Gaslight Trials | The Wattys2023 Shortlister ✔️

2 | A Ticket to Lighthaven

The fireflies do a lively dance before my irises. And they're so feckin' beautiful it hurts. If I shut my eyelids real tight, I can even imagine I'm in this dense, lush forest.

Like the one that never grows anymore, anywhere.

I could lay here till the end of time, in this silence, just watching the eternal performance of the fiery bugs. 

But then the pretty gleaming lights shapeshift into azure butterflies.

Their wings blink an urgent message:

Mariposa.

I sit up.

"You demand? You demand?" The Puncher unleashes the yell that splits my head in horrible pain.

My hands find a nearby pewter pot I somehow accommodate myself on. Rubbing my temples, I glare ahead at the sight before me.

The lad stands tall and proud, but dang it, he's shorter and scrawnier than I imagined him from dem posters hanging around Fumedge. Not even a muscle on 'im. All litheness and bones. The Puncher could eat five of him for breakfast.

I bet I could take the Duke's son on in a fight real easy, too.

He is clad inna perfectly ironed dark gray suit and a fancy silken vest.

Only those two items of clothing cost more than me hovel.

Underneath the vest is the neatly tucked high collar shirt and a posh cravat. I recognize a pin he sports: a sun and eight light beams. A symbol of the Empire and the eight provinces that surround it.

"There is no reason for this to get ugly." Langdon Septimus clears his throat.

"This one here." The Puncher points at Mar. "She's my property. And when my property wanders away, what I do is I retrieve it. We in the clear?"

"Even so. From what I am seeing, these ladies were merely enjoying their lunch break." Langdon Septimus flicks the Aerocorps goggles that loosely hang around his neck. "And you'd do well to respect it."

"Or what?" The Puncher takes a step closer to the lad.

I wince, expecting him to become minced meat any second.

"Or..." Duke's son mock-caresses his chin. "I might inform my father about the little extra Red Cap drug trade you conduct here without his explicit approval."

"How did ya..." The Puncher's face scrunches, and he clenches his fists.

"Let's just say... One sees a lot from one's ornithopter. Bird-eye perspective can be quite valuable, wouldn't you agree?"

I can't suppress a small chuckle. The Puncher snaps his head and focuses his augmented eye on me.

"Aww, is the widdle girl awake? Finding something funny, are we?"

This time round I'm smarter, so I say nothin'. But I still stare him down with defiance.

"Thought so. You are not too keen to lose another one of your teeth, I see. Why don't you run along home now and play with your dolls?"

"I shall be sure to give my father your best regards." Langdon Septimus' sing-song voice resonates into the junkyard.

"You do that." The Puncher mumbles. "And you — I want you in the Menagerie in ten minutes, you hear me? Customers are waiting." He points a sausagey finger at Mar. 

She merely nods, trembling.

As the toxic fog swallows his bulky silhouette, I hear the Puncher say,