Isle of Wysteria: The Reluctant Queen (56 page)

With surprising speed, the wall of manoi moved, shoving them backwards. Pressed up against the wall, they were pushed back across the bridge, picking up the other members of their crew, until finally everyone, along with their gear, was deposited back at the beginning of the bridge.

“I guess that means they'll take your petition to change the policy under consideration,” Athel jeered as she picked herself up.

“Well, I suppose we can expect as much from your leadership,” Setsuna complained, dusting herself off.

“I say we just go back in there and thump our way in,” Hanner recommended, picking up his volley-gun.

“I’m not sure we could if we tried, lad,” Captain Evere warned.

Athel linked her fingers and stretched her arms behind her head, thinking hard. “No.”

“What do you mean, no?” Privet asked.

“I mean they were just doing what they thought was right. I mean, I’m not going to destroy a place like that. The world needs beautiful places. Besides, if we break those manoi walls down, we'll expose not only ourselves, but everyone in the city above to the spores. We'll find another way.”

“I don’t think there is another way,” Privet insisted.

“This argument seems oddly familiar,” Ryin observed.

From atop an outcropping, Setsuna placed her chin in her palms and looked down at the crew below. “You know, it’s pretty funny if you think about it. You guys practically destroyed a high-security Stonemaster fortress, you guys broke into the Federal Reserve for the entire League, and yet here you are, defeated by a few dumb little monks and their bureaucratic red tape.”

“When you say it that way it doesn’t sound ruttin’ funny at all,” Hanner groused.

“How’d she know about the tower?” Ryin asked aloud.

Setsuna disappeared, then appeared again, hanging on Privet’s arm. “Athel’s plan sank in the mud like a rock-turtle. Mind if I give it a try?”

“Look, this is important,” Privet urged. “This isn’t some kind of game to us.”

“Well, maybe it should be, because that is how I’m going to get us what you need to save your little island.”

“Will you stop hanging on him,” Athel yelled, but Setsuna had already vanished.

“Just what are you saying, girl?” Captain Evere asked, looking around to find her again.

Setsuna appeared right next to Athel and whispered in her ear. “I know of another place where you can get DeathCaps. The monks aren’t the only people on this island with access to Shikyappu.”

“Why didn’t you mention this earlier?” Athel asked.

“Didn’t I?” Setsuna asked, twirling a green pigtail and turning her eyes away. “I thought I had.”

Athel realized what she was getting at and folded her arms judgmentally. “How much do you want?”

“Ah, so you are leaning how this world works after all,” Setsuna praised. She closed her hands and when she opened them again, an oathband lay in each one. “Give me my honor back, and I’ll give you the information you need.”

“Never, you can’t have him!” Athel stonewalled. “I won’t allow it.”

Setsuna rolled her eyes. “Don’t you know anything about haggling? You don’t just refuse my offer outright. You counter-offer with an amount you are more comfortable with. For example, instead of a marriage, how about a date?”

“A date?”

“Yes, a whole evening with him to myself, no interferennce from the rest of you. He promises to dote on me and give me his full attention.”

“Not a chance,” Athel insisted. “I will never let you date him.”

Setsuna’s arms dropped. “Boy, you are really bad at this, aren’t you?”

“Haggling is stupid. If I want five of something I should just be able to ask for five. Pretending that I want ten so that I can then settle on five is ridiculous.”

“That’s how the world works, princess. If you want something, you have to give up something to obtain it. You want to save your island, I want to win Privet’s heart. Giving both parties what they want is simply good business.”

Privet raised his hand. “Don’t I get a say in this?”

Setsuna and Athel turned to him. “Quiet, you,” they said in unison.

“No, I will not be quiet,” Privet insisted. “Athel, you forget that you are not my Matron, you can’t just treat me like some trinket you don’t want to sell off.”

Athel backed down and lowered her eyes in shame, realizing what was she was doing.

“And you...” Privet said, turning to Setsuna. “Do you know what my first instinct was when you said you could get us the mushrooms?”

“You couldn’t believe that a woman could be so beautiful and intelligent at the same time?” she teased.

Privet shook his head without taking his eyes off of hers. “No. My first instinct was to suspect a trap. I assumed you were bluffing so you could turn us into the local authorities for a reward or something like that.”

Setsuna looked away, her expression becoming remorseful. “I wouldn’t do that to you. You won my honor, and that means something, even to a pirate. There are some promises you just don’t break.”

“But I can’t know that, can I?” Privet said, stepping towards her. “Because right now I can’t trust you.”

Privet stopped right in front of her, his powerful frame in complete control. She wilted a little before him.

“You say you want to win my heart, but as long as I can’t trust you, that is impossible, isn’t it?”

“But...”

Privet reached out and took her hands in his and raised them up. “I can’t promise I’ll fall in love with you, but if you help us, I promise that I will trust you from now on.”

Setsuna blushed deeply. She tried to look up into his eyes, but became bashful and looked away, a suprising reaction for her.

Athel ground her teeth, and would have charged in, sword drawn, if Hanner hadn’t grabbed her and stopped her. When Setsuna saw how angry Athel was, she regained her confidence. “Oh, look at you, being all noble and compassionate and stuff,” she squirmed happily, gripping his hands. “My mother was right, I do have excellent taste in men, don’t I?”

Setsuna leaned over so she could see Athel past Privet. “Take note from this guy, princess,
this
is how you negotiate.”

Privet’s expression brightened. “So, you’ll help us?”

Setsuna leaned in and kissed his hand, all the while keeping her eyes locked on Athel.

Athel became enraged, grunting and swearing in her native tongue. She struggled so hard that Ryin and Captain Evere had to join in to keep her held back.

“There is one other group on the island that uses Shikyappu,” Setsuna explained, “and those are the Tojiboru athletes. Come on, I’ll take you to them.”

The journey through the caves was highly disorienting. Setsuna would create a doorway as far ahead as the curves of the tunnels would allow, step through it, then make another several hundred yards farther down, oftentimes angling the gateways so that she could get around curves and bends with only a single portal. While this was easy for her, being at the head of the column, those that followed found themselves stepping through one portal, only to find another directly in front of them. Looking ahead through one portal into another and then into another was befuddling to those not used to it. After awhile, they found it easier to just look down and step through. Despite the unusual method, they travelled miles in seconds as she brought them into cave sections that were increasingly occupied. Snack carts and shops lined the walls, shoppers milled about. A distant rumbling and faint smell became louder and stronger as they approached the arena she had told them about.

“...Did I mention that I was teaching Tim how to talk?” Captain Evere mentioned to Mina, making sure he was within earshot of Hanner. “Scuttle-butt and landlubber, geedunk and pogey bait. I was even halfway to getting him to salute with his little foot.”

When Hanner ignored him, Evere pushed a little harder. “Maybe I should have taught him how to say, ‘please don’t eat me.’”

“Blast it, Cap’n, I already told you I didn’t eat your parrot!” Hanner yelled.

“Then where is he, by thunder?”

They stepped through one final gate, and now the rumbles were a deafening roar. Built like a many-tiered bowl, the stadium was carved directly out of the rock. Ten-thousand screaming voices all converged on the center of the stadium. Drunken Sutorians with faces painted in their team’s colors shouted obscenities, threw their ale bottles, and jumped up and down, oftentimes tearing off their shirts and waving them above their heads.

“Great Anvils! What stinks in here?” Ryin complained, waving his hand around.

Mina’s ears perked up, her tail began lashing around in panic. “Stinks? What stinks? Nothing stinks,” she said nervously, pulling out a perfume bottle and dousing herself.

But the smell wasn’t coming from her, it was the musk of twenty thousand warm, sweaty armpits, combined with the salty air of cheap cheese, rancid butter, skunky ale, and a sharp, acidic aftertaste of bile. The smell was incredible. So strong that it actually felt like a physical force. It kicked you in the stomach as you walked in, then slowly strangled you, squeezing your throat and nose from the inside out.

“Are these really the same people?” Alder asked as he covered his mouth with his handkerchief, watching their boorish behavior.

“It’s pretty typical of islands like this,” Setsuna commented as she led them up the aisles to some empty seats. “The harder you clamp down, the more pressure builds up. This is their release valve.”

At the center of the stadium sat a delineated dirt field with a net at each end, enclosed in a box of manoi. Inside stood two Tojiboru athletes, gaudily dressed in bright colors, each controlling two square blocks of manoi that were used to bounce and reflect the ball around as the drunken crowds cheered them on.

“How can they concentrate with all this noise?” Mina asked, plugging her ears.

“They're trained to block it all out,” Setsuna commented as she sat down and plucked a box of popcorn away from the feet of an unsuspecting spectator.

Hanner and Alder sat down next to a tiny cheering Sutorian, his face painted in quartered red paint, his necktie tightened about his head like a headband. “Well, hey, look who’s here,” Hanner grunted, pointing at the little man. “It’s our friend from the train station.”

Waving banners dropped from Eighlo’s tiny hands. He squeaked in fright and tried to run away, but before he could get clear of them, Hanner plucked him up and held him aloft by his belt.

“Hey, don’t mind us, little squirt, you look like you’re having a good time.”

“I was,” Eighlo groaned as he was placed back in his seat.

Setsuna patted the empty seat next to her, but Athel grabbed Privet and sat him down hext to her. “So, who uses Shikyappu in here?” Privet asked, trying to keep them on task.

Setsuna scowled at Athel. “The officials give it to players who are injured during their matches,” she explained, tossing some popcorn into her mouth.

“In what form?”

Setsuna shrugged. “I dunno, a little slice off the top, I think.”

“Would that be enough?” Privet asked.

“As long as there are a few living cells, I can grow it from there,” Athel replied as she rested her hand on Privet’s knee. She could feel Setsuna’s glare without even having to turn around.

Vendors walked up and down the aisles, carrying trays with drinks and snacks.

“Hey, I'll take an ale,” Hanner called out, holding up a few coins. The vendor reluctantly handed one over, carefully inspecting the coins to make sure they weren’t counterfeit.

The bottle looked ridiculously tiny in Hanner’s enormous hand. He twisted off the top and drank the contents, barely a sip for his massive frame.

The announcers came out, standing atop the box of manoi, and shouted out to the crowd in their native tongue. An athlete emerged, dressed in quartered red, his pair of manoi blocks likewise quartered.

“That’s Sevtah, the Regional Champion,” Eighlo cheered. He’s from my home district, District Three.”

Sections of the crowd began cheering something over and over again. “Wata! Shika! Chiha! Nanba! Wamda!” The energy of their combined voices made the ground rumble beneath them.

“What are they cheering?” Alder asked, covering his ears.

Eighlo thumbed his nose. “They are saying ‘We're number one,’ of course.”

Alder sat back and pondered this information.

“What?” Eighlo asked.

Alder waved his hand. “Oh, nothing. It’s just that I don’t see how the people in the stands can claim his glory.”

Eighlo belched drunkenly. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s obvious that he is number one, not the people cheering for him.”

Eighlo stood up, still shorter than Alder sitting down. “But, they help him by cheering for him, so it’s like they're part of the team.”

“But, she said the athletes are trained to block it out.”

“Yeah, but because he’s from our district, it means that our district is better than their district.”

“Was he born in District Three?”

“No, he was hired by an agency. He was actually born in District Eight.”

Alder tapped his fingers together, “so, if anything, that would prove that District Eight is better, not that District Three is better.”

Eighlo lowered his arms and stopped cheering. He turned to look at Alder. “You're kind of a killjoy, aren’t you?”

“I've been called worse.”

Sevtah, the regional champion, began his match against Twikol, the challenger from District Eleven. Sevtah kicked out the ball with his foot, then punched with one hand, the block of manoi copying his movements. The manoi block hit the ball, sending it speeding at his opponent, who punched it back with his own block. The ball bounced off the roof of the manoi cage, then came back down towards Sevtah’s net. Sevtah blocked and sent it speeding back.

The crowd went absolutely berserk. So many ale bottles were thrown out onto the pitch that they began to pile up in great heaps against the cage.

Back and forth the ball sped, bouncing off the manoi blocks and the cage, sometimes so fast it was hard to keep track of it. At times, the players would punch the ball back and forth at each other. Other times, they would bounce the ball against the manoi walls and ceiling of the cage, searching for an obscure angle to get past their opponent and into their net.