Sylphie Gelton's Arc

Chapter 3 of 3

Sylphie stood on the step in her traveler's shape. Behind the locked door, a sliver of her waited in the dark. She turned to go, ready to circle back once the guard left. Then the bolts scraped again. The door swung open. The guard filled the gap, keys swinging at his side. His flat eyes fixed on her. He had not walked far after all. "You said the ship," he said. His voice stayed slow and heavy. "The great ship built of slime. What color is her prow?" Sylphie went still inside. She had never seen the ship. She only knew the story slimes told at the docks. A wrong word would mark her as a slime who thought, and he would keep her out for good. Worse, he might search the doorway and find her hidden ribbon. She let her borrowed face stay soft and empty. She thought of the spires she had crossed, their glossy green shine, their trailing drips. She thought of every slime she had ever passed. "Green," she said. She made her voice light and sure. "The prow is round and green, like a drop of us. It ripples when the water moves. The whole hull drips, even the front." The guard watched her. A long moment passed. Sylphie did not blink too fast. She held her fingers loose and glassy. "Green," he grunted. His shoulders dropped. "Most travelers say white. You've seen her, then." He nodded once. "Go down to the water before dark. Don't climb this ridge again." He stepped back. The door began to swing shut. Sylphie almost sagged with relief. But as the gap narrowed, the guard's eyes dropped to the threshold. He had seen something on the stone. A thin, pale thread lay across it, glinting faint. Her ribbon. It had crept too far under the door. "What's this?" he said. He crouched, keys clinking. His broad hand reached for the thread. Sylphie moved. She pulled the ribbon hard toward herself, fast as a snap. The thread whipped back across the stone and vanished into her trailing fingers before his hand closed. His fist met bare rock. He stood slowly. He looked at the empty threshold, then at her calm face. He found nothing to hold. "Dew," he muttered. "This place drips." He shut the door. The lock snapped. Sylphie stood alone on the step. Her lie had held. The guard believed her. But the piece of herself she had smuggled inside was gone now, yanked back into her body. The tower was sealed again, and her secret way in had failed. She pressed her hand to the cold iron. The fragment still waited beyond it, close enough to feel. She had kept her cover, but she had lost her foothold. To reach the starlight now, she would need a new way through the door. So, she squeezes her entire body through the tiny keyhole. Now that she was inside, she could shine as brightly as she pleased with no one around to notice. No one, of course, except the ship itself.