By Alicia Peterson
The Ghost, an infamous young thief recently turned pirate, walked through the bustling cacophony of Cog’s Meridian on market day.
Polite society knew her by a different name, but she was far from polite society today. Far from expectations and inopportune fiancés.
Beside her, Captain Gearlock kept watch on their surroundings with his clockwork eyepiece.
“What does old Ptolemy have to say?” he asked. “Will he finally give up his treasure?”
The Ghost, a.k.a. Kytt, continued to stare at the plate-sized brass device in her unfashionably large handbag. “Maybe he would if you’d leave me in peace.”
Her duty as navigator included interpreting directions from the mystical Ptolemy’s Astrolabe. She hadn’t expected to also conceal it, walk, and make small talk at the same time.
“My apologies.” He continued to scan the crowd. “Carry on.”
Kytt followed his gaze to a few stall owners muttering and staring. Oh, dear.
She cleared her throat. “Thank you for accompanying me to the market today, Uncle!”
“My pleasure, niece.” He smirked. “It keeps me active in my dotage.”
The captain wasn’t a day over nine and twenty, but the merchants returned to their work, satisfied. Gearlock gave her a look that said, Close one.
Kytt sighed in relief. Cog’s Meridian was notorious for its strict courting laws. A man and woman unaccompanied had better be married, or the locals would make them so. As much as she respected her captain, she had no wish to be forced into marrying him. Or anyone else, for that matter.
She returned her attention to the astrolabe. “We’re getting close. Take a right here.”
As they rounded the corner, Gearlock skidded them both to a halt.
“What? What is it?”
He sighed. “Not again.”
A young man with a satisfied grin was waiting for them. Kytt had never seen him before, but the captain apparently had.
The man sauntered up and dropped a deep courtly bow, out of place on the dusty market street. “Captain Gearlock.”
“Witz.”
The stranger looked at Kytt. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your—”
“Niece?” the captain cut in. “No.”
Kytt was intrigued. Gearlock wasn’t usually so protective.
The man ignored the slight. “Zaivar Witz, at your service, madam.” Another flourishing bow. “Zai to my friends, the devil himself to my quarry. You may call me—”
“You’ll call him a distant memory shortly,” Gearlock interrupted again. “Didn’t you learn your lesson last time, Witz? Even ten bounty hunters like you won’t catch me.”
Witz’s grin widened. “There’s only one like me. But I’m not here for you this time.” He nodded to Kytt. “My contract is for Miss Kytrina Windthorn.”
Kytt started at her real name. “Me? Why?” Who had hired him?
Her mind raced with possibilities. Was it someone she’d robbed? Or did her parents find out what she really did every weekend when she attended Miss Drummond’s School for the Betterment of Young Ladies?
“Reginald Ashcroft hired me.”
Kytt groaned. Her parents had been thrilled to arrange her engagement to Mr. Ashcroft. He was rich, influential, and mind-numbingly appropriate. She had avoided setting a date yet. How much did Witz know?
“Thus far, Mr. Ashcroft only suspects you haven’t been upfront with him. Looks like he was right.”
Kytt’s stomach sank at the thought of returning to her normal life forever. But something else was bothering her.
How did Zaivar’s answers always seem to follow her line of thought?
Gearlock stepped forward. “What do you want, Witz?”
The man blinked in mock surprise. “My bounty, of course. Too many lost targets and my reputation will be in tatters. Much like that awful coat, Gearlock.”
While the two men traded barbs about fashion, Kytt considered her options. She couldn’t run, hide, or steal her way out of this. Besides, what could a free spirit like Zaivar Witz have that was worth stealing?
An idea arrived fully-formed like a gift from the aether, and Zaivar froze mid-insult to stare at her, wide-eyed.
Kytt realized two things: he really could read thoughts, and her plan would work. But she had to act fast.
She brushed past Gearlock. “Darling, no!” She threw herself on Zaivar’s arm. “Please, I beg you not to break our engagement!”
Zaivar tried to separate himself, but she clung to him like an airship barnacle.
Gearlock drew himself up straight, a head taller than Zai. “I say, sir! To abandon my niece because you found someone richer is the height of villainy! I’m tempted to find a justice of the peace this moment!” Gearlock always did catch on quickly.
“I’m a justice.” A woman stepped out of a stall hung with cookpots, her arms crossed. That’s when Kytt noticed the growing crowd of onlookers, all glaring daggers at Zaivar Witz.
The astrolabe twitched at her side. Time to wrap this up. She turned back to Zai with lovesick cow eyes. “Oh, darling! Tell me you will!” She fluttered her eyelashes for good measure.
Zaivar’s eyes showed real fear.
Gearlock stepped closer and spoke under his breath. “What’ll it be, Witz? Shockgun wedding, or option two?”
His olive skin blanched. “What do you want?”
“You’ll tell Ashcroft that Miss Windthorn does indeed spend her weekends studying deportment with Miss Drummond, and we will go about our business.”
The crowd leaned in, hungry for more drama.
“Fine,” Zaivar ground out. “But I won’t forget this.”
“Understood.” Kytt pushed away from Zai and raised a demure hand to her forehead. “Oh, darling! I had no idea you felt that way about parsnips! I simply cannot marry you now! Uncle, take me home!”
Gearlock sighed deeply. “Ah, youth! An old man can’t keep up!” Without looking back, he took Kytt’s arm, and they strode away.
“Well?” she whispered several steps later.
“They’re letting him go. Stunned into lenience, I imagine.”
She felt the astrolabe whir to life and checked the reading. “Captain, which way did he go?”
“Northwest. Why?”
“Because the astrolabe is tracking him. Zaivar Witz is our next clue.”
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A narrow escape for Zai–what would Ryn say?
Probably tell him to stop wasting his time chasing pirates 😄
Kytt versus Zaivar! A legendary battle of wits 😂
This made me grin, and I very much needed that today. Thank you!
So glad it hit the spot! Thanks for reading 😊
Despite the potential for both, the story ended with no weddings and no funerals. Are you trying to make Hugh Grant angry??!
I would never. 😁
It was so creative of you to use a former monthly character for the main perspective. And Kytt, being one of my favorites, made the story that much better.
I love her too! And she’ll be back again. Thanks for reading ⚙️ ❤️