Inner Mechanisms I

Two days had passed since the raid on the legal-but-unsanctioned Titanseye mining operation. After having gleefully plundered the belongings of the slave traders, the Redwing Pirates had all the Federacy traders jailed by the natives of the island, then these same natives left to their devices.

If Haruki had any guesses what had happened after the pirates left, it would be the vengeful execution of each and every one of these unsavory Sapia. If he were to take a second guess of what comes after, these natives would probably establish a new, closed-circuit society that would collapse onto itself within months or years. When slaves who have been their entire lives come into power without education or governance, their ruin would usually come shortly after, falling into the same trap their captors did before their emancipation.

He prayed this wouldn’t be the case as it was in his home world’s history. He further prayed that Flare knew this and established some sort of countermeasure—but knowing her? Probably not.

Sitting back in the brig cell in quiet meditation, he filled his mind with these circumstances and theoreticals so he could ignore the idea that threatened to cloud his mind.

And just by thinking it, he remembered:

Marquis Ako de Alfons. Ako—

Why is she here? In this world?

Anemone, who was sitting across him on the opposite bed, waved her legs back and forth expectantly.

“Sir Haruki? Thinking again?”

He didn’t respond.

“Sir Haruki,” she said, harsher this time. “Kingdom to Sir Haruki?”

“Oh?” Haruki snapped out of a trance.

“You’ve been like this for the past few days.” He had been. He hadn’t even mustered a word beyond a good morning and a good night. “You’re worrying me.”

“Sorry,” he said softly, massaging his temple. “A lot’s been on my mind.”

“I can tell. You talk in your sleep.”

Haruki blinked, heart jumpy. “I do? What do I say in my sleep?”

“You mentioned a name. Ako. You seem to talk of this name quite fondly.”

“Ah.” Shit. She heard. There was no reason to hide it from her nor lie about it. “You learn something new about yourself everyday.”

“So who is this Ako?” Anemone tilted her head, curious.

“It’s… well. You remember that girl I talked about the other day?”

“The one who vanished?”

“That was her name,” he said, voice lowering into a mumble. He bit his lip. “I think she’s in this world.”

“W-what?”

“I saw a portrait of her back in the raid. I wasn’t looking for her—I wasn’t even hoping I’d see her again. And yet, her portrait was in the manor. Her face, that scar… I can’t be mistaken. It’s her. She’s here, and…” His stomach dropped. “I think she’s dipped her hand in the slave trade, too.”

Anemone scratched her chin. She didn’t seem too perturbed. “I see.”

Haruki looked up, studying her nonplussed expression. “You suddenly don’t seem too surprised.”

“I mean, would it not make sense that you’re not the only otherworlder? The Sky Legion seem plenty like otherworlders themselves… just nothing like you, I suppose.”

“But it’s such a huge coincidence.” Haruki then held a finger up, emphasizing an idea. “And… the slave thing. She’s dealing in slaves, Anemone. I can’t imagine someone like her would dole out suffering like that to anyone.”

“Hmm? Is it unusual in your world?”

“Slavery isn’t just immoral in my world. It’s illegal.”

Anemone nodded rapidly. “Mhm. I see. I would very much like a world like that.”

Haruki chuckled once, quieting the quelch of his guts. “Well, slavery takes on different, apparently legal and supposedly ethical means in my world.”

“So what do we do then?” Optimism rose in Anemone’s voice as they weren’t prisoners in someone’s home themselves. As if they were in a position to act on the idea. The thought of Ako was nothing more than musings to pass time for Haruki at this juncture.

“I dunno, sit here and rot with the idea?”

A short, pudgy man dressed in a red tunic emerged from a corner outside the cell. His egg-shaped head ended in a mohawk, and his chin and neck had all but infused into his chest like melted butter.

“Haruki. Princess Anemone,” he said, spinning a key ring on his index finger. “Come with me.”

He unlocked the cell door for them, but the two simply sat where they were, confused.

“Uh, what?” Haruki raised an eyebrow.

“By her command, you are to be let free on the ship,” the man said, reluctance clear in his tone. “She has prepared quarters for you and the princess, under the condition you promise not to bed each other.”

“E-eh? I-I…” Anemone blurted incoherently.

“W-We’re not gonna do that though.”

“None of us think so. But she seemed to have pegged you as a lustful pervert. Don’t ask me why.”

Of course she did. “Well, thanks. We’re not sure how to get around the ship though. Your place is pretty big, and we could use a tour—uh, whoever you are.”

“Warren.” The pudgy man bowed curtly, uncharacteristic of the crew’s mostly boisterous attitude. “Warren Redshield.”

Haruki raised a hand timidly. “A question, if I may, Warren,” he said. “Is Flare… well, is your pirate princess a dwarf?”

“What do you mean? We all are.”

“Wait, what?” Haruki and Anemone said at the same time.

“Why’re you asking? And why are you all surprised?”

Haruki’s eyes darted back and forth. “Flare mentioned something about applying some dwarven engineering on my machine. She seemed real proud of it, too.”

“Yes, she’s a dwarf like the rest of us.”

“All of you?”

“All of us. No exception. Except for you two, of course.”

“But Flare, she’s… yeah, short for a huma—I mean, Sapia. But she’s taller than all of you.”

“Yes she is,” Warren said, as if it were a simple fact of life.

“And you. You have no…” Haruki floated his hand over and below his chin, drawing an invisible but long, flowing beard. His eyes blinked and rounded at Warren.

“Ah. I see. That’s confusing you.” He cleared his throat, and a smile peeked through his grumpy cadence. “Let’s clear things up for both of you. Follow me.”

Warren invited both of them out of the brig, and Haruki and Anemone agreed with a shrug. They exited the dirty, crusty jail, with their dwarven tour guide leading them up a few stairs and into a notably cleaner hallway within the cabins.

At the end of the hallway and past a blind corner was a lone door. A sign hung from its doorknob, with the words “Donut Enter” scribbled on it in red crayon, or whatever passed off as crayon in this world. Scrawled on it was a crude drawing of what might have been Flare smiling.

“I can see this is Flare’s room,” Haruki said, whispering skeptically. “Why’re we here?”

“Confirm that she and the rest of us are dwarves.”

“Look, Warren, we believe you, okay? No reason not to.”

Anemone nodded in response.

Haruki pointed at the sign. “And it says to not enter.”

Warren grinned and playfully kicked Haruki in the shin. It was clear that was a playful kick, but it was so strong it could’ve left a bruise if Warren wanted it to.

“Go. Confirm.” He only smiled.

Haruki’s eyes narrowed. He recognized what this was. A hazing ritual. Warren wanted Haruki to have an unfortunate “accident” during Flare’s private time. He wondered if this was something mostly everyone in the crew experienced at some point.

But judging from Warren’s kick, he might break Haruki in half if he didn’t comply. Though Flare might shatter his spine if he went in now. Either way, he was doomed.

Warren stepped between him and Anemone. The princess wasn’t going to be subjected to the same hazing. It was between Haruki and him.

Accepting his fate, Haruki marched towards Flare’s room. If his bones were going to be ground to dust anyway, it better be after seeing Flare naked or something.

He opened the door and peeked inside. Not a word left his mouth. He could ask permission now, but if Warren knew he warned Flare, he expected the dwarf to toss him into the sea later.

He hugged the wall leading further into the room, registering the absence of personal belongings within. Only axes, swords, and crossbows hung from the wall, alongside a trophy fish nailed on a platter. The air smelled of dust, gunpowder, and the citrussy, fragrant soap Flare had looted from the manor yesterday.

Sweat broke through Haruki’s forehead. Was she taking a bath? Oh, I am definitely dead.

Past a translucent-screen, Flare’s sitting silhouette peeked through. She wasn’t taking a bath, thankfully, but she was clearly attending to some personal grooming. Her voluptuous figure screamed louder than Haruki’s heart pounded.

He darted past the screen and stared unflinchingly in Flare’s direction.

Though she wasn’t naked, a thick, white towel wrapped itself around her body, barely able to contain her features. The mirror before her reflected her face, of which a white cream was smothered around her mouth and under her chin. She sensed Haruki the moment he emerged from the screen.

“Hi, Flare.”

Flare turned slowly, her mouth agape, eyes wide, and a razor on one hand drifting over the cream. Tears of shame wet her eyes.

“So are you a dwarf after all?” Haruki asked with the flattest, most normal tone, as if he didn’t just intrude on a lady’s private time.

He observed the cream on her face, and it clicked: that was shaving cream.

Flare had grown a beard.

She clenched a fist, anger blazing in her eyes. Nerves popped from her toned, muscular arms. She stood up, walked towards Haruki, and looked up at him.

“You truly are an incorrigible pervert.”

Haruki smiled his last. “Guess so.”

The next few moments were a blur. Haruki hadn’t lost consciousness, but he swore he saw equal parts heaven and hell in that decisive minute.

There was no resistance, just the acceptance of death. But even he was denied that.

His bones were left uncrushed. He wouldn’t come back to Anemone in a soup can.

But he did return to their quarters later, bruised, sore, and wishing he had some painkillers with him.

All that to confirm that Flare was, indeed, a dwarf—like the rest of the Redwing Pirates.

And yet, the knowledge did not change his circumstances.

He was no closer to discovering the truth behind Ako de Alfons—but maybe this newfound camaraderie with the crew was a step.