ger·ry·man·der

/ˈjerēˌmandər/

verb

gerund or present participle: gerrymandering

manipulate the boundaries of (an electoral constituency) so as to favor one party or class.

achieve (a result) by manipulating the boundaries of an electoral constituency.

The night disappeared into a blur of teeth gnashing out of the darkness. This time they were attacked by skysharks, Will was aboard a ship filled with hundreds of other Climbers, so he was able to pace himself and let others take their places on the ship’s railing, stabbing anything that got too close.

While the task of defending the ship was spread out, it was also a much larger attack than the one they’d experienced before, stretching out for hours rather than a few adrenaline-filled moments.

Even those who made their homes on the 6^th Floor were stunned at the skyshark’s sheer numbers.

By the time morning rolled around and the sharks retreated back to their floating cloud coral, Will and the other Climbers were exhausted, having been fighting mechanically the entire night.

Stab, push, stab, push, stab, push.

You are now a level 27 Resourceful Climber

The dawn light and the relief of victory drained all the energy out of them, leaving every Climber a puddle of a man, incapable of moving from where they lay slumped over the ship’s railing…or thinking too hard about anything in particular.

Which was exactly what the Granesh clergy wanted.

Clunk, clunk, Will heard the sound of expensive boots on expensive wood, and mustered the energy to turn his head to look:

A half dozen men wearing the ostentatious robes of high-ranking Granesh priests marched from the bowels of the ship, fresh-faced and bright-eyed with zealotry. Close behind them was a double row of Climbers that stretched beyond Will’s sight into the bowel of the ship, each of them wearing pristine Relics, unmarred by blood or battle.

“Shit,” Will muttered, taking in the near-defenseless state of himself and others. The church of Granesh wanted to kill him as bad as the skysharks. Maybe more. The fight against The Tower was over, but he wasn’t out of danger.

An image of a young man crucified in the basement of the church crossed Will’s mind.

Unmarred by blood or battle? Will thought, his gaze flickering from the line of Granesh believers to a serrated tooth that was embedded into the wood of the deck beside him, where they’d pried a skyshark’s mouth off of it not an hour ago.

Will rolled over, facing away from the marching troops, not having to struggle too hard to feign exhaustion. He pried the triangular tooth out of the wood and used it to score up the end of his truncated arm and cutting over his eyebrow, desperately stifling his whimpers as his body flooded with pain.

You go through a whole battle completely unscathed, and you’re forced to do this, Will thought sourly, aware that he’d probably added more time to the recovery of his left hand. Not a lot, but some.

He needed to be able to sell the idea that the lost limb was recent, and the blood currently dribbling down his brow and over his nose would at least somewhat mar his features.

The footsteps grew closer, and Will wiped the blood out of his eyes, making sure to smear it across his face.

Pass me by, pass me by…Will thought as the footsteps grew closer and closer.

The footsteps stopped behind him. Will wasn’t sure if it was his whimpers of pain or him hiding his face, but all the same, he felt an expensive boot poke him in the back.

Damnit.

“Climber, turn around.”

Damnit!

Will turned around, and a grizzled priest of Granesh squatted in front of him, peering down at him. His gaze landed on Will’s face before drifting down to his arm.

“Looks fresh,” the priest grunted, rising back to his feet.

“Can you bring it back?” Will asked, adding a note of hopefulness to his voice, trying to sell the bluff.

It was a mistake, as the priest paused and gave Will a second glance that seemed to stretch on for three more heartbeats than it should’ve. More attention than Will wanted.

“…No. That level of healing is currently reserved for the mortally wounded. Petition at the church after The Flotilla reforms. Joshua will seal the wound.” The priest said, turning away. Once he was past a junior member of their order broke away from the stream of zealots, kneeling beside Will and putting a hand on him, his nose wrinkling up as he did so.

“Did you step in something?” The Junior member asked as his hands glowed, causing the wounds on Will’s truncated arm to seal.

Why are they all acting like I smell bad? Was it some kind of divine thing? Granesh saying ‘hey, look over here!’ or was Will just permeated by the rotting fish smell onboard Shimmer?

“Fish guts,” Will spoke as the junior priest stood. “Plenty of them flying around last night, priest. For most of us, anyway.” Will said, eyeing the man’s pristine cloak.

“R-Right,” Joshua said guiltily, nodding.

“Before you go,” Will asked the young priest. Young was relative, as he appeared to only be ten years older than Will, while the grizzled priest in the front of the line looked like he and the ocean were old rivals. “Can you tell me who that is?”

“That’s Saint Jairus, I’m sorry, I’ve got to…” Joshua trotted across the deck to rejoin his place in line, which had been left open for him.

Saint?

The title of Saint, according to what Will understood, was granted by the church to members at least level 50, or higher.

Which meant Will had to get off the ship. Maybe he could beat a Saint, maybe he couldn’t, but either way, he’d rather not engage him in such a disadvantageous setting. It wasn’t Will’s boat, and it wasn’t Will’s people that surrounded him.

Will scanned the boat and spotted Alicia and Mason, looking wrung out, leaning against railings. Bee, Jean, and Ria looked fresh enough, as fighting all night was a quick warm-up for them.

Anna was still on Shimmer. Hopefully it hadn’t sunk.

Reggie was splayed out on the ground, staring at the sky, while June was slowly climbing up the mast, carrying her bow, aiming to get a good view.

At least someone sees how bad this is, Will mused.

Wait, where’s Loth?

“Climbers!” The old man’s voice rose above the others while Will was trying to find Loth.

Will’s gaze was drawn back to the speaker, who had arrived at a podium built into the fore of the ship.

“By the grace of Granesh, we have survived!” Saint Jairus said, raising a fist.

There was a weak, half-hearted cheer from the Climbers strewn about the deck, reinforced by a more forceful one from the hundred or so fresh-faced priests and devoted Climbers.

“Granesh is the champion of unity, of solidarity, and so now it is time for us to show our solidarity by reaching out and lending aid to those who share our convictions. We must put our best foot forward and demonstrate that the church of Granesh is…”

The saint’s impassioned speech faded into the background as Will’s gaze landed on a young man handing out pieces of paper to the other priests, who then turned to their Climber Parties, speaking softly.

Will’s Acuity allowed him to read a snippet of paper where it was visible past a man’s elbow.

It appeared to be a list of ships.

Will’s eyebrows rose as a snippet of the saint’s speech sunk in.

‘Those who share our conviction.’

So, if…every time there’s a Scramble, they devote all their effort into preserving the most Granesh-friendly ships and crews, then eventually, the entire Flotilla would be Granesh, through sheer attrition.

That didn’t feel like the whole story. It wasn’t like you could predict when a Scramble would happen, and typically the event wasn’t accompanied by a monster attack making it significantly more lethal than it might otherwise have been.

Not to mention, that would be the same for any other major organization in The Flotilla. They would all try to help their allies first, others second. It was just how the world worked. That alone wouldn’t out-compete the other religions and organizations among The Flotilla.

So they’re just doing what everyone else is doing, Will thought. That’s not any more or less evil than anyone else.

It was odd how little damage there was to the boat and the priests aboard it, and how many of their militant members they’d managed to retain during the Scramble. Since it comes up without any warning, typically crews get mixed up in addition to the layout of The Flotilla. It’s one of the reasons why they call it a Scramble.

But the double row of Climbers standing at attention while Sain Jairus spoke indicated they had little to no people out and about the minutes before the Scramble hit.

Do they have some way of predicting them…or causing them? Will mused.

“Granesh also espouses Purity,” Saint Jairus said, making Will’s bones turn cold as his attention snapped back to the podium.

“And before we extend our generosity to others, we first have to ensure our own purity,” He said, gesturing off to the side, where Loth was hauled up to the stage by an oversized warrior, her hands bound behind her.

She looked…displeased.

Realizing there was no time to screw around, Will pushed himself to his feet with a little help from Stevie, and began limping towards the Podium, hand raised as he began walking down the center of the ship, flanked by two rows of Zealots as he approached the podium.

“Purity means many things, but a core tenet is to excise disease wherever is it discovered. This kobold was discovered lurking about our ship, no doubt aiming to…”

The saint’s gaze landed on Will as he got closer, hand still raised.

“What?” He asked.

“That’s my kobold,” Will said, pointing at Loth.

“You brought this abomination in a church of Granesh?” Saint Jairus asked.

“Yessir,” Will said, nodding. “It’s a part of my toolkit you see. I’m a scout, and oftentimes I’ve got to hunt or trap on other floors. It doesn’t have a thought between its ears, but I can put it to work on a spot and it’ll have that spot trapped in a reasonable amount of time.”

“And you expect me to believe that.” Saint Jairus said.

“Master!” Loth said, her head adopting the twitchy glances of a typical kobold, tongue hanging slack. Somehow she made her eyes begin to drift apart. “I is stuck.”

“Yes, you are, Pluuk,” Will said patronizingly. “Master fix.”

“We do not tolerate demi-humans onboard this vessel.” Saint Jairus declared, staring Will down.

“I know that, sir, but it was brought aboard during the confusion of the Scramble, and you wouldn’t destroy a hammer you stubbed your toe on, you’d give the man who left it lying around a sound cussing.” Will motioned to his missing left hand. “And I’m gonna need it’s assistance more than ever.”

By this point, Mason and Alicia had perked up and were watching with interest, slowly and carefully standing, readying themselves for a fight.

Not that there would be a fight, given the sheer quantity of Climbers that surrounded them.

Bee and Ria watched with barely contained rage. Jean looked icy cold. Together they could become a group of about a hundred high-Strength fighters, given that their Charge was still untapped.

Was it enough? Maybe.

Will could make out the sound of June enchanting an arrow above them.

Will wasn’t sure who noticed it, or whether it was subconscious, but the tension on board the ship seemed to rachet up with every heartbeat as Saint Jairus looked down at him from the podium.

“Five lashes for every trap your creature set while it was unsupervised.” Jairus said, his sun-weathered face wrinkling as he narrowed his eyes. The tension seemed to recede as a compromise was offered.

“Deal.” Will agreed before the terms got any worse. “Pluuk, did you set any traps?”

“No Master, not do unless you say, even though Pluuk really want to!” Loth said, shaking her head. The moment they let go of her, Loth sprinted up to Will and wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face in his shirt.

“We’ll be the judge of that. In the meantime, keep your animal on a tight leash, scout.” Saint Jairus said.

“Yessir.” Will said, patting Loth’s shoulder.

“I mean that literally. Joshua, get this man a collar and leash.”

It was in that moment that Will knew he was going to sink the floating Church of Granesh. He wasn’t sure when or how, but he knew he was going to do it. This begs the question: How many cannonballs can I store in the Phantom Hand?

“In other circumstances…” Loth whispered as Will knelt down and put the collar around her neck, Loth holding it in place so he could close the latch with one hand, then attaching the leash.

“Don’t you start,” Will said, waggling a finger in front of her. “I’m already mad at you for wandering off, Pluuk.”

“You realize they’re going to ‘find’ a trap, regardless, right?” Loth whispered.

Ah, damnit, she’s right.

“We’ll deal with that when we get there,” Will muttered, guiding Loth further away from the zealots that wanted her dead. They were all still on the same ship but a little physical distance could work wonders…as well as keeping her out of the public eye.

While they retreated, Saint Jairus continued his speech, the assembled Parties of believers organizing into tightly regimented rescue groups that set out on small ‘missionary’ boats, with the intention of rounding up survivors and reinforcing Graneshian ships.

“Gerrymandering.” Loth breathed quietly as they watched as the missionary boats sailed away in every direction.

“Eh?” Will asked. “Gerry-whatering?”

Loth defined the term, and Will had to admit it fit what they were seeing.

“With a normal city, it’s a rather convoluted task to redistribute voting power to your advantage. But in this case, since every Scramble brings about a complete re-design of The Flotilla, it’s a rather simple matter. Just sink the boats that don’t agree with you.” Loth mused.

“What if they were the ones who caused it?” Will asked.

“It would make sense, but the druids who mediate the weather are more strongly associated with Holdna, and if they noticed Graneshians manipulating the weather, they would make a stink about it and Granesh would lose believers.”

“So…third-party?” Will asked.

“Indeed.” Loth reached under her shirt and produced a leviathan scale with a couple words carved into it, seemingly by a claw. “Found this before I was caught.”

“I can’t read this.” Will said. It didn’t look like any language he knew.

“It translates to Midnight, Skysharks.” Loth whispered.

Will’s brows rose as the details filled in on their own.

The Church of Granesh, who preaches anti-demihuman sentiment at every opportunity, is working with the hypothetical fish people to smash apart The Flotilla?

The Church of Granesh believes they can re-assemble The Flotilla more to their liking, raising the strength of humans locally through unity of purpose, cutting out those they deem ‘worthless’, and the Fish People simply want to diminish human presence in the area.

They’re inevitably going to betray each other, but are working together to create this one disaster that both of them believe they can profit from.

Pretty slim, Will thought, studying the one piece of evidence in his hand. But I’ve moved on slim before.

“We need to get back to Shimmer,” Will mused. They needed to get off this ship filled with enemies, and if they wanted to counter the Church of Granesh’s bid to control the entire Flotilla, they needed to create an equally large voting bloc.

Luckily Will had already thrown his lot in with one.

Shimmer could house thousands if they converted it…

“If we can even find Shimmer.” Loth said.

“I’m sure Anna can figure out how to sail a ship.” Their cook was the only person who had still been aboard when the Scramble hit.

Loth looked up at him, a single scaly brow cocked.

“Baking and sailing are close enough, right?” Will asked.