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It might’ve been hours or days, Chip couldn’t tell which. At the start, he’d had more clarity—clarity enough to feel every kick, punch, and every fingernail tear loose. Now, staring at the ceiling spinning above him, Chip had no clue what time of day it was, let alone what day it was. He just waited for the next blow, the humiliation, the next gloating taunt that would inevitably come from Reuben Price.
It was quiet, far too quiet. Chip’s addled, starved brain registered the silence slowly, as though his thoughts staggered upright through thick mud. He was used to the bar’s ambiance in the distance, pumping music, the clinking of glasses. The silence soothed his aching head like a cold compress to his feverish skin.
Screams and the sound of a gunshot broke that peaceful silence. Chip shot upward, the fatigue momentarily pushed aside by terror.
He was still in Reuben’s office, surrounded by dark, expensive wood and low lighting. His cot, maneuvered so that he wouldn’t get blood on the wood flooring, was to the left of Reuben’s large desk. Between his desk and the towering bookshelf, a small gap offered solstice to his frantic mind.
Chip scrambled over, ignoring the way the manacles and muzzle bit into his skin as they drew taut. He jammed himself into the space, his vision fuzzing black as the harsh movements aggravated new and old injuries. Huddled in the small cubby, he fought to control his breathing, which came in short, airy bursts of pained wheezing.
More screams, the sounds of fighting. Chip tried to slap his hands over his ears—to block out any of the outside terror—but the short chains restricted that movement. He settled for curling in closer to himself.
Logically, he needed a weapon. But logic had long since fled Chip’s mind, instead reverting back to his most basic instincts. He was alone; he was a child again, trying to escape the vicious glare of a man he’d once considered family.
There was a pause in the bloodshed, enough for him to catch his breath.
And then the door slammed open, the hinges cracking under the force.
-
Jay Ferin shot the assassin in the head, then turned to where her co-captain, Gillion Tidestrider, was decimating the last of Price’s troops. The coward himself had not appeared, which Jay was both grateful for but which also set off all her alarm bells. Men like Price were cockroaches, hard to stomp out but adept at spreading their diseases. Jay reloaded her pistol, gritting her teeth. She was impatient to crush him, but they needed to find Chip.
“Gill,” she called as the triton sliced through a man’s chest. “Any sign?”
The shorter captain brought himself up, inhaling deeply. His tongue stuck out between sharp teeth as he focused. “I am getting mixed signals. This place is worse than that brothel. Defenestration is needed.”
“Forget that,” Jay snapped, spinning to snipe a fleeing figure. Her eye burned faintly, and her aim was true as the figure crumpled. “Focus on Chip.”
Gillion pointed Destiny’s Blade down the hall they had gradually overtaken. “Smells like —” he huffed slightly, thinking — “something bad.”
Corpses littered their way, and Jay stepped over them as she rushed down the hallway.
She passed three more doors, which opened easily under her deft grip. They seemed more like meeting rooms, though she drew to dispatch an assassin who lunged at her. The bullet ripped through her skull, and Jay lowered the smoking gun. The last door was a fine mahogany and unyielding to Jay’s picks. She broke one, cursing as sweat dripped down her brow.
“Allow me.” Gill moved quickly, despite his heavy armor. Jay ducked to the side as he planted a boot on the door, which splintered under the force.
The smell of blood immediately assaulted Jay’s nose, perceptive as she was. She snapped to her feet and stepped hesitantly into the well-adorned room. It was quiet and softly-lit; the singular lamp revealed tall bookshelves, a large desk, and rich carpeting. She huffed out a breath, disappointment and failure clouding her mind like smoke, before noticing a small cot off to the side. Someone had shoved it to the side as though it was a second thought, and copper stained its cloth. Jay dropped down, fingers ghosting over the bed cot. She nudged it aside, revealing a heavy chain bolted to the fine flooring. The chain pulled tight, and Jay followed its trail to the space between the desk and bookshelf.
Fearful eyes met hers.
“Chip.” Relief colored her voice, but the shorter man didn’t move—just continued to look at her with eyes that seemed not to recognize her. Dark bruises colored one of his eyes, but he looked otherwise unhurt.
“Chip! You have found an excellent hiding spot, but we are not playing tag. Fear not!” Gillion, with the tact of a wet rag, shoved the solid desk aside as though it were nothing. Chip flinched back, and as the light hit his face, Jay saw the reason for his uncharacteristic silence.
A metal muzzle clamped tightly to his face, a small grate inset to allow breathing. It was hooked tightly to the same chain that manacled Chip’s hands together. Dried blood encircled her co-captain’s wrists as if he’d desperately tried to free himself.
She reached out a hand, casting Aid. The bruises mottling his eye faded, and he seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.
“C’mon, man,” she murmured like one would to a frightened horse. “Let’s get you out of here.”
Jay glanced at Gill, who was staring down at the muzzle with confusion. “Cut the chain?” He shook himself as if from a dream and cleaved through the thick chain with Destiny’s Blade.
Jay reached for Chip, who flinched back at the prospect of her touch. She maintained a soft, even tone as she moved closer. “We gotta get out of here, Chip. Price will be back, and gods know if I can hold back Gill from taking his head. You’re our priority, man.”
At the name drop, Chip jerked forward, and she hauled the man out between the bookshelf. Close-up, his skin was a canvas of blotchy bruises and cuts. Some looked partially healed, while even more were fresh and oozing. Jay averted her gaze. Two weeks in captivity would have led to continuous torture, and while she’d only heard of Price, she could see what a vicious man he was.
Chip was docile as she led him out of the office, past the dead criminals strewn through the hallway. Gill followed, his ear fins pinned back as he swung his sword, prowling forward like a furious wolf.
Jay assessed the manacles and muzzle as they crept back out of the Darkport and towards the Divine Barkinist. She effortlessly freed his hands with a flick of her thieves’ tools, but the muzzle was more concerning. She could feel the pulse of magic underlying, and no amount of finessing would free the cold metal.
They moved silently to both avoid further Price’s men and the Navy, who crawled all over All-Port like ants. The last thing Jay needed was to run into one of her family members at this time, and she ducked away into the shadows whenever a patrol got too close.
Jay found Chip’s demeanor deeply discomforting. The normally boisterous and outwardly confident young man was dour and silent, stumbling as they guided Chip towards Roofus’ shop. His eyes were bleary, and seemed to have trouble focusing on anything, and Jay felt her stomach twist at his vulnerability. It had taken them far too long to find him.
Gillion seemed to share her frustration and fear; after Chip tripped for the third time, the triton hauled him up into a piggyback—which only reminded Jay of Ollie and Chip on a good day. The half-elf had been unconsolable for the past two weeks, barely eating or sleeping after Chip had disappeared in the night. Pretzel crawled up onto Chip’s shoulder, cooing softly.
They reached the Barkinist, and Gill held onto Chip while Jay rapped on the door. Roofus opened it, yawning as he rubbed his eye with a paw. Upon seeing his former crewmate, he let out a small bark of shock and ushered them inside. His wife, Amber, waited inside, her white and auburn ears twitching impatiently.
”What happened?” she demanded, thunking a paw on the counter. “Where was he?”
“Where do you think?” Jay shot back as Gillion set Chip into one of the plush armchairs. Her co-captain curled up into himself, his eyes dull. In the lamp’s warm lighting, she could see more bruises decorating his neck and down towards the collar of his shirt. The tattoos disappearing under the cloth of his shirt were barely distinguishable from the trauma.
“Who-woo-ooh did this?”
“Price.” Gill managed, placing Pretzel down so that she could once again comfort his co-captain. “The same one who hurt Earl.” His words darkened, tinged with that righteous fury she’d come to associate with him.
Roofus and Amber exchanged a glance, but Jay focused on the muzzle. “It looks magic, Amber. Could you do something about it?”
The kitsune narrowed her red eyes, then rolled her dark sleeves up. “I can do my best.” She disappeared behind the counter as Jay continued to poke and prod around the mask.
Two small switches sat inlaid into the metal circuitry, their purpose unknown to Jay. She tentatively pressed her finger into the left one, praying it would release. Instead, the small grate parted enough that water could seep through to Chip’s cracked lips. It still seemed to restrict any forming of words, but relief still settled over Jay. Gill moved forward, creating water for their co-captain, who seemed to perk up slightly. Once she was sufficiently certain Chip wouldn’t dehydrate soon, Jay clicked the right switch.
Chip’s eyes snapped open from their half-closed position, jerking upward as the metal gate slammed shut, sealing all the air from entering the mask-like muzzle.
Jay jumped forward, her hands fumbling towards the switch, but Chip seemed unable to calm under the new threat, his chest heaving. He toppled sideways off the armchair, sending Pretzel flying as his fingers scrabbled at the smooth metal of the muzzle.
Gill, with a light curse and much frustration, grappled him around the arms while Jay furiously snapped the switch back into place. The grating once again opened, and Chip sucked in a deep, wheezing breath through his nose. He shook like a leaf, his dead eyes once again wide and filled with terror.
Even as his breath seemed to steady, he watched Jay from under his lashes, noting her every movement. His pupils seemed larger than usual, and Jay pressed her finger to his pulse and noted his erratic pulse.
“He drugged him,” she murmured. “Fucker.”
Gill’s lips pressed to a thin line, and she could see that his knuckles were white where he gripped the arm of the chair. He seemed incapable of moving from Chip’s side, though kneeling must’ve been severely uncomfortable in his bulky armor.
“We will separate his head from his neck,” he agreed.
Chip still trembled, and with a sinking feeling, Jay realized Price had probably used the muzzle’s particular feature more often than not. Repeatedly, and probably for more than a few seconds at a time. Despite herself, her teeth sought out the inner flesh of her cheek, biting down to try to reorder her fury.
Amber returned with a small scroll that she spread onto the counter. “Anti-magic,” she explained, her accented voice clipped. “Just long enough for you to pry it off.” The kitsune woman read off the spell scroll, the magic-tinged words reaching out. Jay abruptly felt the space between them deaden, and any tinges of magic she’d inherited from her mother seemed to vanish entirely. Roofus rushed forward and, with Gill’s tremendous strength, helped pry off the muzzle. As it came free, revealing the rest of Chip’s bruised and battered face, the young man coughed and wheezed.
Jay reached out and caught his hand in hers. Normally, she and Chip were too busy squabbling for their sibling-like affection to show, but the circumstances were unusual.
Roofus let out a low whine and wrapped a furry hug around Chip, who looked uncertain and dazed.
“Let him rest,” Amber snapped, folding the spell scroll back up. The lower half of it seemed to have disintegrated. “That’s the best for his body and mind right now.”
“Stay the night,” Roofus supplied, another earth-shattering yawn erupting from him. “You don’t have to go-woo-ooh tonight.”
Amber raised one delicate eyebrow at him, but relented. “For Roofus’ crew, then yes. There are alarms set up all along the perimeter; we will know if there are any intruders.”
“They will taste the bite of my steel!” Gillion heaved Destiny’s Blade upward, swinging it down onto the counter. It cleaved through the wood easily, parting the thick fibers like bread.
Jay rubbed her temples. “We… will pay for that. Thank you, Amber.”
The fox woman nodded shortly, eyes never leaving the sword still embedded in her counter. “Yes. Of course.”
Jay set her bedroll down next to the armchair, which Chip settled back into, his uneven eyes still gazing around him. Pretzel, slightly miffed at the switch mishap from earlier, curled herself around his shoulder and nuzzled his cheek. The frogtopus and Chip settled into sleep, but it took his two lucid co-captains several more hours to rest.
-
Chip woke softly with a sunbeam across his face and a frogtopus snoring in his ear. He felt settled, and the constant pain seemed to have numbed slightly. Glancing across the way, he saw the interior of Roofus’ shop, the sink in the back overflowing as Gillion Tidestrider soaked in it. To the side of the comfy armchair he curled up in, Jay Ferin also snored, her red hair a rats’ nest.
Chip blinked, uncertain if he was still asleep or not. Glancing down, he saw no manacles clamped on his wrists, and the heavy pain of the muzzle didn’t torment him. Yet, the phantom pain and terror of being with Reuben didn’t leave.
Pretzel poked her tongue at him, cooing and brr-ing.
“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, and his voice sounded hoarse and disused. He’d pissed off Price by snarking, insulting, and biting back the only way he could—with his words. And Reuben had taken that from him entirely, preferring only to hear the sounds of pain he could inflict on Chip. He could still feel hands across his body, every touch, lovingly or most often not, like burning hot brands.
Reaching down, he ruffled Jay’s hair and was met with a sleepy, pissed-off expression that cleared when she recognized him. Her usual snark and banter seemed not to come as quickly as Chip usually saw it directed towards him.
“Sorry you had to come get me,” he whispered, still aware of Gill sleeping.
Jay’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “Sorry we were late.”
Pretzel flailed her tentacles happily.