The workshop front door closed behind them with a soft jingle as Emil, Luna, and Calder parted ways.
Calder peeled off toward whatever tavern hosted “spicy mango margarita night,” whistling to himself as if he hadn’t just had a hand in an execution worthy crime.
Emil and Luna headed back the way they had arrived down the strip of shops. Several stares from late night shoppers and night shift artificers landed on them, especially on Luna’s new casing.
“I just have to grab a few things from the apartment first,” Emil said, breath coming a little fast as they cut off down a back street. Luna floated behind him like a drunken kite, magically tethered to a runed bracelet affixed to Emil’s wrist.
“That’s literally the first place they’re going to check for you,” she scolded.
“Yeah, maybe,” Emil said, “but I need my journals. And a change or three of clothes. And toiletries. We don’t know how long we’ll be gone.”
Luna rolled her whole body in lieu of eyes.
Her new shell, roughly the size of a roll of dimes, easily let Luna take in the night time sights of the city. Calder’s expertly made device allowed Luna to now interact with her surroundings while also preventing her magical body from attaching to any random magical street light and draining it dry. She still felt the drawl, but it was more than manageable. The concentrator class was Hungry.
“Emil,” Luna murmured through their link, tone low. “I… really don’t think we should stop back at the apartment.”
Emil huffed, jaw tightening.
He didn’t disagree.
Instead of turning toward his building, he kept going, boots scuffing faster now over cobblestones, cutting straight through to the shipping district and the river docks.
He walked up to the night shift manned ticket booth, trying to act like a man who wasn’t actively fleeing his own city.
“One ticket to the next town downriver, please,” he said.
“That’ll be thirty copper,” the woman behind the window replied, matter of fact.
They had barely any money left. Every coin they’d had was now invested in Luna’s freedom and the beginnings of their escape. The coins they had printed while waiting on Calder’s preparations had been hastily given to the man for his work.
But…time was on their side. Time, and their combined mana regen.
Luna did her thing while Emil stiffly told the booth worker he needed to “grab some money real quick,”. The man paced in circles near the docks before eventually tiring himself out where he leaned on then slid down a warehouse wall. His exhausted form slumped as he succumbed to the stress of the day, Emil accidentally passing out in a dirty alley.
By the time the first hint of dawn glowed over the water, Luna had produced the needed funds, with the help of her sleeping mana well of course.
…
The ticket worker slid a stamped metal chit across the counter.
“One ticket to Shriverton. Departure is in 30 minutes. No refunds.”
“Right. Yes. Perfect. Thank you.” Emil scooped the chit with both hands like it was a songbird's egg.
Luna pulsed faintly as she sat nestled against Emil's wrist having reeled herself into the fasteners of the bracelet.
“We should try to get on as early as possible,” she said. “Get out of the open where we could be sniped.”
Emil nodded, throat tight as he nervously checked high points hoping that he would spot the glint of a metal blade or arrowhead before it was too late for him.
…
Sica watched from the rigging of a half loaded freighter, the shadows of the early morning sun hiding her form from the paranoid man. She guessed she couldn’t blame him, it wasn’t really paranoia if it was justified.
Her target rocked on his heels while he waited in line. The man shifted his weight from foot to foot, nervously stroking a new bracelet that held a metal tube that gave off a familiar but much stronger magical signature than the last time Sica had felt it. The concentrator… if she could still call it that pulsed in her vision like a growing bonfire on a clear night.
Thankfully, the war artificer from before was nowhere in sight.
That hopefully meant she wouldn’t have to choose between certain death and the contract.
She flexed her fingers, feeling her own mana, thin and smooth along her skin ensuring her stealth.
Her window was small.
The boat left soon.
She would complete this quickly, cleanly, and quietly.
She waited until Emil stepped onto the boarding ramp.
And followed.
…
Emil and Luna were in the first group to board, having staked out the spot overnight like people used to do for Black Friday before the internet.
They followed the cabin markings along the narrow hallway, matching metal plaques on the doors until they found the one stamped “C-12”.
The cabin was narrow but clean: one bed that looked like it had at least some padding, a circular porthole framing the fading night, a small cabinet with towels and basic toiletries.
Emil dropped onto the bed with a heavy thud, his whole body finally unclenching.
Luna drifted up to tap her casing gently against the porthole glass. Two sharp pings.
“We did it,” she said softly.
Emil didn’t answer. He was too busy pressing a pillow over his face, smothering the last few days of stress with muffled groaning.
Luna hummed and settled beside his covered head.
“You should rest for real,” she said. “That alleyway nap barely counted as a couple hours of sleep. We’ll be underway any moment. Then we’ll be far away from any killer spies.”
Emil let out a muffled grunt in agreement.
He was exhausted. He didn’t care that his hair was a disaster, or that he still hadn’t changed clothes in over a day and a half.
He passed out within seconds, finally feeling safe.
Not fifty feet away, a shadow slipped through a window into the hull of the ship that had just pulled anchor.
…
Sica moved along the outer hull like the morning mist on the water—quiet, sure, cold.
She clung to the riverboat’s railing as it drifted from the pier, boots finding footholds with practiced ease. The hull vibrated softly as the engines warmed.
She inhaled.
Pulsed her sight enhancement one last time to make sure her path was clear.
Then swung herself through a porthole left cracked open by a careless deckhand. She had landed silently in a dim lower hallway. The gently swinging lamps were dimmed. The air smelled of river mist and oil. Footsteps thudded faintly above her.
But in this corridor…
Silence.
She pulled her hood down and slipped forward.
Her mana thinned to a razor line, bending light and sound, smearing her outline into the background. Not true invisibility, just a blind spot. A place people’s eyes slid over.
She only needed one strike.
One breath.
One heartbeat.
She scanned the passenger rooms above, her vision piercing the thin floorboards. As always, the target was easy to find. The modified concentrator lit its cabin like a second rising sun.
She counted the distance from her current deck to that precise pocket of glow.
Now it was only a question of reaching the passenger level and carrying out her orders.
Sica began climbing the stairwell toward the passenger deck smoothly and silently as smoke.
The old stairs wanted to creak underfoot, but her stealth silenced the cries.
Early daylight filtered through narrow windows. She was close now.
One half stairwell, one long hallway…
Emil Braxtown was no doubt resting after the condition she had last seen him in.
Sica had to narrow her focus to avoid afterimages as she continued to look in the direction of modified concentrator.
One strike and she could return to a payday big enough so that she could take a much needed vacation.
Sica reached the landing, slipped around the corner…and walked straight into a wall of muscle.
For half a second, she thought she had greatly misjudged the ship's layout and hit a slab of stone.
That was before the wall scolded her, “No assassinations on my ship, young lady.”
Sica froze at the man’s words.
The man in front of her was enormous. His face was sun browned and supported a beard that could not be tamed. Tattoos coiled up his arms, anchors, tridents, a kraken that looked like it had seen better days.
His eyes glowed faintly.
High level mana flickered across him in controlled waves.
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
Level twenty or above.
At least.
Sica’s blood went cold.
“…Captain,” she said carefully, fingers tightening on the drawn dagger at her side.
He folded his arms, each limb thicker than her torso.
“You can skulk around in the shadows on your own time,” he rumbled. “But not on the Riverboat of Love and Happiness.”
Sica blinked.
“…That’s the boat’s actual name?”
“Officially, she’s the SS Serendipity’s Sunrise Voyage,” he said. “Bit of a mouthful. Most folks just call her Sunny’s Love Boat.”
He leaned in, eyes narrowing.
“And nobody draws knives on my lower decks,” he added, “unless they’re slicing fruit.”
Sica slid the dagger behind her back, not doing a very good job of hiding her intentions.
“I….” Sica started trying to form a coherent excuse for her sneaking.
The captain, Sunny, did not look impressed.
“Girl, I don’t care if you’re here to stab your lover, your enemy, or your childhood imaginary friend,” he said. “You do not spill blood on my ship. That kind of thing brings sharks, monsters of the deep, and most annoyingly, boat ghosts.”
Sica had faced countless mad mages, berserking warriors, rival assassins, and even a starving abomination.
She had never faced a retired level twenty plus river captain who treated murder like an annoyance.
“Of course, I’m just… uh…” She tried to sound casual. “Looking for my cabin.”
“Cabin.” Sunny repeated. “Let me help you with that, what's the number?”
His tone made it very clear where that line of conversation was going. Sica's silence in response to the question wasn’t helping her case.
“If you’re boarding without permission,” he said, “you’re either staying as a prisoner until we hit the next stop… or we can arrange for the last minute purchase of a ticket allowing you to stay as a passenger.”
Sica stared.
Prisoner, on a riverboat run by a level twenty madman with morals?
Not on the to do list.
“So.” Sunny planted a giant hand on her shoulder with the gentleness of a small landslide. “Which is it? Prisoner, or passenger who accidentally forgot to pay before boarding?”
Sica’s gaze flicked up the hallway toward Emil’s cabin just a handful of doors away. One single layer of wood between her and the completion of the contract.
Sunny’s grip tightened.
Sica smiled the dead inside smile of someone whose entire plan had just been obliterated by nautical hospitality.
“…Passenger,” she said.
Sunny brightened instantly.
“Excellent! Love to hear it.”
He marched her up toward the combination customer service desk and gift shop near the galley.
The clerk behind the counter looked half awake, clutching a cup of steaming river coffee.
“One last minute ticket,” Sunny announced. “And put her as close as you can to my quarters, just in case she gets lost again.”
The clerk yawned. “That’ll be forty copper.”
Sica paid without a word.
Sunny clapped her on the back hard enough to make her have to take a couple steps to recover her balance.
“Welcome aboard, lass! Vacations are good for the soul. Whatever murderous business you had planned can wait till you’ve got your boots back on shore!”
He turned away humming a jaunty tune, clearly already moving on with his day.
Sica stood there, ticket in hand, wishing she could sink into the floor then to the bottom of the river never to return to this emotionally straining contract.
But… orders were orders.
She would wait.
She would watch Emil and the concentrator.
And when they next stepped off the boat…
She would finish what she came here to do.
For now, she decided she had to occupy herself somehow…
…
Sica’s assigned cabin turned out to be… fine.
Small, functional, exactly what you got when you bought the cheapest last minute cabin on a riverboat.
She tossed her small pack onto the cot resulting in a heavy thud of lockpicks, spare daggers, and other essential supplies.
Sica groaned softly.
This was not how she’d pictured the day going.
She washed her face, tied her hair back, and headed to breakfast following the map on the back of the itinerary that had been left on the small night stand.
The dining hall was warm and busy, filled with the smell of fried eggs and aromatic coffee. A bard by the windows was aggressively strumming something upbeat. The whole room radiated cheerful morning energy. Sica hadn’t had enough sleep in the last few days for that.
She took a side table. Alone.
A crew member provided her with a metal tray of food with a genuinely bright smile.
She ate mechanically while watching passengers go about their morning.
She tried not to fixate too hard on the fact that she could easily make it to Emil in his room within the minute. The only thing stopping her was that killing Emil would definitely summon Captain Sunny and whatever hurricane that man could surely conjure.
So, she waited and planned. After finishing her meal, she wandered the ship gaining a mental map, noting escape routes, and laughed at the lackluster security measures built into doors labeled “Employee’s only”.
She had walked the entire publicly accessible areas of the ship twice before the lunch bell rang.
The itinerary noted entertainment to accompany this meal and she would be lying if she didn’t admit she was a bit curious.
…
In Cabin C-12, light shown brightly through the porthole.
Emil didn’t move.
He had reached such a profound depth of sleep that Luna was half convinced he’d entered some sort of stress induced hibernation.
It was now well into the late morning as Luna had grown bored of drifting around the room practicing her floating skills.
“Well… he’s probably not waking up on his own any time soon,” she decided.
She bumped his cheek with her shell.
No response.
“He would want me to explore,” Luna reasoned to herself. “After all that effort to get me a new body, it would be a waste not to enjoy the boat ride.”
She tickled the security runes on her door with a copied signature that she picked up from the key that Emil still had on his person. The door popped open happily allowing her to zip into the hallway. She of course remembered to slam her metal body into the door to reengage the security before proceeding down the hallway with the energy of a puppy discovering grass for the first time.
The next twenty minutes were pure bliss. She admired the curtains, greeted confused passengers, interacted with countless ship staff to get a feel for the working conditions around here. Her polling resulted in the conclusion that the staff were well compensated, even having access to a number of benefits including on board child care.
By noon, she floated toward the upper deck, drawn by the flow of passengers who were no doubt attracted by the smell of food. On more than one occasion, Luna had observed a passenger studying a printed out trifold itinerary. Next on the list was something called “Riverboat Variety Extravaganza of Delights.”
She was instantly interested.
…
Sica arrived early for the lunch show and sat in the back, posture perfect, eyes scanning for threats.
She did not, in fact, want to enjoy jugglers, singers, and acrobats.
She wanted lines of sight, exit routes, and a clear plan.
Her vision was rudely interrupted however by a shining beacon of light emanating from a familiar cylinder.
The floating device, on the far side of the room, let off thin rays of mana through tiny lattice gaps in its shell. It reminded her of the shine of fireflies forced through cracked glass. Her enhanced vision picked up every searing glimmer, needling her until her temples throbbed.
She lasted less than 10 seconds before she grudgingly let the skill drop, hating the way it made her feel exposed… though grateful for the relief.
Without the mana overlay shimmering in her eyes, she was forced to take in the room like a normal person.
Unfortunately, that meant she could also see that the device was getting bigger.
It was drifting in her direction.
…
The cylinder traveled lazily flipping end over end with the inevitability of a thrown knife.
As it drew closer, Sica realized it wasn’t just moving randomly. It was turning, adjusting, aiming. Like it knew exactly where she was, even through her now activated cloak and stealth skills.
The hooded woman muttered under her breath before she could stop herself.
“No. No no no no.”
The cylinder paused in the air, tilting as if listening. Its shell rotating to align parallel with her shoulders.
“…Are you… shy?” a voice asked, bright and curious, directly in her head.
Sica’s soul briefly attempted to exit via both ears.
She snapped into emergency stealth mode so fast the air around her shivered. Light bent and sound waves were destructed as Sica dove behind a pillar. Several nearby passengers’ expressions blanked as their brains were forced to forget that this area of the world existed. It strained her abilities, but it was necessary.
The cylinder did not forget.
If anything, it was now more interested in her. Sica could feel the probing tendrils of energy brush up against her cloaked body.
“Found you,” the voice sang.
The floating shell drifted right to the pillar she was pressed against and tapped at her elbow with a gentle thud of metal on fabric.
“Whatcha doin’?” the voice chimed pleasantly.
Sica’s shoulders sagged.
“…Trying to hide from you,” she said.
“Why?”
“Because I’m trying to kill the guy prepping to use you for some wild act of destruction.” Sica thought only to herself.
“I didn’t want to scare you off” she landed on in response.
There was a tiny pause.
“Nah, least scary spy assassin I’ve ever met.” the voice said playfully calm. “Wanna sit with me for the show?”
Sica stared at the hovering war crime in a cute metal shell.
At the sentient contraband device that was, by all logic, a city leveling disaster waiting to happen.
Then she let out the tension she had been holding in an exhausted groan.
“…Sure,” she said.
Upon taking her seat, a waiter appeared at her elbow as if summoned.
“Drink, miss?” he asked.
She knew she should refuse. She knew she should stay sharp. She knew she was on a contract.
“A drink would be great,” she heard herself say instead.
Hey, she was off the clock.
…
The acrobat on stage finished with a backflip, front flip, then a one handed cartwheel that culminated in an oversplit all in platform heels covered with tiny riverboat charms.
Half the audience gasped.
The other half applauded.
Sica nearly fell out of her chair.
“How the hell can she do so many flips in shoes like THAT?!” she demanded, flinging an arm toward the stage.
She drained the rest of her tequila “Sunnyrise.” The glass hit the table with a defeated clack.
The cylinder bobbed sympathetically beside her.
“I don’t even have feet and that hurt to watch,” the girl in the shell said.
A waiter swooped in and collected the four empty glasses around them with terrifying efficiency.
“Another for the lady?” he asked Sica, offering a tired but genuine smile.
Sica patted her belt, finding her nearly empty coin purse.
“Nah. The drink allowance ran out two drinks ago,” she said.
The cylinder made an offended little scoffing noise.
“The drinks here are, what, two copper? That’s basically nothing.”
“I haven’t gotten paid for my last job yet,” Sica said. “And I didn’t exactly have time to go to the bank before coming here to kill your friend.”
The waiter nodded politely and moved on, unbothered by the casual mention of murder.
The shell floated closer and tapped Sica’s arm.
“I got this one,” the girl said.
Two copper coins popped into existence from nowhere.
Literally nowhere.
The waiter pivoted back like a well trained hawk and snagged the coins mid air with a flourish.
“I’ll be right back with that drink,” he said, vanishing into the crowd again.
Sica stared at the space where the coins had appeared.
Then at the tiny metal cylinder hovering at her side.
“…Thank you,” she said slowly. “But…how’d you do that?”
“I may be a person,” the girl said, “but my class is still Concentrator. I make coins!”
“Yeah, you make coins,” Sica said, brow furrowing. “But how did you just… summon them?”
The shell brightened, runes pulsing with pride.
“Oooh. Right. New shell, new spacial storage feature!” the girl said. “I can auto feed coins into storage, merging them into higher denominations as needed and pop them out when I want. Cuts down on the clutter.”
She spun a little loop in the air.
“Just in the time it took to explain that, I would’ve dropped like… three of my lowest denomination on the floor.”
Sica stared, first at the shell then at her own miserable coin purse. She looked back at “Luna”, as she had learned the device preferred to be called, as a slow, horrible, wonderful realization crawled up her spine. She was sitting with a sentient money printer. A money printer that apparently liked her enough to buy her a drink.
Sica leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling like it might offer her life advice.
“…What am I doing taking assassination jobs,” she whispered.
“What’s that?” the girl asked.
Sica let out a long breath.
“I think,” she said slowly, feeling the ground under her tilt, “you might be my new best friend.”
The shell’s glow warmed, turning almost golden.
“Hell yeah!!” Luna exclaimed. “You’re way more fun than Emil.”
