,” Chris sighed. “Nothing wrong with that.” He paused for a moment, then said, “Cat, you know what your problem is?”

Catalin’s eyes widened. He wasn’t expecting Chris to be so blunt. “I-I don’t know,” he stammered, “I have a lot.”

“Forcefulness,” Chris declared.

“… I didn’t really think that was one of them, but-”

“Sorry. I was talking about your fighting style.” Chris looked a bit sheepish, but continued. “Since you were taught the basics in such a rush, it’s not your fault, but I’ve noticed that your strategy is to try and hit as hard as you can. Which isn’t particularly a problem, since you’re used to hard labor, but you’re not built for sheer brute force. And since you’re still recovering, your strength has probably diminished a bit. Are you following me?”

“Yes,” Catalin said slowly, “but I’m not sure where this is coming from-”

“Good,” Chris said, ignoring his friend entirely. “Now, when I was being trained, I was always told that the perfect soldier is forceful and precise. And those of us who aren’t perfect are usually naturally good at one of those, but sometimes struggle with the other. Right?” Catalin nodded, unsure of what else to do. “But when two soldiers of opposite strengths work together, they can make up for the weaknesses in the other. The forceful one creates an opening, the precise one takes advantage of it. Still following me?”

“… wait.” Catalin held up a hand. “So you’re saying-”

“That we should fight together, yeah,” Chris said, his mouth curving into a grin. “I’ve seen you with those knives. You have better control than you think. If you concentrate solely on that for the time being-”

“But that’s not fair to you, is it?” Catalin said, sitting up a bit straighter. “Won’t it be hard for you to defend yourself and me at the same time?”

“I don’t think so.” Chris tapped Catalin’s fallen practice sword against the floor. “I’ve never had a problem with brute force. Honestly, I think you’ve got the tougher deal, since you’ll have to follow my lead and anticipate what I’m going to do next. Anyway, like I was saying, if you keep that up, you’ll probably get better control than me.”

“I won’t,” Catalin said, shaking his head. “You’re already a good fighter.”

“Thanks for the flattery,” Chris said, “but it’s misplaced. I could stand to improve, too. So that next time I see that Rakan Farrell, I can wipe the floor with him. That’s okay with you, right?”

Catalin laughed, though he didn’t know why. It was actually a very frightening thought. But he still snorted, “He really doesn’t like you.”

“Fine by me. I really don’t like him, either.” Chris looked momentarily surprised - the sight of Catalin laughing was still a very new thing. “But he’s just a warm-up, anyway. If I ever find that Fanel Cross person, I’m literally going to kill him.”

Catalin continued to snicker, even though Chris sounded quite serious. That prospect was even scarier. “As opposed to figuratively killing him?”

The serious note left Chris’ features as his smile widened. He stood, took Catalin’s arms, and hauled him to his feet. “There we go! Sarcasm! I knew it was in there somewhere.” He paused for a moment, bouncing up and down on his heels. “Well… I don’t think I need to tell you this, but fighting in a pair is different than fighting solo. You not only have to understand that person well, but you have to-”

“I trust you,” Catalin said.

For a moment, Chris looked completely unguarded, and Catalin wondered why he was always the first to tell Chris these things. “… then all right.” He nodded, and turned away very quickly. “We’ll get started tomorrow.”

“We can do it now,” the taller boy said firmly.

Chris turned back to his friend, his ‘You’re being unreasonable’ expression in full swing. “You only just got your stitches out. And you look about ready to collapse.”

“Then we can take it slowly?” Catalin suggested. He didn’t feel the least bit tired anymore. He’d spent more than enough time relaxing recently.

Chris’ eyes narrowed. “Very slowly.”

“Sorry to interrupt, boys!” Both Catalin and Chris turned to face the door at the sound of the cheerful voice, and Saphie and Talia entered, pulling Kite behind them. “Kite has something he wants to ask.”

“Can say it myself, Saph,” Kite muttered, shrugging them off. He managed to look away from his feet and in Catalin’s general direction, and said, “Can I practice with you, too?”

“That’d be perfect!” Chris enthused, nodding. “Cat, you should definitely learn to work with Kite, too. Since you’re complete physical opposites, you’d…” He trailed off, and then amended, “I mean, if that’s okay with you.”

Catalin took in the utter hopefulness on the behemoth’s face, and a sudden, vague guilt settled in. He attempted a smile, but it only made his mouth look crooked. “Of course.”

He’d expected Kite to reply with a string of gleeful innuendos, maybe touch him inappropriately in the process. But for once, Kite couldn’t seem to say much of anything. “… is something wrong?” Catalin asked warily.

“Of course not,” Talia said, with a barely-visible smile of her own. “Right?”

“… y… yeah!” Kite stammered, his smile twitching. “Right… yeah… just you watch, Kitty Cat. I can do things Turner only dreams about!”

Ah, Catalin thought with a sigh, there it is.

***

“Close the door behind you, Amara.”

Amara obeyed her father’s request, then slowly walked into his room, seating herself on the couch beside Damian and trying not to look at Victor or Reiselle. This was making her nervous. Sure, she had been trying to involve herself in the goings on of the brothel more often in the past week, but she hadn’t expected one of Anwar’s own Guardians to barge in. She was beginning to remember why she’d thought this was such a bad idea in the first place.

“Don’t look so glum.” Victor attempted a smile. “No one’s mad at you.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Amara muttered, before asking in a slightly louder voice, “You’re not going to punish Cat, are you?”

“Of course not,” Reiselle said with a shake of her head. “Catalin’s been punished quite enough.”

“Do we trust this Baltus not to go straight to Anwar?” Damian asked, unusually businesslike.

Victor and Reiselle exchanged a glance, and Victor said, “We’re not really in a position to trust anyone right now. But given the situation, we can’t make a move until we’re positive that Derrick did give us away.”

“But that’s not what we wanted to talk to you two about,” Reiselle prompted.

“Of course.” Victor coughed. “First of all, Rei and I wanted to apologize. We’ve been making far too many decisions without talking to you two first, and… well… when we get Myrrh back, Rei and I won’t be the ones leading it. You will.”

“… well, hey…” Amara’s laugh was strained. “I haven’t exactly been making it easy for you to get me involved.” Damian just sat there without adding anything, but Amara could tell that Victor’s apology wasn’t enough for him.

“And on that note,” Reiselle said, crossing her arms, “Vic and I had an idea. And this would be something everyone would be involved in. So we wanted to consult you about it.”

Now Damian was interested. “And what’s that idea?”

“Well, I have to warn you…” Victor swallowed. “You probably won’t like it.”

***

The following week, just as October began, Catalin went back to work.

“Can you please hurry this up?” he whined, squirming at the sensation of cold metal against his skin. “They’re probably waiting on us.”

“Just a minute, Commandant!” Mariane, the youngest of Catalin’s subordinates – and the only one who still called him ‘Commandant’ – continued tying the knife to his bare torso. “I just want to make sure the knot is okay!”

Catalin huffed. Someone should have told him earlier that Celeste’s little knives were meant to be hidden under one’s clothes, and not carried around on his belt. He could have figured out how to tie them on himself during the training period. More importantly, he could have saved himself the embarrassment of being mostly undressed in front of his subordinates while they did it for him.

“Honestly, Cat.” Rose, a tall, sequin-laden woman, clicked her tongue. “You’re way too skinny, you know that? Gain a little weight before we have to force-feed you.”

He muttered something indistinct and hunched his shoulders. At least they were too polite to stare too openly at his scars. Between the ones on his back and the still raw-looking wound at his abdomen, his upper half was beginning to look like a solider already.

Finally, they released him, and he managed a sullen ‘Thank you’ before throwing on his clothes and hurrying for the door. Chris, who had been leaning against the wall and trying not to laugh, graciously opened the door for him as he rushed out.

“Quit smirking like that,” Catalin grumbled, striding down the hall.

“I can’t help it!” Chris grinned. “Catalin Kasshen: handsome aristocrat. Hard-boiled revolutionary. Ghost of Myrrh. Horribly ticklish. What’s not to smirk at?”

Catalin was just about to retort, but one of the descriptors stopped him. “Ghost of Myrrh?”

“Huh? Oh, right, you wouldn’t know,” Chris said. “That’s what they’re calling us these days, the Ghosts of Myrrh. Not exactly the nickname I’d pick, but that’s kind of badass, right?”

“I guess,” Catalin said, though he frowned. It seemed a bit insulting. They were alive, after all.

They entered the common room, and the heavy waves of tension almost sent Catalin running back out again. Damian was setting new records for badly-concealed sullenness; even Amara kept giving him unsettled looks, though she held herself straight. She had good reason to look nervous. She was the one responsible.

The previous week, Victor and Reiselle had made a suggestion to them: to go to Kathleen and Helena Tremont, Alexander’s mother and widow, and ask for their support. Amara had latched onto the idea right away. The Tremonts were from the noble class, and received donations each year for Alexander’s contributions to Carmine. No one in their current ranks would be able to provide such financial support. Catalin hadn’t been there, but he had heard that Amara and Damian had fought for hours over it.

As they walked in, Damian turned a steely smile on them. “You’re late.”

Catalin couldn’t help it. “Being the last ones here does not make us late,” he said, leaning against the wall.

“Okay, settle down, everyone,” Victor said, though he directed it towards Damian. “Let’s get you all on the road as quickly as possible, all right?”

“I agree.” Reiselle, who was sitting next to him, nodded. “Damian, Saphie, do you remember where the Tremont House is?”

“It’s hard to forget,” Damian said. Catalin really wished he wouldn’t smile like that when he was angry. It reminded him of Fanel Cross. “This is the house that Anwar gave them after the coup, after all.”

“We remember it,” Saphie interjected before he could go on.

“Good…” Victor turned to his daughter, his forehead starting to wrinkle. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I could go talk to them.”

“Dad, you said I could make decisions,” Amara said, with the air of someone who’d been over this several times. “And if I don’t get any practice with negotiations, I won’t be able to make informed decisions, right?”

“So if anyone asks-”

“I’m a sailor from Merin, I know.” And Amara looked the part, too. She wore beaten down clothes that could have easily belonged to a sailor, and with her dark complexion, anyone would assume her to be from the southern tip of Isalix.

“Then it looks like we’re ready to go,” Reiselle said, standing up. “And remember, Derrick Baltus is no slouch. Go straight to the aristocratic quarter, and don’t make any stops along the way. I’ll see you all later tonight.” With a slight incline of her head, Reiselle exited.

“She’s absolutely right, of course…” Victor leaned towards the door, listening to her footsteps recede, before pushing a couple of bills into Saphie’s hand. “But it wouldn’t hurt to pick up a treat for yourselves along the way.”

***

About an hour later, Catalin learned that good things existed on this earth.

He took another bite of the chocolate banana crepe the others had bought him and fought off the bubbling happiness trying to move from his taste buds to his face. So this is chocolate, he thought, with another rapturous bite. Depriving him of this was moving up in his list of the worst things that Anwar had ever done to him.

“How is it?” Chris asked, having already devoured his own apple crepe.

“… it’s okay,” was all Catalin could say as he took another small bite. He wanted this to last as long as possible.

Chris only snorted. “You should have told me ages ago that you wanted to try chocolate. Had I known it was the key to your happiness, I would have gotten you some.”

Catalin’s retort was muffled through his next mouthful. Chris was right, though: he felt happier, strange as it was. And not just because of the chocolate, either. Despite the fact that they were taking a detour through the crowded, colorful theatre district, people were giving them a wide berth, mostly due to Chris and Kite’s unwieldy weapons. Even so, because of the sheer number of off-duty Carmine soldiers in the theatre district, they didn’t stick out. They had even gotten the soldier’s discount at the crepe stand.

Their group had spread out as they walked: Damian and Amara were in front, making sure not to speak to one another. Saphie had linked arms with Kite and Talia, and while she and Kite chatted, Talia drifted along with them, adding her input every now and then. Catalin and Chris took up the rear.

“It was nice of Victor to get these for us,” Catalin admitted between bites.

“Yeah. He’s kind of like a parent.” Chris grinned. “Which reminds me, Uncle Amos wanted to tell you that you should be eating more red meat.”

He stopped eating for a moment to look at Chris in confusion. “Your uncle Amos said that?”

“Well, last time I wrote him, you had just gotten injured and all,” Chris said with a shrug. “So I got a return letter from him the other day, and he said to tell you that red meat helps with anemia and all. He kind of has this thing where he thinks every skinny, pale person he meets is anemic. And he wants you to come along whenever I get to visit him next, so just a warning, he’s going to feed you.”

Catalin laughed. “I didn’t realize you told him that. About me getting injured, I mean.”

“I tell him more or less everything,” Chris said with a faint smile. “Otherwise, he’d think the other kids on the playground were being mean to me and he’d come down here and beat them up.”

“I see,” Catalin said with a slow nod. “Does your uncle beat children often?”

“Okay, so he doesn’t actually beat anyone up,” Chris laughed. “But he’s really overprotective. And he had to get into the habit of defending me.”

So that’s where you get it from, Catalin thought. Out loud, he said, “Habit?”

“Yeah.” Chris nodded. “Once upon a time, people were actually excited that I would be a Guardian, you know. It couldn’t get around too much, since Carmine wasn’t supposed to know that Miss Gwendolyn had an heir yet, but my parents told everyone when I got that pendant. And where I live now, Little Valeria? My grandparents lived there their entire lives, and it’s a small town, so…”

“So they all know,” Catalin finished with a grimace. He hadn’t known that it was that bad.

“It’s kind of funny,” Chris said at length, his vague gaze following a string of tea lanterns draped across a restaurant. “Funny in a depressing way, that is. I only met Alexander Tremont once. It was a few months before… you know, and I don’t know if he was already working with Carmine at that point, but he walked by my house while I was playing outside, and he dropped his wallet. So I picked it up and gave it back to him.” He paused. “And he turned around, stared at me like I’d done something completely abnormal, and said, ‘You should have just kept it.’ And he just sort of shoved his pendant at me and walked away.”

Catalin didn’t say anything to that; he just walked beside Chris in silence. While Alexander Tremont loomed over many of their conversations, it was the first time that Chris had said much of anything about the man himself. Catalin made a low “Mmm” sound in his throat, hoping that Chris would take it as an indication to continue.

But Chris seemed to be done with talking about it. “But yeah,” he said, “Uncle Amos really can’t wait to meet you.”

Fair enough, Catalin thought, letting it go. He did too much subject-dodging himself to press Chris to talk about it. “As long as it doesn’t turn into some awkward ‘Please take care of my daughter’ situation,” he said.

“Are you kidding?” Chris snorted. “He won’t make that mistake. If I bring someone home for his approval, it’s going to be someone like Reiselle.”

“… you like Reiselle?”

“Someone like Reiselle,” Chris repeated.

“So you mean, like…” Catalin made a few vague hand gestures before finishing with, “Old?”

“Mature!” Chris glared. “Refined!”

“She’s forty-two,” Catalin snickered.

“She still looks great! And we’re not talking about Reiselle!”

“What’s goin’ on, now?” Kite asked, turning around.

“Chris is attracted to senior citizens,” Catalin said, dodging Chris’ swipe at him.

“There’s nothing wrong with that, Cat!” Saphie scolded, turning around as well. “I myself find older men to be much better company. Edmund is a fair bit older than me, and we go together just fine.”

“I don’t really care if he’s older or whatever,” Amara said, falling back from the front to talk with the others. “Even older men can have the emotional maturity of a ten-year-old. I just prefer that he be taller than me.” Catalin didn’t miss the pointed look she shot at Damian.

Damian didn’t miss it, either. “I’m not much different from most men,” he said, with would-be innocence. “I just want someone cute and ladylike.”

Before another fight could break out, Kite said, “Well, I-”

“We all know what you like, Kite,” Catalin sighed with a wave of his hand.

Kite looked put-out for a moment, but pounced on his opportunity. “So what do you like, Cat?”

“Nothing.” Catalin shook his head. “Older, younger, male, female, I don’t care. Relationships are a waste of time.”

“I agree,” Talia said.

“Well, it’s all good for you, Tal,” Kite said, “but Cat’s gonna be the head of the Kasshen House, yeah? So he needs to marry someone eventually!”

“And you think that’s going to be you?” Catalin asked with a smirk.

“Marry? Are you kiddin’? The King of the Mountain couldn’t limit himself like that! It wouldn’t be fair!” Kite laughed. “I just think you and me would have a great time together, Kitty Cat.”

“Oh, my,” Catalin said flatly, fanning himself with his hand. “I may faint.”

“Huh?” Kite’s expression shifted to concern. “You feelin’ sick or somethin’?”

“Sarcasm, Kite.” Catalin rolled his eyes. “Sorry to deprive you of catching me.”

“I’m a gentleman,” Kite said, defensiveness creeping in for a moment. “What about you, Tal? Want to marry Cat? You’d have everythin’: tons of money, and a husband who’d never touch you!”

“I’ll decline,” Talia said, and paused. “It would seem as if I was more suited for Christopher.”

But they didn’t have time to marvel that Talia had a hidden sense of humor. The conversation was cut short by a gasped “Look!” from Amara.

They had left the theatre district and arrived at a small bay. Stretching across the bay was a long, white footbridge, with paper lanterns lighting the path across. And on the other side of the bridge stood some of the biggest, most ostentatious buildings Catalin had ever seen.

“That would be the aristocratic quarter,” Damian said, as Catalin gaped. “Let’s pick up the pace. We’ve wasted too much time already.”

Despite Damian’s words, the atmosphere around the group was more relaxed as they crossed the bridge. At least, they had drifted closer together sometime during their earlier conversation.

About halfway across, a fierce gust of wind whipped across the water from the ocean, sending in a searing cold that seeped through Catalin’s coat. He shivered, wrapping his arms around themselves, and he watched the shimmering reflection of the lanterns blur and reform. “God, it’s cold,” he muttered.

“Windiest city in the world!” Saphie said, cheerier than she should have been. “Just like the song, right?”

Catalin blinked. “What song?”

“Oh, right,” Amara said, frowning. “You wouldn’t know it. ‘The Wind from the Ocean,’ it’s kind of Myrrh’s national anthem. Singing it in public could get you arrested.”

“The myth is,” Talia explained quietly, “that when this city was first settled, a typhoon nearly destroyed it. But the settlers, thinking that the fierce winds were sent by spirits wanting to steal the land from them, refused to evacuate. So they say that the constant wind from the ocean is the voice of the spirits, still mourning their defeat.”

As they crossed the rest of the bridge in quiet thought, Catalin understood why Anwar would make a song like that illegal. He wasn’t superstitious, and a myth like that seemed ridiculous to him. But a country that believed itself capable of fighting a typhoon wouldn’t be easy for Anwar to handle.

They reached the end of the bridge, and Catalin was abruptly jerked out of his head as Damian threw out both arms to stop them. Catalin opened his mouth to protest, but closed it as he saw why.

Six uniformed Carmine soldiers stood a good distance away, deep in conversation with each other. And though they weren’t close enough to make out facial features, Catalin could see them clearly enough to realize that it was Rakan and his team.

“What are they doing here?” Amara whispered, her eyes widened in panic.

“Routine patrol, most likely,” Damian whispered back. “We need to split up.”

“That’s a terrible idea,” Catalin hissed, and he balled his fists to stop the shaking.

“And if we’re all found and captured, who would come and get us?” Damian said, shaking his head. Catalin realized with a jolt of his stomach that Damian was right - Reiselle and the others weren’t in a position to help.

“Look, you can see the Tremont House from here.” He pointed out a white marble building on the horizon. A flag emblazoned with the Tremont family crest marked it clearly. “It won’t be hard to find. Kite, you’re with Talia. Christopher, take care of Cat. Saphie, Your Highness, come with me. Let’s go.”

Damian grabbed Amara’s hand and pulled her off in one direction, with Saphie following close behind. Kite turned to Catalin and muttered “Be careful” before running off with Talia in another. And before Catalin could collect himself, Chris was tugging him along by the sleeve.

They weren’t walking long before they found a stretch of clean little cottages that didn’t seem associated with any one compound. Catalin guessed that the servants who worked outside the house or weren’t important to daily life were quartered there. The alleyways between cottages formed a little maze, and Chris and Catalin weaved through it, trying to keep the Tremont House in sight.

Catalin was a little preoccupied by the fact that Damian had told Chris to ‘take care’ of him, but told himself he’d be annoyed about it later. He needed to focus now. After the close call last month, everyone would be so pissed off at him if he died.

He and Chris were quiet, listening for sounds around them besides their own. They tiptoed through the maze in silence for ten minutes before Catalin heard a small ‘thud’ behind him, and he stopped and turned, but Chris hadn’t knocked anything over. Frowning, he whispered, “Did you just-”

Catalin’s whispered turned into a strangled yelp as someone behind him grabbed a handful of his hair, yanking him back. Writhing in his assailant’s grasp, he reached for his sword, but the blade sliding across his throat stopped him. And the voice in his ear froze him on the spot.

“It’s the young Master Kasshen! What a coincidence!”

Chris stood where he was, spear pointed forward and eyes narrowed, but he didn’t risk making a move forward. Somewhere in his numb brain, Catalin was grateful that Chris didn’t try any macho threats like ‘Let him go’ or ‘Don’t touch him.’ That would have just made it worse.

“Oh dear.” Fanel Cross leaned over Catalin’s shoulder to get a better look. “Catalin, is this one of your new friends?”