A coat of crimson stained his hands; grimacing, he looked again. Fresh and sickly red.

  “Hey!” A sharp wallop snapped him from his daze. Bogs looked about ready to strangle him. “Ratchet, we can still save him, but I need your help.”

  Pulling together the frayed thoughts of his mind, Ratchet scrambled to grab the gauze and bottle of disinfectant, handing the two over to Bogs; his hands never once stopped shaking. His delivery only brought him back to the man he had stabbed. Writhing on the garage workbench that now acted as an operating table lay the grizzled man who clutched at his gut that seeped blood.

  Bogs began his work; with careful precision and a deft hand, he applied the disinfectant. Try as he might, Ratchet’s mind continued to elude him; focus and composure would not be returning anytime soon. The injured man spasmed, blood retched from his ghastly throat splattering to the feet of Ratchet.

  “Ratchet! Come here; apply pressure as hard as you can before I cauterise his wound shut.”

  “I…” Ratchet’s body began to tremble uncontrollably; his body understood what his mind had tried to ignore. He wasn’t like Bogs; how was he supposed to help?

  “Ratchet!” Bogs roared at him. “Do you want to save this man or not?”

  Looking again, he saw the pain that twisted the injured man’s face and the fear that bubbled to the surface of his eyes. Steeling himself, he found his answer. Snatching the gauze from Bogs, he managed a half nod.

  “Good. On three I’m going to make a run for the poker from the furnace. Hold for as long as you can; he’s lost a lot of blood already. Ready?”

  “One.”

  Ratchet’s heart pummelled his chest.

  “Two.”

  His breath tightened.

  “Three.”

  Wasting no time, Ratchet pressed down hard; the shaking of his hands felt stronger now, but he would hold.

  “Shit! Shit!” Bogs yelled. Snapping his head to his left, Ratchet saw what prompted the reaction. It wasn’t his hands that were shaking; it was the injured man. Spasming, he lurched left and right, his head a blur of panic and pooling red. Bogs sprinted to the furnace, ripping the poker out. All the while Ratchet watched in horror as the man he had consigned to death drew his last breath. The writhing body ceased, and the warmth left too.

  Metal clanged behind Ratchet. A strong hand gripped Ratchet’s shoulder.

  “There’s nothing more we could’ve done, kiddo. I’m sorry,” Bogs whispered.

  Tears streamed down Ratchet’s cheeks, and his chest heaved as he began to sob. A man was dead, and it was because of him. A guttural roar erupted as he began slamming his fists against the nearest wall. Beefy forearms hooked underneath his armpits and dragged him back. Ratchet tried to resist, but Bog's grip never faltered.

  Slumping to the floor Ratchet continued his sobbing. Looking down, he cursed his hands. He hadn’t wanted to kill; it had all happened so fast.

  Anger, reaching for a weapon. Fury, thrusting deep with a jagged pipe and yanking it free. Panic, running to Bogs for help.

  In that moment he made a promise to himself; never again would he harm, never again would he remain helpless.

  “Teach me.”

  “What?” Bogs asked him.

  “Teach me how to save people.”

  With a sigh Bogs perched himself next to Ratchet. “Alright, kiddo, I’ll teach you. If that’s what you really want, I’ll teach you what I know.”

  ???

  Pressure applied tightly but not too tightly, cauterise the wound and begin wrapping with the bandage. Ratchet finished his work, taking his index finger and middle finger to Piotr’s neck; he checked his pulse. Steady and strong, he would live. Sweeping back his lank hair drenched in a mixture of sweat and sticky blood, Ratchet allowed himself a moment of respite. Sweat was proof of one’s hard-fought battle, Bogs had always said. Well, he had certainly earned his victory today.

  “Excellent work, my friend,” Sam said beside him. When Ratchet had insisted on handling the medical procedure, Sam had happily entrusted Piotr to him. And he appreciated that; it was nice to know he had Sam’s full trust. A gentle breeze rolled through the cavern they occupied, the scent of the sea riding passenger.

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  Wooden crates clumped together in the back, a plethora of fancy-looking furniture, and a steep cliff that overlooked the seaside entrance into the cavern. Off the appearance alone of a rusted basement entrance above ground, no one would’ve guessed a place like this would exist down here. Abraham stood away from the two; he leaned against the ebony rock wall near the cliff face.

  “I certainly never would have taken you for a man so deft with his hands.” Even a compliment from Abraham felt backhanded.

  “I had a good mentor, that’s all,” Ratchet responded.

  Again he checked Piotr’s pulse before seating himself on one of the larger couches in the cavern. He sank into the couch; it felt good just to sit. His eyes wandered to his surroundings as he hazarded a guess as to what this place really was. Abraham hadn’t said much upon their arrival, but judging by the crates, expensive-looking furniture and abundance of other things. Well, he guessed this was where they stored Barkat’s imports and exports.

  “What is this place exactly?” Ratchet found himself asking.

  Abraham continued to stare down the cliff, his arms folded. “This is the first headquarters for the Finders. Now it serves as a place to store and move cargo.”

  “How’d you find it?” Sam joined Ratchet in his questioning.

  “My brother Brand, he used to sneak off and come here to read.”

  “Certainly can’t beat the privacy it offers,” Ratchet chuckled.

  “Yeah, he loved this place.”

  The conversation came to a halt, and judging by Abraham’s posture, it wouldn’t be starting up anytime soon. Sinking further back into the couch, Ratchet reflected on the past four days. Things had certainly not gone the way he expected. Fheitgr, Finders, a giant machine in the shape of a bull, and Christi…

  Vanquishing the thought, he decided it was time to get some rest. They had earned it.

  Some time later Ratchet awoke; Sam quietly slept opposite him, sprawled on a couch much the same as him. Piotr remained unconscious on the table; judging by the rise and fall of his chest, he was doing okay. Looking around, Ratchet noticed that Abraham was missing; as he returned his gaze to Piotr, a strip of white caught his eye. Rising to his feet, he approached a sturdy-looking table adjacent to Piotr where a singular sheet of paper lay.

  “Be back later. Don’t touch anything from the crates. Abraham,” read the note.

  Glancing around, he only now realised just how big the cavern was; well, there was no harm in exploring everything outside of the crates. The spot Abraham had remained in earlier intrigued him. Strolling over, he stopped at the edge of the cliff; roughly about fifty or so feet below, the sea exploded against the cliff.

  A whistling caught his attention; it sounded different from the wind that had swept through earlier. Curious as to what it was, he followed the sound. Off to his right he noticed a rugged path that ventured along the edge of the cliff face. Hugging the wall, he navigated the path with the utmost caution. After some forty steps, he came to a stop before a pillar of rock, yet the whistling persisted.

  The pillar seemed off; now that he got a closer look at it, the lines that marked this were unlike its neighbouring rock fellows. Instinctively he reached out to the pillar and pushed; it receded slightly. Placing his two palms against the damp surface, he pushed again; the pillar rolled back, revealing a set of stairs that led down.

  Torches illuminated the passage below. Before he proceeded, Ratchet pushed the door back and pulled again from inside. Thankfully, the door rolled back and forth, he was good to go. So with his mind set and his curiosity still not sated, he began forward.

  A cold draught accompanied him as he descended; the roar of the sea was louder than ever as he neared what he thought to be the bottom. Finally the ground levelled out below him, and he appeared to be in a space much like the one above.

  To his left a small boat lay restrained in ropes; a slope that acted as a ramp slid into the sea ahead of it. Continuing his investigation, he discovered that the path curved around a mountain of rock, so he followed along. A large round table surrounded by seats stood in the centre of a large flat area. Workbenches and crates hugged the walls; most seemed packed near the back of the cavern.

  As he strolled around, he found himself attracted to the workbenches at the back. Tools, ores, sheets of metal and a turquoise rod were strewn across the benches. Turquoise? Ignoring the other items, Ratchet approached the metal rod. As he neared, he recognised its distinctive properties: a glossy dark sheen and coiling interceding markings. It was Praetin, an ore only found in Ariva; he had heard of its incredible traits.

  Strong, flexible, and holding no magnetic pulse, the material made for some formidable weapons in the hands of the right craftsman. What was it doing here then? On the ridge of the rod he spotted an insignia. A sparrowhawk that soared high above a sunrise; on the surface of the bench next to the rod, he saw that same symbol imprinted on a stack of papers. Below the symbol read three words, “The Kydawn Family”.

  He’d heard that name before, hadn’t he? Piotr and Sam had told him that Adriana had mentioned that the family had begun pillaging Barakat’s cargo shipments. Flicking through the pages of notes, he skimmed through the details of what seemed to be smuggling and information regarding the Fheitgr family. There were names, places, dates and times. One name made him pause.

  Kydin.

  Information on the man was vague, but what was recorded was how Kydin had helped source the ore and brokered the initial deal. The first dates went back two years ago, and the most recent one was recorded just a week ago. Adriana had mentioned they were hired by Kydin, but this ran deeper than he thought. The price of Praetin alone in Anriel was out of this world; with that kind of money, they could do what Adriana wanted for Barakat. Be independent of the Pioneers and hold the power to beat back the Fheitgr.

  Sam and Piotr needed to know about this; gathering the notes he began towards the exit. Footsteps echoed ahead of him as Abraham rounded the corner. Reaching to his side, he unhooked a wooden club.

  “Axci above, you people are just a nuisance through and through.”