The skeleton cart creaked as it rolled out of the courtyard. However, it held sturdy, the groan of the bones telling just how heavy the statue was, even the skeletal horses pulling the cart were struggling, and these were military horses, horses groomed for heavy infantry combat, they were used to heavy weights yet even they, with the endless stamina death granted them, fought to drag the burdened cart.
Clarisse had freed the skeletons, only using them to lift the statue into the cart. This allowed the group to sit in the little room available on the cart, where there were no skeletons to take up space, avoiding the need to walk alongside it. Lucas sat near the statue, manipulating the mist to cover the cart and statue, while the mist would naturally twist the perspective of mortals to see the horses and carts as normal, not made of bones. However, they would be able to see the golden statue, so to prevent any unnecessary drama, Lucas controlled the mist to change the statue into a grandfather clock, but even the mist couldn't entirely hide the true nature of the statue for fragments of gold bled through, and the feeling of age couldn't be diminished.
It was because of this that when they were travelling through the backstreets and alleys to avoid traffic, they drew attention from the wrong crowd. Out of the shadows, three men stepped into the road, bundled in dark winter jackets, their hoods pulled down over their heads and scarves covering their faces. All the demigods could see of their appearance was their eyes, filled with cocky confidence and opportunistic greed.
"Well, well," one said in Italian, eyes focusing on what they believed to be a valuable antique. "What's a carriage carrying something like that doing in these parts?"
The demigods paused, looking incredulous, glancing at each other to make sure they were all seeing the same thing.
Though this only made it look like the group was scared, unable to speak out and searching for a source of confidence.
Selena glanced at the others, an eyebrow raised. "Seriously?"
Ethan was holding in his laughter, but the shaking of his shoulders gave away his true feelings.
Lucas just let out a sigh, amused at the situation.
They, who had been trained to fight against monsters and divines since they were young, were now being accosted by street hooligans; it was almost like it came straight from a movie, making the situation too absurd for them to react. The hooligans seemed to sense that they weren't feeling fear, but rather incredulity at their act, which seemed to anger the leader. With the encouraging eyes of his two followers on him, he stepped forward, preparing to confront the group.
"Oy-"
Only to be met with Clarisse.
A hand landed squarely on his shoulders, the force almost knocking him to his knees, bringing him to a stop. The hand was clamped tight on his shoulder, even with him grabbing it and trying to tear it off his shoulder, he couldn't move it, causing beads of sweat to drip down his covered face.
Clarisse leaned forward, coming face to face with the man, her voice low and steady. "You've got three seconds to get out of our way."
Clarisse didn't need to voice her threat; she just increased the strength in her hand, causing the man to let out a small cry of pain. The leader got the message, nodding like a pecking chicken and promising to leave.
Once released from her grip, they didn't wait for her to count. Their boots scraped against cobblestone in retreat, the sound fading down another alley as they fled.
Clarisse smirked, climbing back onto the cart and ordering the horses to continue. With the cart back in motion, the group started talking, joking about the situation as they made their way towards the docks.
...
The port was filled with life and activity, with people flocking through. Some tourists chose to rest under the shade near the port, enjoying the nearby cafes, while others, including some locals, prepared their boats for sail. A few even offered tours of the area to those willing to pay.
Though most of these boats were small yachts or speedboats, seemingly only able to allow a handful of people to be aboard, there was a large ship that was completely different, standing out from the crowd.
A ship with a hull pitted from old battles, its iron plating scarred and dented. The chimney was alive, belching black steam into the sky, as skeletons walked the deck, preparing the boat for sail, while others stood guard, looking over the crowd as protection.
From what Lucas could gather, the mortals believed the ship to be an empty yacht. They were curious about the boat itself, but they also cursed the owner for docking at such a small port with a large boat.
Clarisse stopped the carriage beneath the ship, looking up at it with pride. "Steam troopship. My father's gift for the quest."
Figures moved along the deck, skeletons in tattered uniforms, eye sockets empty, yet they moved with such grace and precision it was unnerving. One stood at the gangway, its ribs showing through a shredded jacket, the remnants of rank stitched in faded thread showcasing themselves to be the captain of the ship. It was ordering other skeletons, moving them into position to use a crane to bring the cart and statue aboard.
Clarisse waved the others forward. "Dormitories are below deck. Follow me."
They boarded the ship, passing rows of skeletons. Some followed the captain's orders in helping transport the statue, while others prepared the boat to sail. They followed Clarisse to the lower floors where they would be staying, and since the undead didn't need sleep, they each had their own rooms.
The dormitories were simple: iron bunks bolted to the ground, trunks for storage, and a table and chair for work, with a single lantern swaying with the ship's slow rocking.
It wasn't much, but it was safe, and for demigods in the wild, this was enough.