Free Maledictus Aether by Sydney Alykxander Walker Page A

the protest build itself. I continue before he can stop me
right th en and there. “Also,
I think it is high time someone reminded the world that my father’s
work did not die with him – and you?”
    The Captain scowls at me,
crossing his arms.
    “ You’re a
wanted man, Kennedy; they’ll arrest you in a heartbeat,” he warns,
and I laugh lightly.
    “ Please, give me a bit of credit,” I chuckle, shaking my
head. “This is not my first
ride, Captain.”
     

 
VI – Fugitive
     
    Whe n I step off into
London, I cannot help but smile a little at the familiar – yet
foreign – sight before me. The wood-and-stone buildings hugging the
streets and the men and women wearing their furs and silk. Around
their necks, more often than not you will find a silver cross
hanging from a chain or beads as the noblemen and shopkeepers
silently announce their beliefs.
    None spare me a glance as I
walk amongst them, the sound of hooves hitting the cobble as
carriages wheel by on the street. In their eyes, I’m but a young
man on his daily commute, as any of them are.
    The sky promises rain overhead,
henceforth the scattering of umbrellas held in gloved hands and the
one I carry despite the fact that rain has never really bothered me
in the first place.
    I ha ve taken the
liberty of borrowing one of Fulke’s shirts, with sleeves long
enough to cover my left arm – as it is my main identifying factor
and, in London, it is better to be the same as everyone else – with
gloves pulled over my hands. The disguise I have donned is
completed with a tailcoat, very unlike my father’s.
    Following the path, I notice a town crier waving a bell and
shouting to be heard over the sound of his own tool of the trade,
as well as the horses. Most around him watch him as he stands on a
c rate to deliver his news,
and I am not afraid to admit that I pause too, curious the way
anyone else is.
    “ A fugitive by the name of Cephas Kennedy Watkins II is
wanted for treason against the High Court and Her Majesty the Queen of England!” he
hollers, and this makes a few heads turn, looking at their
neighbours in startled gasps and gossip. I watch on, curious to
hear what else he has to say. “The man is twenty-two years of age,
with a prosthetic left arm and legs–!”
    I pull away then, having lost interest, and continue on my
way with him rattling off a physical description of who I am. The
stitches on my back are pulling a bit painfully, but regardless of
that I forge on, reaching my destination – a steel smith with a
sign that announces the name: Elyn’s Steel Crafts and Prosthetics .
    When I push open the door, the
bell hanging overhead announces my entry to the young woman at the
service counter, reading a book. She looks up as I glance around,
hand reaching to my head and pulling off my hat before shutting the
wooden door behind me and barring London from the shop.
    Two large windows allow natural
light to spill in, and the walls are covered with some of the
finest steel crafts I’ve ever seen – from prosthetics to mechanical
parts, and even a few pieces of steel and wood furniture that
dominate the room. The woman allows me a moment to look around
before I approach her, where she offers me a kind smile.
    “ Welcome to
Elyn’s Steel Crafts and Prosthetics,” she announces merrily, and I
return her smile. “What can we do for you today, sir?”
    “ I a m here to see
Elyn,” I tell her, and here she nods, pulling out a sheaf of paper
from underneath the desk and consulting it, looking up at me
expectantly.
    “ Certainly. What’s your name?” She questions, and here I
pull out my father’s pocket watch from the inner pocket of my
borrowed tailcoat, and place it on the counter between us,
the Alitis Gladio’s symbol facing the crossbeams on the
ceiling.
    The woman glances down at the
golden watch, and her brown eyes widen at the sight just before
looking back up at me. I pocket it once more, answering her
question while doing