Terrestrial Undead

Chapter 36

Meanwhile, Orla was aboard another Airship bound for Sect 1, and couldn't help but swell a little with pride. Her combat skills had proven more than impressive; they were exceptional. Of course, they didn't know she was a cyborg— her strength, speed and agility had been quoted as "almost superhuman." She had laughed at that. She hadn't been able to help herself.
Now, she was bound to join the Hunters of Sect 1— His Majesty's finest, naturally, he wanted to keep them close. Weeks of hard study, and even harder feigned piousness had paid off. She was going exactly where she wanted to be.
Out of everything though, the distance from Tesla was the hardest thing. They were working her like a slave— they had only been able to meed for a few minutes at midnight. She had scrambled up to the steeple, panting heavily.
"I can only stay a second," she had wheezed, "But here's the plan. You know I can cook; remember the friendly stewed apple?"
In the end, she had proved right; her skills were noticed, and she had been sent along to Sect 1 before Orla. It had made her all the more impatient to get there; she had even made sure she attended every single one of Priest 4's services. The man's ego was as big as his beard, and it had paid off. Orla had slipped into his good books before he could say "such is the glory of His Majesty".
Tesla and Orla had written each other almost every day, so Orla knew her partner was working in Temple 1's kitchen, and was quickly gaining a good reputation. Orla had to stop herself from bolting into the kitchen when she arrived at the temple; instead, she sent her a note under the guise of having a serious nut allergy, and waited for midnight to roll around before trying her hand at climbing Sect 1's temple steeple. It had even more ornaments and baubles to serve as footholds, making it a breeze. When Tesla came it was nearly 1 O'clock in the morning.
"Sorry," she gasped, falling into Orla's arms. "I only just got off duty."
Orla held her lover's face in her hands.
"Shit! You look like me!"
Tesla had grown pallid, and sported large black rings around her eyes, marking her exhaustion. Orla cradled her close.
"Those bastards are working you too hard."
"It's going to be worth it. The King's going to have a banquet, and a banquet needs a lot of cooks. One of them is going to be me."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, as long as you can do something for me. I've seen people taking a drug around here— a plant. It's highly addictive. If you can get me some, I'll slip a little into the food I make. It'll make it crazy good, better than any of the other cook's. With any luck, I'll get recommended to cook for the King himself. It's this one; crinkly leaves, big ruffly flower. There's a grower uphill, behind the river. I need the unripe seed pods... but you can have this one to remember me by."
She handed Orla a large, frilly poppy.
"Consider it done. Now, you need to get some sleep. I'll go down first, you follow so i can catch you. I wouldn't have set here as a meeting place if I'd known how exhausted you were."

A few hours later, Orla was in the grower's paddock, tucking seed pods into her pockets when she heard a low growl, followed by shouting.
"Drat," she muttered before scarpering. She should've known the flowers would be closely guarded, being a popular drug. She secretly thanked Captain 11 for having her Punished that fateful day; her mechanically altered legs allowed her to move quickly, and jump over the fence in a single bound.
When she was back at the temple and getting ready to report for her patrol, she heard a deep bell sound across the temple grounds; all personnel of the temple were being summoned for a meeting. She gathered with the rest of the crowd, sidling between people until she was close to Tesla.
"This morning brought the outrageous rumour," boomed Priest 1, "that a member of this congregation was seen stealing opium poppies from a dealer in the slums in the early hours."
Tesla slipped Orla a sideward glance, and she grimaced back.
"Rest assured, these slanderous accusations have been put to rest. However," He paused for dramatic effect, "Should anyone in this temple be found with the sinful bounty such an endeavour would yield, they will be most harshly dealt with. His Majesty's Order do not engage in those wretched pastimes. Dismissed."
As they left, Orla felt Tesla brush past her, leaving something in her pocket. When she was alone, she removed a note from the folds of her garb, reading:
"Leave them in the highest lamp on the roof, third from the right by 2:00am. Don't get caught."
Orla didn't. She left the package as directed, along with a note telling Tesla to meet her when it was done, along with three of her favourite sweets, each carefully marked with a love heart in the hopes that it would help buoy her spirits.
Orla's hopes were gratified; the next note she received from Tesla was marked with two X's and told her to be at the steeple at 1am sharp— and that the first one there would get the last sweet. That was the Tesla she knew.
When Orla got to the top of the steeple, Tesla was waiting as she had suspected she would be, still haggard but smiling.
"The Priest was in a very good mood by the time he finished the food I cooked," she glowed, "he asked who the cook was, and recommended them for His Majesty's banquet. He even gave me half the night off... I must have overdone it on the opium."
They spent the rest of that night in Orla's quarters, Tesla sneaking back to the kitchens early in the morning.
Tesla's success drove Orla throughout the next day. It seemed their plan was going off without a hitch; if Tesla could slip something into the King's food, and Orla was assigned to guard the banquet, they would be in the perfect position to strike. She retired for the night in a good mood, thinking of the things she would learn to cook for Tesla once all this hard work was over.
As she opened the door to her quarters, Orla stopped dead. A torn note had been slipped under her door. The contents of her stomach threatened to burst through her lips as she read:
"Caught out. Get into the guard. Finish him. Love you." At that moment, the summons bell began to ring.

Orla had a horrific feeling she knew exactly what the summons was for, and rushed towards the sound. Her suspicions were proved horribly correct; Tesla was strung up in the middle of the hall with a noose laid limply around her neck, and the priest and two Gazers standing next to her.
"Members of the Order," he roared, "this cook has been caught slipping opium— the food of the wretched— into the meals of His Majesty's servants. This is a crime that can not be permitted. Watch as this criminal is dealt with accordingly."
He reached for the lever.
"Death to the Enemies of His Majesty!"
He pulled the lever, and Tesla fell through.
"No!"
As the audience brayed, Orla desperately pushed her way to the front of the crowd. As she got closer, she saw the rope jerking sickeningly in front of her. It was too much, and she pulled out her scythe and lashed out. As she leapt forward, the tip of the sharp edge just nicked the rope, and it broke, the snap followed by a dull thud. The crowd went silent— no human could have covered such a distance in a single bound. Orla turned around, with no idea of whether her love was dead or alive.
"My name is Orla Arlington," she announced, "and I did it, not her! The King put me on an airship and had me Punished.    I escaped to take my revenge. Let her go!"
She ripped up her sleeve to reveal her metal arm, and a murmur ran through the crowd.
"Seize her!" The priest bellowed.
Two hunters descended on her, but she shook them off easily.
"Where is she? She's innocent! Where is she?."
A strangled groan from below told Orla that Tesla was alive, and she began to think clearly again.
"The opium farmer saw me. He'll tell you it's true. He didn't see a cook's garb, he saw mine. Besides, I share my last name with descenders of the King. Don't you think he'll want me dead more than a random cook who had no idea what was going on? I doubt you'd want him blaming you for my story getting out."
Hunters approached her again, and she threw them against the wall.
"I'm a cyborg, morons! You've seen how well I can fight, that's why I'm here. Let her go now, while I can see, and I'll come quietly."
The priest paused, and then nodded. Two hunters entered below the podium and dragged a choking Tesla to her feet and threw her out the door, closing it behind her.
Orla duly put her arms in front of her eyes to protect them as a Gazer's net wrapped around her.