After three days of journeying with Spencer, Vincent was sure that Henricks hated them. Whenever they had a free moment, which was almost all the time, the two of them bickered about everything. Vincent brought up the robbery from the other day, the pouch of vireen on Spencer’s hip and the still healing bruise on his temple almost constantly.

Spencer, on the other hand, did what he always did and brought up things from their shared past. He joked about selling his last horse, the time both of them tried to rob the same carriage at once and Vincent ended up in the mud, and the time Vincent had accidentally burst in on Spencer getting arrested and almost made a fool out of them both by badly posing as a servant.

Vincent, of course, hated every moment of it. There were so many things he would never live down, so many things he had hoped to leave behind as he headed to New Feridian. But the universe wasn’t going to be kind to him. Spencer would follow him to the ends of the world, it seemed, all to make him relive some of his most embarrassing moments so he could laugh about them.

At least one of them was entertained. Henricks looked tired and bored for the majority of the trip, while Vincent longed to take out his serrated knife and repeat what he had done the night he robbed the carriage. He held back, not in the mood for a full-blown fight in the middle of nowhere. Without vireen, he’d lose anyway; there was no way he could transfer the magic to his blade-like he wanted to.

It wouldn’t be much longer before he got his hands on vireen again. He missed it, the feeling of the magic coursing through him, snaking up his blade or his gun, an extension of his being. In a matter of hours, he would have that feeling again. Maybe then he could have a proper fight with Spencer, one that would show that he was the stronger of the two.

New Ferdian sat on the horizon and beyond it lay the cool blue of the ocean. The smell of it was faint, but it drifted through the air, mixing with the smell of the apples from the orchards that surrounded the growing city. It was pleasant and relaxing. For the first time since he had left Hurendi Creek, he felt a little bit at peace.

Even at such a distance, it was easy to tell that New Feridian was cared for more than the small towns Vincent usually visited. It had been a long time since he had seen the city. His orphanage had been on the outskirts and if the children had been well behaved, they would be allowed to go to the orchards and help pick apples. He, of course, had stolen plenty of them. But they’d never been allowed into the main part of the city.

Somewhere in the distance, on the edge of town, a group of people stood gathered near the burnt remains of a wooden building. A frown pulled at Vincent’s lips. Henricks had said they had been dealing with burnt down homes and attacks, but an orchard barn burning down was a lot different to attacks in the middle of a city.

The Governor lived near the bay if he remembered correctly, watching over the boats as they came and went. He hadn’t been that far into the town and hadn’t been planning on it when he originally decided to head to the city. For the first time in his life, he would actually get a good look at the manor.

Unlike towns like Hurendi Creek, the homes and shops in New Feridian were built from bricks. Red houses sat among the orchards and beyond that, the buildings sat packed together, mixtures of red and grey. Smoke rose from the chimneys, smothering the city in a dark grey cloud. At least the water still glistened with the midday light, a couple of boats sitting on the horizon.

From what he remembered of his schooling, New Feridian was the first town established when Nuran decided to set up colonies in Ilsania, named after the capital of their old home. That was the extent of his knowledge and he didn’t care to know anything more than that, aside from the fact that it very clearly wasn’t going as planned.

It was strange to not have people stare at him as he passed through town. There were hundreds of people packed into one city, all of them going about their day and not even noticing the two criminals on the road nearby. But it was still not as lush as he expected it to be. The streets were dirty, as were the clothes the people around him wore. They appeared to be doing better than the small towns, but from the looks of things, they were also struggling.

The closer they got to the bay, the busier it became. Women in pretty dresses of blues and reds and greens walked with children at their side. Men in waistcoats that hugged their figures tightly talked among themselves while Vincent debated asking them where they got them from. Waistcoats were a guilty pleasure of his, but it was getting too hot to wear them.

Henricks said nothing to either of them as they moved closer and closer to the bay. They passed by dock houses, most of which were empty, and a brick factory that was far louder than Vincent expected it to be. Sparks snorted in protest and tried to get away, which only made Spencer laugh as he struggled to keep her calm. The only thing they didn’t see through the long trip through the city was another burnt husk of a building or anyone that even resembled a native of Ilsania.

A white brick house stood at the edge of the bay, calm and serene. It was a double-storey building with a tulip garden out the front, the multicoloured flowers blowing in the thin breeze. A small brick wall lined the outside of it, not wide enough for people to walk on, so the guards patrolled the perimeter. Vincent didn’t pay much attention to them as they approached the metal gate, focusing on the red tile roof and the glass panes in the windows.

It was the fanciest house he had ever seen and it made anger bubble away in his stomach. He was hardly surprised that the person in charge of the province lived in the biggest and cleanest house, but compared to the hovels he’d seen others live in and the fact that many people became rangers because they had nowhere else to go, it was infuriating.

“Welcome to Governor Thompson’s home, boys,” Henricks said, gesturing to the building with a grin.

Spencer regarded the building with narrowed eyes, about as unimpressed as Vincent was. The guards at the gate called to each other when Henricks gestured for them to open up, and the screech of metal hurt Vincent’s ears. He winced, his eyebrows furrowed, and followed Henricks into the tulip garden.

An older woman sat on her knees in front of a plot of red tulips, tending to them peacefully. The loud cry of the gate opening made her look up, her lips parted in surprise. She stood, took off her gloves and brushed off the skirt of her dress. There wasn’t much point in it, the dress had been stained with dirt a long time ago.

The maid walked towards them, a small smile on her face. “Good afternoon, Mister Henricks,” she said in a posh Nuran accent, all stretched vowels and lilting words. “I didn’t expect to see you back so soon.”

“Things went a lot easier than planned, ma’am,” Henricks answered. “Sirs, this is Governor Thompson.”

Vincent choked on air as he stared at the woman. Her greying brown hair was tied up in a bun, showing off the wrinkles around her blue eyes and the kind smile on her thin lips. The apron attached to her pale red dress was brown with dirt. She looked like a gardener, not the Governor of Morgot.

“I apologise for my appearance,” she said, walking over to Spencer, who had already hopped off his horse. At least one of them was able to push past their surprise. “I didn’t expect to be meeting new people today.”

Vincent climbed down off Sparks as Spencer shook the Governor’s hand. When he thought of meeting the woman, he expected to be sat in an office across from someone who never smiled and be judged for who he was, but Governor Thompson smiled politely, looking every bit the charming older woman.

“Oh,” she exclaimed when Vincent hopped down, beaming brightly. “Finally, another woman! Most of the people we’ve been hiring are men, it’s good to have another woman around.”

There was laughter in her voice and a smile on her face, but Vincent still felt sick to his stomach at her words. “I’m not a woman,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady and deep. Damn his round face, his full lips, the voice that stayed feminine no matter how hard he tried to deepen it. He hated it all.

Governor Thompson frowned and looked him up and down, her eyes lingering on his chest a second longer than anywhere else. “My apologies,” she said and reached out to shake his hand anyway. “I didn’t mean any offence.”

“It’s fine,” he said, even though it wasn’t. He couldn’t exactly lash out at her like he had the last person who had called him a woman. She was his boss now, he couldn’t ruin his chance at gold and vireen.

Behind her, Spencer watched him with a strange look in his eyes, but didn’t say a word. Whatever he was thinking, Vincent was never going to know. Henricks cleared his throat, bringing all three sets of eyes to him. “This is Vincent Mortimer, ma’am,” he said. “The man in the mask is Cannibal.”

“Ah, Nicholas told me about the two of you when he suggested hiring rangers,” Governor Thompson said and gestured for them to follow her. “I hope you don’t live up to your name.”

“I don’t,” Spencer said without any of his usual cheer.

Even the Governor seemed taken aback by it as they walked the path between the tulip plots. “Well, do you have a name we can call you instead of Cannibal?” she asked.

“I do.”

Vincent gave a snort of laughter that no one heard. The Governor didn’t try asking any other questions, not even to him, who had copped his fair share of unusual looks from her. It gave him time to focus on the sea breeze and the smell of the saltwater drifting through the air. It was calm, peaceful and the exact opposite of what he had expected.

They were led around the side of the house where the stables sat. There were two other horses in there, looking bored out of their minds. Without being ordered, Vincent led Sparks over to a pen, petting her gently. “You’re going to be alright here, girl,” he said. “I’m sure they’ll take good care of you. I’ll come and see you as often as I can.”

He smiled when she nudged his head with hers and gave her a pat on the snout. “I’m starting to think you like your horses a little bit too much,” Spencer said from the opposite pen.

“Nothing wrong with actually liking the animal I ride everywhere. Where did you even get yours from? The last one I saw was completely different,” he said, gesturing at the stallion.

Spencer shrugged and walked out of the pen. “Found him outside a farm. I lost the other one,” he said, laughter in his voice. It wasn’t the first time Spencer had ‘lost’ a horse, but Vincent didn’t want to know what he did with them.