Unspeakable Secrets The Alchemist Series (A Dark Medieval Progression Fantasy)

Chapter 56 Counting

A few hours after Erik had left and supper had been served, Connor lay in his hammock, blankets piled high on top of him and obscuring him from view just as he'd had them before.

An hour ago, the ship had started rolling with increasing intensity, the wood creaked and groaned. But the ship righted itself and seemed in no real danger. Still, it felt like a storm had hit.

That was an unfortunate stroke of luck to be sure, and Connor considered delaying his plans. But, for how long? And how much longer did he have before the Syndicate plunged their fingers into his mind?

For all he knew, this would be the last night before they made landfall and he lost his shot.

Rowing through a stormy sea would be dangerous and far from enjoyable, but delaying was too great a risk. Storm or no storm, he had to move forward like he'd planned.

Besides, it didn't feel too intense.

It was hot and uncomfortable beneath so many blankets and sweat clung to his skin. But it had been a useful pattern to establish. One that might buy him precious time should they look in on him tomorrow morning.

His eyes were closed, his breathing even and calm as he counted seconds... minutes... and hours since supper.

No lights could be shone where the denizens of the ocean could see them, and as such sailing was essentially only done during daylight hours or with a spectacular amount of moonlight. Unless you wanted your crew falling over each other in the darkness and running into gods only knew what.

It was customary for sailors to sleep early and wake in the pre-dawn light to get to work straight away. With only a limited watch during the night to keep a lookout for dangers.

As such, it would be ideal for escape.

58... 59... 60... that's two hours. All but the night watch should be sleeping deeply by now, Connor thought.

He would've liked to wait longer, to make sure any restless folk slipped into the land of dreams, but he needed to be out of sight before the pre-dawn light or they'd catch him with ease.

His eyes snapped open, and he slipped out from under the covers, taking a moment to adjust them until it looked like he was still resting there. Still sulking as Erik had called it.

With any luck, they'd think nothing of it when he was unresponsive tomorrow morning.

He wiped at the sweat coating his forehead with the back of his hand and gathered up a bunch of the glowing magical orbs. He wrapped them in a small blanket, ensuring that no light shone through. He then slipped the bundle down the front of his shirt.

It came to rest at his waist, over his stomach, kept in place by his tucked-in shirt. And there it would wait until he reached the deck. He felt a momentary flash of guilt over what he planned to do with them but pushed it down. The Syndicate had stolen everything from him and now sought to steal even his mind. They deserved no less than what he had planned.

Kept in place by another towel, was a loose thread of golden fabric almost as thin as a hair that he'd painstakingly worked free from an embroidered pillow for this very day. He slipped the thread into his pocket.

With everything in place, he strode to the cell door. While Erik had believed him to be sulking, Connor had in fact been resting all he could during the day and learning how to break down the bar of his cell better during the night. All building toward this night. This moment.

He'd tried many different things with his alchemy, and it felt like he'd grown stronger as a result of the exhaustive use of his energies. But, last night, he'd had a breakthrough.