Shades of Grey
Chapter 11: The Gates

PORT DU CHEVALIERS, AUTOMNE DE FLEURE— FEBRUARY 1843

I awoke gasping and choking on a wrecked metal door with Forma sitting next to me, holding her knees to her chest as she watched me carefully.

“Hello,” she said with a smile.

I groaned and sat up, seeing that the metal door was firmly planted in yet another sandy shoreline and the high tide was beating against my exhausted body.

Wonderful, I thought acerbically to myself. Waking up again on a strange beach…

“What day is it?” I asked, rubbing my eyes.

“February 18th,” she replied, handing me my canteen, full of fresh water. I drank heartily. “You’ve been unconscious for three days—”

I choked on the water in shock.

“Three days?!” I stuttered. “Have we been drifting for three days?”

“I’m not quite sure. After I killed the Kraken and got you to the surface, I pulled you onto that metal door and tried to push us as far out of the storm as possible. I swam for a good day and a half before I was too exhausted to continue swimming. Then I went to sleep in your pocket and woke up four hours ago on this beach.”

I held my head, staring at Forma in amazement.

“How did I… I mean, did you…”

“I only had to get you fresh water once and that was about two hours ago. Thank your lucky stars that your Hunter body has an incredible level of physical endurance,” she said as she stretched out next to me in the form of a dingo. “And before you ask, Krakens don’t have teeth. I checked.”

I laughed and then looked to her in placid frustration.

“We’re never sailing again,” I stated.

“I have no problem with that,” Forma nodded quickly.

“What happened to the bird?”

“I brought him with us and he stayed until about an hour and a half ago, then he opened his wings and flew away.”

I turned to her, gaping.

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“Yes he could. When I asked why he didn’t just fly away after we had taken the ship, he said he had promised the master that he would look after the ship until it went down. Stubborn, stupid rat with wings…”

I laughed again and turned my attentions to my surroundings.

“Where are we this time?”

“I did some scouting about fifteen minutes ago and we’re about a mile away from a seaport called Port du Chevaliers in a town called Automne de Fleure, somewhere in the Northern half of France I believe. I didn’t want to move you until I was sure you weren’t permanently damaged.”

I nodded and stood slowly as my limbs recovered from their three days of inactivity. Forma changed into a stallion and after I mounted her, began walking along the waterline for about half an hour before we arrived at what looked to be a small verdant fisherman’s village.

I dismounted Forma as we got closer and slipped my Pallitus over my head prior to entering, concentrating on a young, blonde female ship captain of about my height and build. After Forma gave a nod of approval and turned easily into a Persian monkey, I entered the village.

It was a quaint little town: beautiful trees, winding cobblestone streets with small shoppes, haberdasheries and markets lining the streets. The people, however — who were so kind and considerate to each other — regarded me with xenophobic hostility.

“Who died?” Forma mused, sensing the same tension as I had. “They’re looking at us as though we killed their governor or something.”

“Wait on the roof, it might be you,” I hypothesised.

“What are you talking about? Are you saying these people don’t like monkeys?”

“It is possibly a contributing factor, yes. Find a private place and change into a fly or something. I’m going to the hotel to see if there are any vacancies.”

Forma nodded and swung up onto the roof of the nearest building to the surprise of some older ladies walking past us.

“Well!” cried one of them, aghast.

I ignored their blatant disgust and walked to the nearby hotel. Every conversation ceased in the front parlour of the mediocre lodging as all eyes shifted to me. The attendant behind the desk looked up and gave me a patronising glance, eyeing me with disgusted condescension. This would not be a pleasant few days.

“Je peux vous aider?” asked the attendant in French, acrimoniously wanting to know if he could help me. He clearly thought I didn’t know the language.

“Oui. J’aimerais une chambre s’il vous plait,” I replied, stating that I would like a room. His smug smile fell off of his face and he turned to his logbook in defeat.

“Quel est votre nom?” he asked, wanting to know my name.

“Captain Willania Drake.”

I frowned slightly, puzzled at my own answer. Why had my mother’s name been the first to come to my mind? Why did I feel the need for an alias in such a small town?

“Est ce que les habitants parlent anglais?” I asked the man as I returned my attentions to him, wanting to know if the townspeople spoke English.

“Yes, we are all taught English, French and Spanish as part of our rudimentary learning in school. Do you prefer English?” he asked, his complacency disappearing bit by bit.

“I never did well in French class,” I confessed.

“Very well, Captain Drake. You are in room 215. Go straight up those stairs and turn to the right. It is the fourth door on the left hand side,” he said, still distant but visibly less disgusted with my alien qualities.

“Merci!” I replied with a smile, taking the keys and ascending the stairs.

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