As she lands, she almost tips forwards flat onto her face, but somehow manages to duck low, lean forward then back, and kick her legs out behind her as she regains her composure. Two apples fall from her open bag and roll onto the floor.
Phoenix must have forgotten to close the bag of fruit in her haste from leaving the inn. Then an idea pops into her mind.
She sees the sand of the Tranquil Shore approaching ahead of her and, between breaths, looks over her shoulder at her follower. He is further away than she thought, some 20 metres back, but running eagerly. The thought of being paid for turning her in must be motivating him to keep up the pace.
She rolls an apple onto the beach ahead of her.
Phoenix sprints onto the sand and turns towards the five shacks on her left. She jogs alongside them, careful not to make a noise, and takes another quick glance over her shoulder to ensure her assailant isn’t yet on the beach. All the shacks are empty, bar the second from the right, where a young elf is gutting some fish, his back towards the entrance.
Phoenix kneels down and places a single apple outside the front of this shack, prays in her mind for the plan to work, then proceeds to half tip-toe, half stumble quietly towards the second shack from the left: the one with the hidden grate.
She heads inside and, breathing heavily from all her running, tries to calm down and move more carefully so not to wake the sleeping tramp. She looks left: the grate is closed. Phoenix steps over the homeless elf - asleep again - and leans down, moving her head awkwardly to look into the lower shelf for the secret lever. The shelf is dark but there’s enough light from outside for her to spot a lever. Except there should be.
Phoenix panics. ‘Where is it?!’ she thinks to herself, fumbling her hands all around the shelf, inadvertently gathering dust and a little spider while doing so. She flicks the spider off her hand and runs her palm against the entire length of the shelf, moving closer towards the entrance of the tiny shack. There is no lever.
“Where is she?” a voice demands from outside, a few feet away.
‘Shit!’ Phoenix thinks to herself, her eyes wide in alarm, the thought of getting caught and revealing the hideout panicking her further. She digs her fingernails into her palms and paces around the shack, desperately.
“Who? What are you doing running into my shack?” the muffled voice of the fish-gutter replies. “And why are you shaking an apple at me?”
The other voice answers: “Don’t worry about that, a girl with red hair came this way, where is she hiding?”
Worry bubbles to the surface. The sound of Phoenix’s heart thunders in her ears and she loses her balance, forcing her to lean her palm onto the wall. The wood of the shack blurs in front of her; the muffled voices outside turning to ooze, like she’s underwater.
‘No!’ she thinks to herself. ‘Not again.’
Her mind goes hazy as the world around her quietens. Phoenix closes her eyes and takes a deep breath in an attempt to focus her mind and remain conscious.
She opens her eyes, her vision still blurred. She feels dreamy, like nothing is really there.
The thought of what would happen if she had another episode keeps running through her mind: a dead tramp, a dead elf, a dead fisherman? A dead Phoenix?
‘No,’ she thinks to herself, brushing the thought from her mind. The deathly image is replaced by Trixie, shouting at Phoenix within the tavern: ‘Your problem, Phoenix, is ya look, but ya do not see!’
Phoenix stands where Trixie did earlier in one last, desperate attempt, fighting hard to keep her consciousness, the room fading to black momentarily, her face quivering. She leans her hand into the shelf, and this time, crouches to Trixie’s low goblin-level height. As her left foot moves forward, she waits for it to hit the wall, but it doesn’t. The front half of Phoenix’s left boot moves into a small alcove in the corner of the wall, and presses down on a switch by accident. The grating opens.
Phoenix, still overcome by fright, by worry, by the possibility of death, does not feel any jubilation. Only impending doom. She jumps over the tramp and positions herself down into the gap. She takes a few steps down the ladder and loses consciousness. She falls.
.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
Back at the inn, Trixie and Django take one step away from the approaching guards.
“No, there’s been a misunderstanding,” the inkeep tries to explain, who is still lying on the floor holding his mouth and prodding his skin into the area where his tooth was.
But one of the guards has already stepped forward and placed his hand tightly around Trixie’s wrist.
“Get yer hands off her, mon!” Django interjects, pushing his large three-fingered blue hand into the shoulder of the guard, who stumbles back, moves away further and nods at the other guard.
“Do not interrupt us, troll!” the guard gripping Trixie responds.
Sharp sparks of light flicker from the furthest guard’s fingers as the sound of raw electricity grows, before surging forwards towards Django.
“No!” the innkeep screams, his objection muffled by the noise of the spell.
But Trixie, anticipating the move, has already leapt in front of Django. The bolt of magical lightning from the guard’s hands charges towards the goblin and troll, but simply dissipates a few inches from them. The rest of the spell flies past them, smashing a window and charring nearby tables.
“What is this sorcery!” the guard shouts, drawing his sword. The sound of metal being drawn from two other scabbards - Trixie’s and the second guard’s - instantly follow. One guard rushes towards Trixie and the other to Django.
Trixie instinctively runs towards her guard and slides under his legs, poking her sword lightly into his heel as she rises, then leaps onto his back. She jumps and uses the hilt of her sword to smash into the guard’s temple, dazing him. Trixie kicks his calf at an angle which exploits his centre of gravity, buckling his knees. She then smacks the hilt of her sword into his forehead, sending him collapsing to the floor with a crash.
Django, meanwhile, is deflecting the attacks of the other guard with a jagged, wild-looking weapon, longer than a usual dagger but not quite as long as a sword, which was hidden within his clothes before. It looks like a large, thick tooth, from some kind of giant monster. He spots an opening, using the hilt attached to the tooth to bop the guard on the nose. Stunned, the guard delays, and Django thumps another uppercut into him, sending him sprawling.
The two guards join the other bodies on the floor, aching and defeated. Django places the long tooth back inside his tunic and Trixie returns her rapier to her scabbard.
Trixie walks back towards the innkeep, and places two gold coins underneath the pile of silver coins and the tooth.
“This didn’t happen,” Trixie whispers in the innkeep’s ear. “The girl was not here, the guards attacked an innocent pair of traders who acted in self defense. And you’re a good boy so you get to keep your inn.”
The last sentence is spoken with an implication, a deadpan undertone.
Balthuel nods hastily as blood trickles from his mouth. Trixie pulls a small pouch from her pocket and shakes it gently into her free hand. A few tiny vials fall into her palm. She takes a pale blue one inlaid with fine crystal and places the others back in the pouch.
“So the law forgets,” she adds.
Trixie leans over the first guard, and carefully places one drop of the blue liquid into the guard’s mouth, before doing the same to the other.
She walks slowly to the tavern’s exit to join Django. Before stepping outside, she pauses and turns to the innkeep’s son, flashing a toothy, happy smile at him. Trixie walks outside like some sort of bastardized royalty, her scarlet cloak flowing gently behind her.
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