Agenda: The Tale of Clementine Roseblood

Chapter One

The castle tower bells sounded the alarm. They echoed off the cobblestone courtyard, drowning out the slap of Clementine Roseblood’s feet against the stone as she ran. Her feet stung with every impact and sent a jolt through Clementine’s knees but she hardly noticed. Nothing ever hurt Clementine Roseblood. 

Well, except for one thing. 

She desperately tried to ignore the agony in her pinky fingers. Or lack of fingers. The stumps oozed with some kind of infection and the sudden burst of movement had caused some of the pus to start running down her hand. 

Shouts and marching footsteps could be heard all over the king’s palace. An army was rising and it swept through Deslow like a hurricane. Clementine could picture the king’s guards smashing every doorstep and trading post to sand just to find her and her heartbeat lurched. She couldn’t wait to be rid of the stupid, unforgiving town of Deslow. 

Clementine’s cloak obscured most of her sight as she pressed herself against a wall to narrowly miss the gaze of her pursuers. But there was no way she’d lift the hood higher in fear that someone would recognise her. She’d sooner swim naked in sea monster territory than go back to her cell. She checked to see if the coast was clear before continuing her grand escape. 

Clementine flawlessly vaulted fences and walls to avoid the main roads until she finally reached the dock. She scanned the anchored boats for a speedy escape. Just as she spotted a viable option (a small fishing boat that would be incredibly easy to hijack by the looks of the old man at the helm) a gust of sea wind tore her hood down. And at that precise second, a couple of royal guards caught a glimpse of Clementine’s face. 

She groaned. “How?!” All this way and the wind chose now to fuck her over. 

The guards yelled at Clementine to “Halt in the name of the King”, but she just furrowed her brow and kept running – her legs screaming in agony. But she absolutely refused to go back. No, she would catch a boat and sail far, far away from this miserable chunk of land. 

So, Clementine ran across the port until wood turned to sand turned to rocks under her feet. 

She ventured across the beach near the port and then through a winding tunnel-like cove. The jagged rocks eventually turned into blue skies and a new, unchartered beach. At least no beach Clementine had ever seen on a map. But she had never been too nifty with a map – preferring to rely on her own memory and intuition which usually served her much better. Paper maps could be vandalised or lost or rewritten; her memory was far more reliable. 

The sight that met her eyes as she ran out onto the beach, to her sheer delight and relief, was an imposing ship anchored not so far from the shore. It was probably parked there illegally but Clementine didn’t have time to worry about that. With haste spurred by the echoing of the guards back in the cove, she dove into the sea and began a determined swim towards the vessel. 

The water was cool against her skin, a refreshing embrace that contrasted with the tension that still gripped her. As she swam, the sea whispered tales of far-off lands and safety in its comforting arms.  

But the saltiness made her wounds sting all the more and Clementine bit back a painful outcry as she battled the waves to reach the boat. 

When she finally reached the ship’s anchor chain, she took a moment to examine the name, boldly emblazoned on the side. Clementine whispered to herself, “The Ardor? Must be a merchant ship.” Maybe they were smugglers. 

The Ardor, a grandeur upon the tranquil waters, appeared both mysterious and enticing. Its wooden planks bore the scars of countless journeys, tales of struggle etched into the grain. A gentle breeze stirred the yellowing sales, producing a soft, haunting melody that whistled through the air. It reminded Clementine of the whistling songs they used to sing in her clan. They were far away now though. 

For now, Clementine clung to the ship’s dropped chain, her heart pounding with every passing moment. The ragged flesh of her pinky-finger knuckles thrummed with their losses but rotting in a cell for months had dried most of the blood into a sticky clump, preventing her from bleeding out too much. 

Clementine ground her teeth together as she grasped the thick chain with every last morsel of strength she had left. The water made the surface slippery and the other smaller knicks across her hands were making themselves well known now. The Ardor’s timeworn exterior had now become her battlefield but Clementine Roseblood never missed. With each metre she conquered, the world below her became more distant, the peril of discovery less imminent.  

A drop of sweat trickled down her forehead, mingling with the salty residue of the sea spray. Her muscles strained, and her fingers throbbed with each pull. But she pushed forward, her gaze locked on the prize that awaited her above, the opening in the ship where the anchor was kept. That would let her into the ship.  

Finally, with a mixture of exhaustion and excitement, Clementine pulled herself through the window. It was a tight squeeze but she was just about able to follow the chains around to the main hulk of the ship. She kept tight to the shadows, remembering everything the clan had taught her. 

For now, she just had to find a place to hide. 

But before Clementine could branch out to much of the rest of the ship, a door to her right called out to her. Like the fates were pulling her closer to it. It was an unassuming door but the first lesson the clan had taught her was to always trust her instincts. Why would now be any different? 

Clementine listened at the door for a few seconds but couldn’t hear anything inside. She tried the knob and, to her surprise, the door opened. 

The vast, dimly lit chamber before her held a breathtaking sight – a treasure trove that sparkled and gleamed, casting reflections of wealth and secrets in every direction. The room itself was illuminated by the soft, eerie glow of flickering lanterns, casting dancing shadows on the riches within. Precious gems glittered like captured stars, and piles of gold coins glinted in mesmerising patterns. Clementine’s eyes widened as she took in the magnitude of the discovery. 

Yes, these were definitely smugglers. 

Amidst the treasure, one particular treasure seemed to draw her gaze. It stood apart, adorned with intricate designs and a mysterious aura. Clementine approached it, her heart still racing. 

Nestled atop a pedestal of intricately carved marble rested a strange-looking rock. Its surface bore an ethereal sheen that shifted in hues of iridescent blues, purples, and greens as if capturing the essence of a mystical twilight at sea. The rock, no larger than a palm, held a captivating symmetry, its contours forming an intricate dance of curves and angles that seemed to defy conventional geological patterns. Within its crystalline structure, faint, pulsating veins of luminescent energy whispered of arcane secrets. 

The arcana called to Clementine and the stubs of her fingers bleated with longing. 

But just as Clementine was about to reach out and touch the weird rock, there was a loud thud behind her. Startled, she whipped around to see that someone had dropped a pile of gold in the doorway. 

And that someone was a half-naked, brutish figure of pure muscle that bulged beneath thick, knotted sinews. His face, weather-beaten and horrifically scarred, bore fiery eyes akin to molten lava, ablaze with unyielding ferocity.  

Those same eyes widened upon Clementine so close to touching the treasure. 

“Stow-away!” he bellowed. 

Clementine’s eyes darted around frantically. She had two options: fight the man or try and talk her way out of this situation. 

And she had never been very chatty. 

The glint of an expensive-looking staff caught her attention – an opulent adornment with a striking emerald as its centrepiece. Always quick to seize an advantage, Clementine lunged for the staff and the man’s voice boomed down her ear hole. 

“Thief!” His accusation rattled around the precious metal-strewn room, his shock palpable. 

“I am not a thief,” Clementine retorted, attempting to wield the staff as a makeshift weapon. She was sick of that branding. But before her strike could land, the man intercepted, seizing the staff in his palm and, with a crushing grip, shattered the emerald at its helm, scattering fragments like a cascade of green sand. 

Confusion etched itself across Clementine’s face as she recoiled. “What the Hell?” 

“Your skull is next, thief.” 

In the heart of the ship, Clementine's pulse raced like a boulder tumbling down a hill: fast and uncontrollable. But with an instinct sharpened by years with her clan, she anticipated the man's next attack, ducking beneath his lunge and slipping under the threshold. Emerging onto the deck, she sought refuge behind a looming stack of barrels. 

Clementine tried to control her breathing; she’d grown unfit from her time starving away in the palace dungeons. She heard the man’s booming voice, “Stay away. She’s mine.” He must be speaking to the rest of the crew. 

Suddenly, the man’s brute force shattered the barrels in front of her to splinters, sending Clementine scrambling to evade the debris. She opted for a daring retreat toward the helm. But, with a deadly precision Clementine had only ever seen accomplished with magic, the wild, brutish man flung a knife at Clementine’s head. Missing only by a couple of centimetres and lodging in the stair railing Clementine climbed. 

He was toying with her. 

But Clementine’s involuntary squeal echoed through the chaos, a momentary lapse of fear that elicited amusement from a few of the crew members. “We have a squealer!” the man yelled. “I do love it when they squeal.” Clementine blushed, frowning, but didn’t have the breath spare to fire a retort.  

Each heartbeat thundered in Clementine's ears as she raced forward, her pursuer hot on her heels. The ship trembled with the intensity of their chase, the creaking timbers bearing witness to the harrowing pursuit that danced across its weathered planks. The stakes heightened with each step, the air thick with tension as Clementine weaved through the ship, her breaths shallow and ragged, pursued by the relentless menace of the man who hungered for her capture. 

Clementine ascended the stairs to the helm with an urgent determination. As the man's echoing taunts followed her ascent, she reached the summit, perched atop the railing, and, with calculated precision, leapt off the edge, executing a nimble forward roll upon landing.  

Clementine couldn’t help the ghost of a smile from brushing over her lips. Despite the months locked under the castle doing not much more than sitting and slowly starving, she still had some slick moves.  

Clementine wasted no more time admiring her own agility; her movements carried her below deck, nestling her behind a sturdy beam. 

From above, the man's teasing voice resonated, taunting her amidst the chaos. "Where are you going, squealer?"  

Clementine took her moment of sanctuary to try and catch her breath, thinking herself well-concealed in the shadows of the ship’s infrastructure. 

However, her hope of evading the slimy pursuer quickly diminished when the man's sing-song voice pierced the air once more.  

"Squealer? Come out and play," he taunted, the echo of his words sending a chill down Clementine's spine. The man's taunts intensified. "You know I can smell fear, squealer."  

Clementine wanted to throw up a little in her mouth but her stomach was still empty. Instead, she imagined being able to tear the man’s head off, his lips falling slack and his voice finally falling silent. 

But before Clementine could react, the man's uncanny sense of her presence led him straight to her hiding spot. With a ferocity that defied reason, he ripped the beam from its mooring, sending tremors through the vessel and leaving Clementine stunned by his unnatural strength. In all her training, she had never faced something like this before. The ship groaned in protest as the beam was forcefully wrenched from its place, leaving Clementine exposed and vulnerable before her overpowering adversary.  

“What in Caelum’s name…?” Clementine tried to keep the tremor out of her voice but failed. 

The man looked about ready to take a swing at Clementine with his new weapon but Clementine’s instincts took hold of her just in time as she dropped to her stomach and crawled back towards the stairs. The man followed, causing destruction in his wake as he swung the beam around carelessly. Every time something splintered, Clementine couldn’t stop the scream from tearing out of her lungs. 

“Welcome to the seven seas!” the man yelled in triumph. 

But Clementine was still making her escape up above deck. Until she heard a whoosh behind her and suddenly she was clinging to the side of the beam as collided against the side of the Ardor. This time some bile did manage to make it into Clementine’s mouth but she gulped it back down. 

The man descended on her, taking his sweet old time, a maniacal grin etched into his face. “There’s stranger things out here, squealer.” 

The man stopped to pull another beam from the side of the boat but this time, it took him a second. Pushing herself beyond her limit, Clementine wriggled out from underneath the beam and hiked up the stairs. Now, blood was running down her forearms from her fingers and a new wound (one with a splinter the size of a wooden spoon) had opened up on her calf. Her vision was blurry at the edges but fear kept her conscious for a little while longer. 

Many of the crew had stopped to watch the chase unfold. They all looked amused. Clementine wanted to punch every single one of them. Instead, she backed herself up against the Ardor’s railing on the deck. Perhaps it would be safer to jump overboard and swim back to shore. 

Though would her broken and beaten body even make it before the ocean itself had its piece of her? 

The man marched towards her slowly. She was running out of time to make a decision. 

Until a commanding voice sounded from the helm. 

“Lorcan, steady.”