Common Motives

Chapter 44: Shock of Surreal

As Hunter guided the Unbroken Victory through the Valencian stormgate, he found himself marveling at the complete lack of confrontations that had been necessary to endure.

There had not been a single one, shockingly, especially given that just days ago they had sent an entire squadron to Skull Island to completely search and demolish the Chamberlain manor. Hunter had assumed that they would be in a state of alert – and acting on this assumption, he had taken the necessary precaution of arming every one of the ship's twenty canons, for although the Marleybonian skiff was not of the greatest size, it possessed a surprising amount of firepower.

It was strange to him, the complete absence of clockwork ships that they had spotted on the way to their destination – but it was only now that the witchdoctor saw why.

They were here, right here in this very skyway, massive hordes of gold – gilded, black sailed ships of various sizes, all gathered in dense clusters as far as he could see, and Hunter could not keep himself from gaping.

Did they recall every fleet in the spiral?!

It was odd, extremely odd for this many clockworks to be gathered in the same location, especially when the Armada was better than any when it came to efficiency, and an action such as this most certainly contradicted that reputation.

In addition to that, the ships, from afar, did not even seem to be coordinated – each pod, each fleet seemed to be focusing on something entirely different, with some having organized their ships in a single line while others had placed theirs in a blockade around their flagship. Yet, there were still some other ships that seemed to aimlessly drift about without any particular pattern of direction.

"It's complete chaos..." Hunter muttered to himself, shaking his head in disbelief before his thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice, a voice that caused dread to pool in the bottom of his stomach.

"Chaos...hmmm? What's...happened?"

Eyes flying wide in alarm, the male witchdoctor rushed to steer Dangler, who had unexpectedly emerged from the cabin that they shared, away from the railing, stepping in front of her so that his broader shoulders prevented her from seeing the unbelievable number of Valencian ships.

"Nothing's happened, Dangler." His voice was softer now, and he made sure to speak in quieted, hushed tones, being cautious not to let the speed of his voice to go out of control and alert her further than necessary. "Nothing at all."

And he was grateful that she was not fully awake, not quite. For once, Hunter felt glad to see the purple, nearly black circles of sunken flesh underneath her half – lidded eyes, for they were clear indicators of her dazed state.

She had not slept, he knew, not in days, and although it was futile to verbally convince her to do so, her drained, wasted, weakened body would, inevitably, demand it.

"You need rest." Hunter gently gripped her wrists, steering her off of the deck and slowly towards the cabin, quickly, but not too quickly so that she would become alerted to any possible hidden intentions of his.

She feebly protested him, her wrists twitching in attempt to break free from the male witchdoctor's grip, although her body simply would not allow her to do so, for he was correct – she was worn, she was deprived of the fuel that a human being so desperately needed to function.

Much to Hunter's relief, Dangler did not seem to resist any more than that, and it was quite easy to lead her back into the small cabin that they shared and to calm the persistent naggings of obsession and fixation that plagued her – at least for now – with soft spoken, soothing words and murmured phrases.