Chapter 52

"You're our reinforcements?" Clare asked skeptically, looking the group of a dozen over from her position against the Grandfather's rail. Their leader looked almost literally dead on his feet, carrying a pair of tonfas and wearing a headband proudly emblazoned with the Nightmare Jolly Roger. "You don't look like a pack of heavyweights."

"And you don't look like a cast-iron bitch, and yet here we are," the Nightmare said in an utterly deadpan tone.

Despite herself, Clare smiled slightly. Little guy had spine.

"It's bronze, actually," she said lightly. "Still, you lot aren't going to be a problem, right?"

"No," the Nightmare said flatly. "You have a plan, right?"

"That's Captain Doppel's job, but yes, we have a plan."

"Where is he, anyway?"

Clare chuckled. "Sleeping off last night's hangover. And on that note, give me a minute, I'll wake him up."

It was very simple to manifest a piece of clockwork- a gear, appropriately- in her hand, pushing it free of her palm. Simpler still to hurl it at the bell mounted over the forecastle, eliciting a loud, ringing toll. None of the other Gears even looked up as the door just below that below slammed open and Quare Doppel walked out, tuning fork in hand. He glared at her.

Heh. Still hungover, obviously. Clare gave him a sunny smile he obviously wouldn't see behind her layer of armor, and waved her hand down in the direction of the Nightmare group. "Look, Captain. That creepy bastard's as good as his word."

"You mean Grenzer or our captain?" the Nightmare growled.

"What would you do if I meant the second?" she asked.

The Nightmare shrugged. "Eh. Probably buy you a drink, seeing as how you're a woman and somehow still have balls the size of your head."

The captain laughed. "So I guess this means we're going to start the fight now?" he called. "Fuck it!" He thumped the butt of his fork on the deck, sending a familiar reverberation through the hull of the Grandfather. "Get up, you lazy bastards! We've got a war to fight!"

"You know the plan?" Knutte asked long, dark, and ugly- aka the Nightmare navigator, who'd shown up with twenty equally hard-faced assholes.

The big man grinned, baring elongated canines. "Go over the bridge, kill anyone trying to fight us, and keep going as long as we can?"

Knutte laughed. "There ya go!" He turned to the rest of his crew, the two hundred fighting men and women who'd come through storm and ruin and fucking Warlords with him, and raised his axe. "BOYS!" he shouted. "IT'S TIME TO RAISE HELL! WE'RE GOING TO GO FIND THAT PANSY-ASS BUSINESSMAN AND FEED HIM HIS EYEBALLS!"

Judging from the roar of approval, they quite liked the idea. He spread his arms and smiled, taking it in, before turning back to the Nightmares. "Hope you lot can keep up."

"Oh, that we can, old man," the man in black said. Knutte sniffed the air, and smiled at what he found. Another Zoan, huh? Fella was big enough even without being in hybrid form, but no matter. He locked eyes with the Nightmare. "Race ya there, then, pup."

The girl and her coterie had slipped in among his own crew smooth as silk, joining Skantarios as they followed the loping charge of the Steel Shields from the safety of the rooftops.

He had no desire to get caught up in that soon-to-be-ship-wreck, thank you very much. Let the barbarians charge headlong into the fight- it would give him and his room to slip by and strike from a safe distance, as they always did. Getting across the bridge would be difficult...probably best to halt there until the Steel Shields had punched through.

He landed on another rooftop, noting idly that the girl had caught up to him. She seemed to want to get his attention- best to watch her.

"You Skantarios?" she said as she continued running. "All of you guys look kinda alike."

"Yes," he said flatly as he leapt off the edge and over the street.

"Good. Supposed to give you this."

He caught the package- a large bundle of tubes tied together- with ease, and examined it briefly as he kept moving.

Flares. Hm.

"Signals?" he asked, keeping his words clipped. Sharp and crisp, not the half-there accent that would mark out what he was. There was no room for weakness to be shown, not ever.

The girl grinned. "Yup. Grenzer and his overgrown tub'll provide fire support. Light one and toss it, the red smoke'll let them know what needs flattening."

Acceptable. And more help than he had been anticipating from the mercenaries. They seemed to be more likely to wait and strike...which was exactly what he preferred, so he could not exactly fault them. Still, it was different when he was the one who was being left out to dry.

He nodded. "Useful."

"Damn right."

He halted on the edge of the last rooftop, staring towards the bridge. The structure was an immense thing of stone and metal, rimed with ice and the remnants of snow from two nights past. There had been mists earlier, but the sun had cleared that away, and the distant buildings on the other side of the seawater river were visible. More than that, he could see moving shapes, people forming into ranks as they responded to what was obviously an oncoming attack.

He unlimbered his longbow, stringing it in one smooth motion. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the girl slowly pull free an immense rifle. She was hesitant...why?

Had the Nightmares sent an unblooded girl? Hmph. Or one with the restraint of a moral compa- ha, no, not in that crew.

It didn't matter.

The Steel Shields were on the bridge, pounding forwards. He couldn't hear the gunshots, if they were there, but nobody was falling, the range was too great.

It would be best to reduce the rebels before the Shields could start taking losses. The more bodies between him and the actual fighting, the better.

He pulled an arrow from his belt quiver. Checked it. Straight shaft, fletchings perfect. He nocked, and drew, pulling back on the string until the fletchings tickled his cheek inside his hood.

He drew on his power, holding it within the arrow. Loosed.

"Hundredfold," he said simply.

His will was done. One arrow became a hundred, descending on the enemy positions. The ranks shivered and broke, lines shaking apart as the wounded fell. They'd reform, but not before-

One of the barricades exploded, a silent fireball rising from where there'd been a cannon. He turned, looking at the girl, whose rifle smoked.

He nodded. At least she'd found some spine.

Then he turned back, drawing another arrow.

There was much more work to be done.

Tristo yawned, earning him a dirty look from Amico. "What?" he said defensively. "It's not like we're going to have to get our own hands dirty. We've got meatshields for that."

"I'm standing right here, you know," the Nightmare first mate said. His little gang of masked hooligans- including the creepy suited guy who'd reportedly eaten a quarter of the Black Beard crew- glared at Tristo, who chuckled around his cigar.

"Yeah, I know it. But you guys are brawlers, not ranged fighters like me and little bro here. And even if you don't have to jump between the two of us and the bullets, we've got a hundred other troopers ahead of ya. And ahead of them, whatever the Gears and mercs have going. Isn't like we've got a lot to worry about."

The Butcher Bird's eyes narrowed behind the lenses of his mask, and he nodded sharply. "Fair. Still, ain't going to be a cakewalk...not if they're smart. Urban fighting is gonna be ugly."

"Yeah, yeah." Tristo exhaled as he walked, sending smoke drifting. "It's a pity. They used to be friends, you know?"

"Who?"

"The Doge and Roberts."

"You're joking."

"Nah. Real close, those two. Hell, me and bro handled dirty work for Roberts a couple times."

"Tristo…" Amico said warningly, using his ludicrous height to glare down at him.

"Hey, what's big, tall, and bearded gonna do? Have me killed? We're the ones who do that."

"He could have us do it," the skull-masked Nightmare said cheerfully.

"You'd be in for a bad time if you tried, kid," Tristo said gravely. "But yeah, they were close. Me? I figure they were lovers."

The Nightmare first mate sputtered, before starting to laugh. "You're a real comedian, ain'tcha," he said as they kept walking ahead of the detachment of Ducal Guard.

"I'm serious. Think about it...they were real close before, then suddenly they're both at each other's throats. Like boom." He snapped his fingers. "Then a couple weeks later Roberts starts planning to kill the Doge, right after the Doge raises taxes on the mines he owns? If that isn't two lovers having an escalatin' spat I don't know what is."

"...you're full of shit," the Butcher Bird said.

Tristo grinned, and tipped the brim of his blue fedora. "Find out for yourself, birdy."

"We gonna actually get to the fighting today, boss?" one of the Nightmares wearing a gas mask asked. As if to punctuate the guy's complaint, one of the giant hounds the pirates had brought with them barked.

"Day's still young," the Butcher Bird said. He looked at Tristo. "You want to come along as we scout ahead?"

Tristo shook his head. "Nah. Too much effort. But if you guys could herd them towards us when you run into the enemy, that'd be great."

The Nightmare snorted. "Figures." Red tentacles erupted from his back, and he leapt forward, vanishing into the distance. The other Nightmares, including the hounds, did the same, though without the addition of horrifying appendages.

Tristo watched them go impassively.

This place had probably been a public park at some point, though what a place like the Archipelago would do with a public park baffled Vinci. It wasn't as though the climate allowed much plant life to grow. And yet there'd been a park, positioned just so so that the distance between it and the bridges that the crews and soldiers were crossing was about even for both sides. Perfect for a field hospital.

So now the park's grassy hills and small, hardy clusters of trees were obscured by the white fabric of tents and the bulky crates of medical supplies.

Vinci looked over what he had to work with. It wasn't the supplies that concerned him- even with the thousands of soldiers that were going to be going to war on both sides, they had plenty- it was the doctors.

His own were decently trained. Four men: Oyeplet Akis, Cannule Salk, Sereptal Blackwell, and Crate Escobar. He could trust them to handle anything up to and including major surgery. Nothing like bleeding-edge biological sciences, but they'd keep people alive even if they weren't innovators.

Next on that were a couple of Palace doctors. Pricks. They were competent, if barely, but they didn't seem cooperative. Still, he'd just had to glare at them to get them to fall in line, and it seemed to be working.

After that…

The Steel Shields had donated some ancient hag named Seida Laveau. He half expected her to try shaking a stick full of beads over someone or some other sort of 'magic' rather than actual medical science, but the North Blue crew had apparently thought her quite helpful, so he supposed she had to be doing something right. He'd have to see her work to judge for himself.

The Gears doctor was currently thirty percent ethyl alcohol by volume and apparently was given to performing surgery while drunk. Vinci had taken one look at the man and ordered a couple of handy Ducal Guard to dunk him in a well until he sobered up, and hadn't gotten his name- though the dire imprecations he shouted every few moments meant he was still in the process of being recombobulated.

The Ranger Pirates had given him someone who'd shown up dressed as a medieval plague doctor. That creepy bastard hadn't said a word yet, and was currently giving the Ducal Guard who were setting up the tents a major case of the heebie-jeebies by just...standing there while they worked. He honestly hoped the man was competent and wouldn't use a technique that matched the date of his clothing. He had no desire to find patients being bled to balance their humours or some other nonsense.

This was what he had to treat the casualties of a major war.

It was enough to set his eyes to itching and cause a headache behind said organs as well.

Well, to hell with it. Shortage of competent personnel or not, he'd fulfill the oaths he'd taken and heal everyone who came in need of it.

Even if he had to push himself beyond human limits to do so, nobody would die on his watch. Nobody.