The Natural Order of Things

Finch was left alone as Ferre's companion — possibly his brother — left them in search of the other man, who had quite rudely disappeared somewhere down the hallway. They held tightly to the tails of their scarf, which was still a little too close around their throat, and chose a nearby vacant cabin at random.

Sitting lightly on the cot, Finch took a deep breath, then released it very slowly. The magnitude of the situation, they figured, had not yet hit, and they were quite happy to enjoy the sound of the water lapping against the hull of the ferry just below them until it did.

They had had no time to bring anything. Aside from the smudged bone club they held in numbed fingers, they had nothing now; they hoped that Tanner would dismantle their kiosk when he realised that Finch would not be returning. Not that they had owned anything of value to begin with, of course. Most of Finch's belongings had been crates of bones and boxes of glass vials; they had in one of their pockets enough money to get by for the time being, but most of their reserve remained in their kiosk. They hoped Tanner would get to it first. Merchants made risky friends.

Finch leaned against the wooden wall and stared at the door, tracing its grain with their gaze. The ferry had begun to move, slowly at first, then faster, along the rippling waves; Finch stared without seeing through the window and prayed the gods would treat them well.



It was several days before land scraped under the ship's hull; excitedly, Finch leapt up and threw open the door, racing down the hallway as it started to fill, wasting no time in paying the ferryman his dues and hopping down onto solid ground again.

The ferry had docked in an inland marina near Rallar, Cinnen's largest port city. The marina was manmade, as most coastlines of the continent were just acres of slushy mud that was too unstable to try and build on, and it was filled with more vessels than Finch had ever seen in one place. To one end, closer to the open ocean, drifted dozens of massive ships, as big as stormclouds. To the other, near the city, the smaller boats were kept.

Finch could almost forget that they were there against their will. That quickly changed when they caught sight of a flash of burnt red through the squirming crowd; it was Ferre's brother, scowling and looking slightly rumpled. He met Finch's gaze, then made his way to the edge of the crowd to meet them.

"Stop running away like that," he said coldly, coming to a stop next to Finch. "We don't have the time to be looking after a child."

"You aren't looking after me," Finch pointed out. "You've kidnapped me. That's not the same thing."
"It is to Ferre," the man said. "I'll be honest with you, kid, spend long enough in the company of that man and you'll start to wish he'd killed you instead." His face was dark. "He's got this idea that this quest, that who he is, gives him the right to use people any way he likes. I'm familially obligated to love him, but I don't like him."

"He's not so bad," Finch said.

Ferre's brother eyed Finch expressionlessly. "What's your name, kid?"

"Finch," said Finch.

"Talle," said the man. He spoke it with a strange intonation, a faint stress on the last letter. "I was told to find you and bring you back, then. Come with me." Without another word, Talle disappeared into the writhing crowd.

Finch struggled to keep up. Talle was taller than they were by a good eighteen or twenty inches, and Finch found themself nearly at a run to match his casual pace. There was an air of focus to Talle that Ferre seemed to lack. Finch quite liked him, even if he was a bit grouchy.

They found Ferre waiting impatiently by the loading dock. He seemed distracted, which Finch assumed was not unusual. "There's a place nearby that we can stay at," he said to no one in particular. "I don't plan to stay here long."

"How much longer do we even have?" Talle asked.

Ferre shrugged. "A few months," he replied. "If my calendar is correct. And it usually is. Rot, Talle, I don't want to find out what will happen if I'm late."

"Late to what?" Finch interrupted. "Don't tell me you've come all this way for a conference."

"You could call it that," said Ferre. "A very important one, with a very important person. Your life depends on it!" There was a strange look in his eyes. "All of your lives depend on it."

His tone was disturbing; he sounded as though he knew more than he spoke.

Finch decided to let it drop.