The gray, churning waters of the Thromium river lap heavily against the muddy banks, the sound a continuous, wet drone that swallows the distant noise of the city. The rain has thinned to a fine mist, hanging over the water like a white shroud.
Aldo walks slowly along the slippery edge of the riverbank, his dead-fish eyes scanning the gray horizon as if searching for a specific structural variable. His boots sink an inch into the wet silt with every step, his smooth hands tucked loosely into his pockets.
A few yards upstream, hidden beneath the hanging branches of a weeping willow, a small, flat-bottomed wooden boat sways against the current. A ragged old man with a weathered, deeply lined face and a coarse woolen cap sits on the wooden bench, methodically cleaning an old fishing net with his calloused fingers.
Aldo approaches the vessel, stopping at the edge of the wooden plank that serves as a crude pier. He bows with a stiff, formal elegance that looks completely absurd in the mud, his rosy lips moving with polite precision.
"Good morning, elder," Aldo says, his tone a level, respectful drone. "Do you currently offer commercial ferry services for civilian transport along this aquatic corridor?"
The old man stops his work, lifting his head with a wide, bright smile that reveals several missing teeth. His watery eyes crinkle with genuine happiness at the prospect of coin.
"Yes, yes, young master!" the old man replies cheerfully, his raspy voice full of the local river dialect. "This old man has been rowing these waters for more springs than I can count on my toes! Where is it that you and your giant friend want to go on a rainy day like this?"
"To the nearest river pier located directly upstream," Aldo answers flatly.
Aldo reaches into his charcoal coat, extracts two large silver coins, and places them gently into the old man's weathered palm. The silver catches the dull light of the gray sky, gleaming brightly against the dirty skin.
"Keep the remaining change as a gratuity," Aldo adds.
The old man stares down at the silver, his jaw dropping as his hand begins to tremble slightly. He tries to push the coins back toward Aldo's smooth fingers, his face filled with an honest, rustic panic.
"Oh, no, no, young master!" the old man stammers, his voice shaking. "That is far too much wealth for a short trip up the bank! This old man will only take four copper coins for the labor! I cannot take your silver!"
Aldo doesn't move his hand back. Instead, he reaches back into his pocket, extracts two more identical silver coins, and presses them firmly into the old man's calloused hand, closing the elder's fingers over the metal with a slow, heavy pressure.
"I am deliberately giving you an increased volume of currency," Aldo explains, his dead-fish eyes locked onto the old man's face, "so you will possess no further intellectual curiosity to ask me any more questions regarding our identities or our destination."
The old man blinks, a look of deep, ancient understanding washing over his weathered features. He slips the four silver coins into his woolen vest with a rapid, silent motion, nodding his head vigorously as he grips his heavy wooden oars.
"Understood, perfectly understood, strange young master," the old man mutters, his tone turning instantly business-like. "No questions from this old mouth. None at all."
With the quiet efficiency of his long experience, the old man guides the small boat along the reeds, maneuvering the vessel until it bumps against the wooden pilings of a small, deserted stone pier hidden beneath the shadow of a high clay hill.
Comtois steps out of the boat first, still carrying the bound, squirming form of Gertrude over his shoulder. He deposits her onto the slick stone of the pier with a heavy grunt, his broad face slick with sweat. Aldo climbs up the wet stone step right behind him, his well-proportioned body moving with smooth balance.
The old man lingers by the edge of the pier, his watery eyes drifting toward the ropes around Gertrude's wrists before glancing back up at Aldo's frozen, fair face. He opens his mouth as if to speak, his rustic curiosity briefly overriding his caution.
Before a single word can escape the elder's lips, Aldo reaches down, extracts a heavy, clinking handful of four more silver coins from his deep pockets, and drops them directly into the old man's lap.
"You currently possess the absolute legal right to remain entirely silent," Aldo instructs him, his voice as cold as the river mist. "You will pretend you know absolutely nothing about this encounter, and you will erase this visual data from your functional memory."
The old man's eyes widen to the size of saucers as he looks at the mountain of silver now resting on his knees. Realizing with a sudden, sharp clarity that getting further involved with these strange, wealthy teenagers will only cause him a world of pain, he shuts his mouth with a loud snap. He gives a low, terrified bow, shoves his oars into the water, and rows away into the mist at a frantic pace without looking back once.
Comtois watches the boat vanish, his goofy face splitting into a wide, disbelieving grin as he turns to Aldo, his broad arms crossing over his chest.
"Well, damn, Aldo," Comtois laughs, his deep voice echoing off the clay hill. "I think you just officially created the single highest-tipped service worker in the entire history of this continent. That old man just received roughly a twenty thousand percent tip rate for a five-minute boat ride. Where the hell are you getting all this coin?"
The light rain continues to fall as the two boys huddle near the crest of a steep, grassy hill half a mile above the river pier. The ground is slick with wet mud and crushed wild clover, the green blades bending under the weight of the water.
To avoid being spotted by any passing scout patrols along the lower path, Comtois is forced to shift Gertrude's bound form into a tight fireman's carry, crouching low while Aldo glides through the thick grass. As they reach the slick crest of the ridge, Comtois's boot catches on a wet root. He loses his footing, groaning as he launches Gertrude ahead into a relatively soft patch of clover before he and Aldo go rolling down the eastern slope in a chaotic, muddy tumble of limbs.
They land in a disheveled heap at the bottom of the ravine. Comtois pushes himself up, wiping a clump of wet grass from his weathered cheek as he stares at Aldo, his mischievous face twisting into a deep, serious frown of curiosity.
"Listen to me, Aldo," Comtois says, his voice thick with an assertive pressure as he leans closer. "When the system brought us to Terre, tens of thousands of Earth teenagers were turned into common farm slaves. You were enslaved, I was enslaved, everyone went through the dirt. So how the hell are you so ridiculously rich right now? You're walking around here throwing silver like some kind of petty local nobleman. Is it magic? Did you find a hidden treasure vault? How did you get all this capital?"
Aldo sits up smoothly. By utilizing a calculated, rotational sliding technique, his charcoal suit has remained remarkably free of caked clay, though a few stray clover petals cling to his shoulders. His rosy lips remain flat as he looks at the larger youth.
"So," Aldo asks, his voice a deadpan drone, "which specific source of my regular operational income do you wish to inquire about first?"
Comtois's jaw drops slightly, his brow furrowing into a look of sheer, unadulterated disbelief.
"Are you serious right now?" Comtois gasps, his tone rising. "You mean to tell me you have so many different, independent sources of income that you can't even count them? Man, you could probably fund our entire revolution on your own and still have enough money left over to buy out a brand-new regional government! Is that a yes?"
"Yes," Aldo replies simply, his dead-fish eyes completely vacant.
Comtois lets out a loud, heavy sigh, his broad shoulders dropping as his goofy face falls into a look of profound disappointment. He rubs his temples with his thick, rough fingers, groaning softly under his breath.
"No wonder Hano told me your baseline reaction to gaining massive wealth looked so completely dejected," Comtois grumbles, shaking his head. "You don't even enjoy the money, do you? You absolute robot."
Aldo turns his head slowly, his vacant gaze falling onto Gertrude. She had slid down the hill slightly ahead of them and was now propped against a wet boulder, her dark eyes glaring at them with an intensity that could melt iron.
"Let us immediately focus our available cognitive resources on dealing with her presence, Comtois," Aldo says, his voice flat.
Aldo steps closer to the girl, reaching down with a smooth hand to rip the coarse linen rag from her mouth. The moment the cloth clears her rosy lips, Gertrude lets out a loud, furious gasp, her jaw clenching as she twists her bound shoulders against the stone.
"You absolute perverts!" she screams, her voice sharp and ringing with a native German accent. "You disgusting, low-life creeps! What do you want from me?!"
"Your life," Aldo answers instantly, his voice entirely devoid of emotion.
Comtois immediately steps into the space between them, using his broad shoulder to push Aldo's well-proportioned body violently to the side. He rolls his eyes, his goofy face twisting into an expression of pure, exasperated annoyance at the commander's total lack of social awareness.
"He's completely, totally just kidding!" Comtois shouts at the girl, his voice booming with reassurance. "Don't listen to him, beautiful! He is single-handedly the most terrible person at basic human communication on this entire planet. We don't want to kill you. We just want you to keep our upcoming regional revolution a total secret from your master."
Aldo looks over Comtois's shoulder, his dead-fish eyes blinking once.
"I have already explicitly revealed the full structural nature of our revolutionary objectives to her during the transport phase," Aldo notes flatly.
Comtois throws his hands up in the air with a loud groan, his face flushing with irritation.
"Yeah, because you have the brains of a rusted gear, Aldo!" Comtois barks. "But it doesn't matter. She's an Earthling. I believe in her character. The way she's throwing attitude and arguing back isn't how these beaten-down medieval locals talk. She's one of us."
Gertrude throws her head back, letting out a loud, indignant screech that causes a flock of nearby crows to scatter from the wild oaks in a flurry of black feathers.
"HEY! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!" she screams, her face turning a bright, angry crimson. "ANY NORMAL GIRL IN THIS EXACT SITUATION WOULD SCREAM! YOU DRAGGED ME THROUGH A SWAMP AND YOU EXPECT ME TO BE POLITE?!"
Comtois points a thick finger directly at her face, his mischievous smirk returning in full force.
"See?" Comtois grins wildly. "I am completely right..."
"I know exactly who you are, you big ox!" Gertrude interrupts him, her sharp voice cutting through his chuckle. "And I know that other dead-eyed freak standing behind you, too!"
Comtois's face instantly goes entirely blank, his jaw dropping open as his eyes widen into an expression of pure, unadulterated idiocy. He slowly turns his large head toward Aldo, his voice dropping into a dazed, confused whisper.
"Are we... are we actually famous now, Aldo?" Comtois asks, his tone entirely bewildered.
"The empirical probability suggests our visibility profile increased exponentially following the regional Drakolimne massacre," Aldo replies smoothly, his rosy lips flat.
"She didn't mention the monster, you dummy," Comtois says, his voice rising as he feigns a look of absolute, unyielding confidence. "She said it was after you guys completely wiped out the PPF's Communist Cells in the northern sector of Erikas! That's fantastic! That means we don't need to waste any more time on lengthy personal introductions. Listen to me, girl. Since you already know our capabilities, would you like to officially become a high-level spy for our revolutionary network?"
Gertrude lets out a short, bitter laugh, her dark eyes narrowing into sharp slits as she looks at her bound wrists.
"Why the hell would I ever agree to that?" she scoffs, her voice dripping with deep, systemic bitterness. "Just so I can risk my entire life acting as a disposable pawn for you two perverts? Look at my forehead, you idiots! I have a permanent, magically binding slave mark seared right into my skin! If I betray my master or attempt to run, the magic will flag my position instantly. I would be in immediate, mortal danger. Never. I will never help you."
Aldo takes a single, swift step forward, his well-proportioned body moving with mechanical speed. Before Gertrude can recoil, his smooth hand shoots out, reaching into his pocket to extract a small, crystal vial filled with a shimmering, iridescent silver liquid. Without a single word of explanation, he pops the cork with his teeth and pours the entire contents of the vial directly over the center of her forehead.
The moment the liquid contacts her skin, a sharp, blinding white light flashes from her brow. The ancient, jagged runes of the slave mark glow with a violent, pulsing heat before fracturing into a thousand tiny particles, vanishing into the damp air like common gray dust.
Comtois drops to his knees, his jaw hitting the grass as his eyes bulge out of his head.
"Huh?!" Comtois gasps, his voice a high-pitched squeak of absolute shock.
Gertrude freezes against the boulder, her breath catching in her throat as she stares up at Aldo with her mouth open in a perfect circle of pure, unadulterated disbelief.
"HEHHH?!" she echoes, her fingers rising to touch the perfectly smooth, unblemished skin of her forehead.