Chapter 15: Fishing by the Blackwater River
Horse hooves clattered over the city’s iron tracks, carriage wheels jolting across cobblestones.
It was the first time Funis had seen a horse-drawn carriage carrying people since descending from the airship into the city. The coachman’s face was grim, the horse trotted hastily down the street with no intention of stopping.
Graycloud Fortress, Black City, Blackwater River District.
Lude Alley.
She stood on the damp street, gazing toward the city center. The crumbling stone fortress ruins still stood atop the distant hills—the city-state had been built around that once-proud castle.
After the great fire dubbed the “Revolution,” all that remained of the old Graycloud Fortress was ash and dust. The old nobility had been expelled.
Now Graycloud Fortress had become a true cloud of gray, with the lord of the fortress and the gang leaders reigning above in the sky. Massive airborne fortresses floated in the perpetual fog, gears meshing with loud clunks, steam and fire jets spewing forth.
The area still grounded below was called “Black City.”
Because from above, Graycloud Fortress looked like a vast black mass. The people toiling below seemed small and pitiable. What the revolution had taken or brought didn’t concern them—they carried on as always.
Funis turned toward a shop window. Under the light, she saw her own reflection in the glass.
The silver-haired girl in the reflection was like one who had stepped out of a painting—dignified and elegant. Her snow-white Gothic dress was even more conservative than previous styles.
The fluffy hem reached her calves, her milky shoulders were hidden beneath luxurious velvet fabric, and only a pair of collarbones peeked through at the neckline, maintaining a hint of allure and suggestion.
Given a certain witch’s possessiveness, it was no surprise that she wouldn’t allow Funis to expose much skin outside. The overall look leaned toward graceful refinement.
Funis adjusted the sky-blue sunhat atop her head. Her carefully braided silver hair cascaded down her shoulders. The hat brim hid her horns, though not the tiny silver bell at their base, which chimed sweetly.
She shifted her weight between her feet—the heels were still seven centimeters tall, clicking crisply with each step.
Even outside, the witch hadn’t forgotten to keep torturing her. White over-the-knee stockings and thick-heeled Mary Jane shoes were a must. Funis had to remain properly dressed at all times.
Her hands held a closed pale-pink parasol and a white leather handbag in front of her. Her stance was poised and graceful, like a noble’s daughter.
Dignified and elegant.
But it was all a façade Funis worked hard to maintain.
Once back in a private room where no one could see, she’d definitely give in to the overwhelming impulses surging in her head—undressing, flushed, rewarding herself before a mirror.
No. No more wandering thoughts.
“You can do this, Funis,” she whispered to her reflection.
“Talking to yourself like that is just adorable,” came Chescia’s teasing voice from behind.
Funis jumped, embarrassed, and turned slowly to bow her head. “Miss Witch, you’re back?”
“A reward for good behavior.” Chescia bent slightly and handed her a stick of cotton candy. “Walk with me a bit longer, then I’ll leave you to your own devices.”
Funis took the wooden skewer, inspecting it carefully. The snowy fluff was dusted with golden honey, a sweet aroma quickly filling her nose.
Back when she was Sera Fred, she never cared for sweets. But since becoming a girl, her tongue and taste buds seemed to have undergone a mysterious transformation.
Now, Funis was utterly enslaved by desserts. A candy, a pudding, a slice of cake could all easily sway her.
“No problem, Miss Witch,” she nodded.
Chescia wore a similarly styled dress—her usual jet black.
Holding a lace-edged parasol as dark as twilight, she took Funis’s small hand and cheerfully led her through several blocks and alleys.
The Blackwater River District was Graycloud Fortress’s famed industrial area, controlled by the Bloodwine Society.
Factory waste poured into the river that cut through the city-state. Chimneys and smog dominated the landscape. Parasols weren’t for blocking sunlight, but for shielding from the black ash that fell like snow from the clouds.
In her snowy outfit, Funis stood out starkly here.
Even the dull, soulless workers along the streets turned to look at the pair. Girls so clearly born to noble standing had no reason to wander a place filled with soot and sweat.
“So many stares…” Funis whispered.
“Don’t mind them. Eyes forward, girl,” Chescia replied coolly. “The Bloodwine Society recently raised its protection fees. The atmosphere in Blackwater isn’t what it used to be.”
“I heard the fee is three times higher than the Kingdom of Correnzo’s taxes. Every worker is subject to it—aren’t they afraid the people might rise up one day?” Funis asked.
“No one can easily shake the foundation of Graycloud’s four major gangs. They’re the base order of the free city-state. As long as the Bloodwine Society is needed, the other three gangs won’t allow rebellion to get that far.”
As they neared a side alley, Chescia suddenly wrapped an arm around Funis’s waist, pulling her closer.
Then came the moans and screams from the alley, fists striking flesh.
“P-Please… I’m begging you…”
“This is a lesson. No next time. No money? Then we take your daughter as payment.”
The words carried clearly. Funis, sheltered in Chescia’s arms, went pale.
“Disgusting. They’re snatching girls in broad daylight now,” Chescia frowned. “How many innocent girls have these bastards taken like this?”
Clearly, that comment was for Funis.
Chescia was using every tactic to push the investigation into the Whispers potion origin and Moira’s disappearance onto Funis—like that casual blow to her conscience just now.
“Miss Witch… if I find any leads, I’ll pay attention… but that doesn’t seem like the main issue right now?” Funis tugged her sleeve. “Sword-rust secretion… where should I start?”
“The Blackwater River’s hidden warehouses. Some of their people should know,” Chescia said curtly.
She stopped before an inn, and Funis followed.
Unlike the rest of the district’s squalor, this inn—closer to Black City’s central Georgeson area—looked relatively clean and upscale. A wooden sign hung between slightly rusted iron bars.
It read: “The Blackwater River and the Black Cat Inn.”
Cumbersome name.
Whoever named it had no talent.
Chescia let go of Funis and turned around. “If anything comes up, return here. Tell the front desk you’re from the Black Rose Society.”
Funis tilted her head.
“There’s already a fish on the hook. Just remember to act a little lost,” Chescia grinned wickedly. “Well then, girl—have fun.”
In a blink, the black-haired witch had vanished behind the door, the inn’s copper bell ringing gently.
Funis sighed and opened her slightly smaller parasol. She looked down, checking her outfit. “Act lost? Like a child who’s lost her big sister?”
Shoes splashed through puddles—footsteps approaching fast from behind.
Funis turned to see two men—one tall, one fat—headed directly for her. The fat one wore rolled-up work clothes and had a tattoo on his arm.
A goblet with no mouth, replaced by a skull. A dagger pierced the bone. A snake curled around the stem.
It was the Bloodwine Society’s emblem.
She could also see their sinister grins and the greedy joy in their eyes. It was obvious they thought they’d already succeeded.
“Ugly fish,” Funis muttered under her breath.