“The first part of the plan is that we board an airship going west,” McKenzie said. “The nearer to Lamb Boring Arse the better.”

“Lamborias,” Xixaxa corrected him. “The capital of the Gyrian Islands.”

“Look, we’re planning a mission, not a geography lesson,” McKenzie said.

“Yet the geography is important. Nobody ever flies directly from Vyrinios, Melindron or any of the major eastern cities to Lamborias – or rather I should say, anyone who attempts it never reaches their destination,” Xixaxa noted. “All flights loop around the Valanti desert.”

“Which should have made people a lot more suspicious than they were,” McKenzie stated. “Flying over a desert is no different to flying over the sea or flying over, I dunno, the jungle or whatever. Only, for some reason, people just weren’t that curious about it.”

“The conventional thinking,” Xixaxa supplied, “is that airships were lost to sandstorms in the desert.”

“Which can be flown over, with ease. Cross desert flights ain’t a problem anywhere else. Airship losses to storms of any kind are rare. I’ve done my research,” McKenzie added.

“Danandra did your research,” Leni chimed in.

“Yeah, okay Leni, thank you. I’ll make sure and list her in the dedications when I publish my fucking memoirs, happy now?” McKenzie replied, in an acerbic tone.

“Just making sure my friend gets proper credit,” Leni said.

“She’s not your friend, she hates you,” McKenzie reminded her.

“Well, I’m working on that,” Leni shrugged. “But sorry, you were saying: airship losses to storms are rare.”

“Was I? Why?” McKenzie asked.

Leni gave him a strange look.

Xixaxa frowned. “Leni, remind us what we both said in the past few moments.”

“You want me to remind you what you said literally seconds ago?” Leni asked, confused.

“Humour us,” Xixaxa prompted.

“Okay – you were talking about how nobody ever flies directly over my previous home, and it’s blamed on sandstorms without anyone really thinking about it. It isn’t storms, by the way,” Leni supplied.

Xixaxa nodded again. “Those words are already fading from my memory – and without wishing to brag, I am an exceptionally strong-willed person. You also, McKenzie, have a notable streak of...determination.”

“You mean he’s stubborn as all fuck,” Leni grinned.

“I’m happy with stubborn as all fuck, that’s fine,” McKenzie allowed.

“This illustrates a danger you will be facing, McKenzie,” Xixaxa said. “Until you do what must be done, the troll’s secret still enjoys magical protection. It just diverted this conversation away from the location of their homelands. You must guard your very thoughts,” Xixaxa counselled him.

“Whoa,” McKenzie said. “That’s gonna be difficult.”

“Why? It’s not like you’ve got that many of them to protect,” Leni interjected.

“Okay, listen up – we are not at the bantering stage, Leni. Clear? Still happy to go find a tree and hit you with it. In fact, you’re tiny now, I bet I could actually hit you up and over a large building if I got a good swing in.”

“Sounds like crazy good fun, can we do it right now?” Leni asked, perking up.

“You want a different consequence? Shut up, or I’m banning you from the armoury,” McKenzie threatened.

“Okay, I’ll be good. Boundaries are important, I get it,” Leni held her hands up.

“Thank you,” McKenzie said with finality, then turned back to the Archmage. “Can you knock up some sorta magic gadget to help?” He asked her.

“Do you mean, perhaps, something like these?” Xixaxa lifted her sleeve up, to expose no fewer than six bracelets of various designs, from plain to golden and bejewelled.

“Did not figure you for a girl who liked her bling, Xixxy,” McKenzie commented.

“Ordinarily I do not, but these – along with three different rings I am wearing and a few necklaces, too – are all powerful magical artefacts designed to protect the user’s thoughts from magical interference. I think you can guess why I acquired them,” Xixaxa stated.

“To fend off Le-, his curse,” McKenzie said.

Xixaxa inclined her head. “Correct – and as we have just proved, they are no more effective against this than they were against his working. We are contending with the gods themselves, McKenzie. I am afraid you must rely on your own mental defences – but take heart: of all of us, the curse had the most tenuous hold on you. It may be that you enjoy a similarly heightened level of resistance to the trollish magic.”

“Not much comfort, Xixxy. I’m doing my best here, but bein’ brutally honest my strong suit is not the whole thinking thing,” McKenzie admitted with a wince.

“There is one other layer of defence. A failsafe, you might say,” Xixaxa told him.

“Oh, cool. I like the sound of that.”

“You won’t,” Xixaxa corrected him.

“Totes will,” McKenzie insisted. “What is it?”

“Her,” Xixaxa pointed to Leni.

“Me?” Leni was surprised.

“Yeah, her?” McKenzie asked, looking disappointed. “Should’ve listened, you were right, I do not like the sound of that.”

Leni turned an offended look on him.

“You may no longer be a troll, Lady Violentia, but your transformation did not erase your knowledge of their homelands, nor did it render you subject to the force that maintains the illusion that they are safe to be around – at least not yet. If McKenzie strays from the mission, you will be able to remind him what he is doing and how he should be doing it,” Xixaxa said.

McKenzie sighed. “Great – my moral fucking compass is a psychotic ex-troll.”

Leni did a sarcastic salute. “Psychotic ex-troll moral compass reporting for duty.”

“Your cover story will have to be changed, somewhat, too,” Xixaxa frowned. “Nobody will believe that Leni is a travelling mage.”

“Yeah, about that, I still don’t get why we can’t just buy an airship, fly it right there, drop out of it and get this fucking done,” McKenzie said.

“You’re backsliding,” Leni pointed out.

“Because,” Xixaxa pointed out, “an airship arrowing directly for their most holy site will be noticed. It would be akin to stirring up a hornet’s nest.”

“Nine-foot tall giant green hornets,” Leni added. “Nowhere near as easy to squish. We’re gonna need a strategy.”

“What, eighteen dead trolls and you’re an expert, now?” McKenzie asked, affronted.

“Well, that’s more than you,” Leni countered.

“No it isn’t,” McKenzie said darkly. “I’ve killed-” he paused and looked upwards, then: “Fuck.”

“Hah!” Leni grinned triumphantly.

“I’ve lost count,” McKenzie retorted. “So that’s got to be a lot.”

“Lost count before you got to 18, I’ll bet,” Leni smirked.

“You’ve got beginner’s luck!” McKenzie shot back. “That’s all.”

“No it’s not, I’m a natural – and I have insider knowledge. I stab them where I know I wouldn’t want to have been stabbed. Trolls aren’t immortal, McKenzie – we’re, they’re, just very strong and tough,” Leni said.

“Yeah, I know – I’ve been killing trolls for months, now, well before it was fashionable,” McKenzie snapped. “In fact, y’know something? I’m pretty sure that literally the only troll that crossed my path that didn’t end up dead is you, and that doesn’t even count because you’re not a troll any more!”

“Maybe, but it’s not like you killed them all personally, is it?”

“So? I came into their lives and, a short time thereafter, those lives ended. Hah! I am a walking troll curse,” McKenzie stated insistently.

“And now you’ve got me,” Leni grinned, “so you can confidently rely on that carrying on.”

“It totally would have anyway,” McKenzie insisted.

“Perhaps,” Xixaxa interjected, “we could agree that you are both very accomplished trollslayers and move on – for my sanity, if no other reason.”

“Of course, Your Wisdom – my apologies,” Leni relented.

“Kiss arse,” McKenzie grumbled.

“Hey!” Leni protested.

“Should I contact Captain Barden and have the Sky Reaper placed at our disposal?” Xixaxa asked, seeking to move the conversation on.

“Hell no,” McKenzie shook his head.

“You do not wish to place his crew in danger?” Xixaxa asked.

“No, it’s just that Barden’s a twat,” McKenzie shrugged. “Rather not have to spend however long it’ll take to get there having to pretend to not think he’s a twat.”

“Captain Jahistra, then? The Huntress is presently in port in Melindron. I could charter her,” Xixaxa offered.

“No, I actually like them, them I would rather not drop into a shitstorm,” McKenzie replied. “And anyway, the Huntress is a small ship and Jaha usually runs cargo. We need a big passenger vessel, preferably one registered to an elven port.”

“One supposes that would be preferable,” Xixaxa put her head to one side. “Although I do not like the reasoning behind the decision.”

“Well, greater good and all that,” McKenzie said, causing Leni to frown. “Still totally happy to just buy a junker and ram the target.”

“You would not be able to get within range for such an unsubtle tactic,” Xixaxa shook her head.

“OK, whatever, let’s crack on,” McKenzie said. “Fine – we sneak, but so help me God, the new cover story better not be anything embarrassing or weird or I’m gonna go spare.”

- o O o -

“Well hi! I’m Lady Elleniralla of the Sun Kingdom, and this is my servant, bodyguard and general dogsbody,” Leni said brightly to the purser of the Rainbow Princess Blessing, indicating McKenzie.

McKenzie already hated the name and general appearance of the Rainbow Princess Blessing, which he had already mentally re-christened the Posh Elf Titanic.

She was a large, long vessel, shining bright white in colour with swept-back, royal-blue fins. Everything about her screamed money – polished fittings, carpeting throughout, servants left right and centre, and a cadre of mercs in the hold, to repel boarders and reassure her privileged passengers that they (and their money) were safe. She floated in the air above the Vyrinios docks like a giant advertisement for Good Breeding.

In reality, McKenzie knew, the Posh Elf Titanic wasn’t quite the stellar vessel she was made out to be – he’d had some people make some subtle enquiries (he had people now, after all, and could outsource subtle).

The servants were working long hours to make up for the fact that there weren’t enough of them, and they were presumably also required to play mercenary if required: the much vaunted ‘professional and discreet guard force’ didn’t, in actual fact, exist. Her dazzling appearance was down to polishing and primping rather than good construction: the Rainbow Princess Blessing had formerly been an ordinary cargo hauler, she’d just been fitted out with cabins in place of cargo space, an open deck for people to promenade on and impress each other with their poise and good clothes, a fresh coat of paint, an oversized magical core that she probably wasn’t built well enough to handle, and a lot of cheap bling. If she didn’t turn a profit on this trip, she was likely headed to the breaker’s yard.

However, elves, or at least a loud and annoying subset of them - McKenzie was starting to realise - were all about appearance. It could be hard to live a very long, ageless life and not think yourself above those who weren’t as lucky, and some elves didn’t even bother acknowledging the fact. If you dressed something up as exclusive, then there was a certain type of elf who would happily spend their gold on it, as proof of their gods-given elite status. Not the real elven nobility – they had private yachts and didn’t need the extra validation anyway – but your mid-range social-climbers were apparently all over the Posh Elf Titanic’s maiden voyage, which had been advertised as a super-fast-yet-elegantly-relaxed flit from the major cities of the re-unified Vyrinian Republic (and Melindron) to the legendarily beautiful, chilled, nothing-bad-ever-happens-there Gyrian Islands.

“Name of servant?” The purser asked, in a semi-bored tone. Like the rest of the crew, or at least the officers, he was elven, supercilious, and wore a bright white uniform with a polished silver insignia pinned to his chest: a slight point-source of magic, McKenzie noted. His subtle investigators had reported on this, too: probably a simple glamour designed to give the impression of cleanliness and smartness.

Leni took no offence, which was surprising to McKenzie, who privately thought that she should very much take offence on his behalf. He’d only been aboard for five minutes, and had already been subjected to a disconcerting number of supercilious stares. This ship wasn’t supposed to have any of those pesky short-lived human types on board, bringing down the tone – apart from servants, of course, and even then you needed a special permit.

“Wednesday,” Leni replied, sticking to McKenzie’s instructions on that, at least.

“Weapons are not permitted aboard ship,” the purser stated, “save for secure storage. If you are armed, hand them over now.”

McKenzie was expecting this: he obediently handed over a random sword, dagger and crossbow that he’d brought along. His actual armament was stored elsewhere, and failing that, McKenzie figured he’d just take a weapon from the first idiot who tried to use one on him.

The purser put the fake arsenal behind his desk, attached tags to all three weapons, and handed ‘Lady Elleniralla’ (not McKenzie) a receipt. As he extended his arm, McKenzie saw that the elf’s left wrist sported a silver bracelet with the same design as the chest insignia: something else that had been reported to him, with the same probable function. The appearance of the officers echoed that of the ship: only glamourous on the outside.

“Will he require a berth in the servant’s quarters?” The purser asked her.

Leni giggled. “Oh no, Wednesday never leaves my side. Security, you understand. A family such as mine, regrettably, has enemies. I need my bodyguard around at all times, in case my body needs guarding.”

McKenzie stopped himself from rolling his eyes. The purser handed Leni a lanyard with a brass token dangling from the end, engraved with ‘registered servant’. Someone, McKenzie thought to himself, is getting strangled with this thing at some point. Probably Leni.

“If you’d please sign here, my lady,” the purser pushed some parchment across his desk towards Leni, who scratched out an unintelligible signature across it (she did not speak or read elven – McKenzie, of course, did, even if he wasn’t sure how. “You agree to be responsible for your human’s conduct and behaviour at all times, of course.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Leni said, with another irritating giggle. “He’s very keen to please, and he always comes when I call his name.”

The purser looked faintly disgusted, McKenzie thought – but still just mostly bored. “Your stateroom is on the top deck, my lady. Number 1C, you will find your belongings inside. A very pleasant voyage to you.”

“Why thank you!” Leni chirped, and swept off towards some stairs. “Come on, Wednesday.”

“What the actual fuck,” McKenzie asked, when they were out of earshot, “was all that in aid of?”

“Okay, look, don’t get all...McKenzie about this, but...I’m going to pretend you’re my secret human lover, okay?” Leni said.

“No, Leni, not okay,” McKenzie shot back in a furious hiss.

“It’s believable, though,” she insisted. “I’ve only just realised this, because I’m used to thinking of you as a weird thing that looks like prey but is in actuality some sort of vengefully dangerous violence demon: but you’re actually kind of good-looking in a wrong-side-of-the-river, bit of rough type of way. Now I can see what caught Anaharra and Cally’s attention. Bit of a surprise, to be honest.”

“If you were expecting that to make it somehow more okay, you have seriously miscalculated,” McKenzie replied, although privately he felt he quite identified with ‘vengefully dangerous violence demon’. Then: “Wait, what do you mean ‘and Cally?’”

“Have you not picked up on that? She absolutely would,” Leni told him.

“Cally? But she’s all, y’know, Cally. To be totally honest I’d assumed she had some sort of religious celibacy thing going on,” McKenzie frowned.

Leni gave forth a peal of laughter. “Not that sort of cleric, McKenzie.”

“How would you know anyway?” McKenzie asked suspiciously.

“A woman knows these things,” Leni replied airily.

“You’ve only been one for about five minutes,” McKenzie reminded her.

“Well, you get into the groove of it pretty quickly,” Leni shrugged.

“Well, get out of the groove of it. As the song doesn’t go, you are always not a woman to me, and we are not an item, fake-secret or otherwise,” McKenzie said flatly.

“It’s just for appearances!” Leni protested. “I have reasons. You have to listen to my reasons before you get all pissy.”

“One, no I don’t, two, I do not get pissy. I get righteously angry even at the fucking thought of what you just said,” McKenzie shot back.

“Yeah, thank you for once again reminding me that you think I’m disgusting,” Leni replied in a snap.

“Actually, one reason I would actually like to hear from you is the reason you think you have for expecting any sort of validation whatsoever from me,” McKenzie told her, as they climbed up the first set of stairs.

Leni stopped in her tracks, and turned to McKenzie, glaring. She got herself under control – evidently with some effort – and her expression turned down a couple of points on the anger scale.

“I am trying here, McKenzie. I am making an effort to be the person that you and Danandra and Cally and even Sharinta think I should have been all along. This is me doing the right thing,” she thumped herself on the chest.

McKenzie blinked.

“I’m not asking you to support it,” Leni went on, in her musical voice – between that and her newfound appealing looks, she contrived to look and sound forlorn, especially as her expression changed to one of sadness rather than anger. “You don’t owe me anything, and that’s something I’m gonna have to live with, but it’s not like I’m the only one with a fucking body count in their past, am I? I’m not even the only one on this fucking staircase right now.”

A moment went past, and then: “Nope, not fucking buying that, Leni. You don’t get to play the ‘you have to work with me here because I’m good now’ card. Not now, not ever.”

Leni went back to glaring. She was nowhere near as good at it as Danandra was – the expression didn’t fit her looks in the slightest – but McKenzie could tell it was genuine nevertheless.

“Fine, be like that, hero boy,” Leni told him flatly. “But we have a mission, and I’m just trying to get it done the best I can. We’d arouse suspicion as a highborn elfmaid and her servant, but as a dizzy, idiotic rich girl and the human boyfriend she’s parading around with in an effort to be scandalous, any other unelflike behaviour will be written off as unimportant.”

“Who the hell put you in charge of the disguise department?” McKenzie asked.

Leni shook her head in angry disbelief. “I made a decision,” she said. “Apart from anything else, if you were forced to remain in the servant’s berths most of the time, then I wouldn’t be able to give you a friendly reminder what the mission is when your mind begins to wander.” She turned and began climbing the stairs again.

McKenzie snorted. “Yeah, like that’ll happen,” he said dismissively. “Ever since I got to this bloody world I’ve not been able to understand why your lot got a free pass on eating people. I doubt I’m gonna start thinking it’s okay when I’m on my way to put a stop to it for good.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Leni replied. “Maybe you’ll be able to keep on believing it.”

“I will, don’t worry about that,” McKenzie replied.

They arrived at the top of the stairs, and, after a glance at a sign, turned left, towards the Posh Elf Titanic’s bow. They passed a few other people – human servants, and a smattering of richly dressed elves, many of whom (the men, anyway) smiled at Leni: she was, after all (McKenzie had to force himself to remember), hot now. He had to move his head to walk past lighting orbs fitted to the ceiling – the corridor had been crafted with elf dimensions in mind, and although few of them were as diminutive and petite as Leni, they weren’t, as a rule, tall people.

1C was, according to the door plaque, the ‘honeymoon suite’.

“You know that when you booked it?” McKenzie asked.

Leni, who appeared to have recovered her composure a bit – in fact, the new Leni seemed to be possessed of a naturally sunny, enthusiastic and optimistic nature which McKenzie expected to annoy him no end – smiled. “I thought it added a nice extra touch to the cover story. Let us in, then, Wednesday.”

McKenzie glowered, but remembered that he had the keys, and dug them out.

The cabin was about what you’d expect – long and wide, but low, and slightly curved with the hull. It had a four-poster bed, a posh-looking sofa, and lots of floweriness and frilliness. Leni’s luggage – a number of very heavy iron chests – were, as advised, already inside.

“Oh, I love this!” Leni exclaimed, as she entered the room, twirling around to take it all in. Then she stopped and glowered. “Only I don’t love that I love it. Why do I have to be a girly, flowery elf and not a serious, glowering, mysterious elf? I’ve got the dark back-story and everything!”

McKenzie closed the door. “Don’t know, care even less,” he said, mentally measuring up the sofa. He’d probably fit.

Leni ignored that, and went on. “It’s like I’m this different person,” she said.

“Well duh,” McKenzie said, going to the far wall. Instead of portholes, the entire side of the cabin could be opened up, to provide a balcony.

“Yeah, I know, I literally am – but everything that made me me seems to have been, sort of, changed going back, as well. It’s as if Violentia has been completely rewritten from birth, it’s really not just a physical thing, and I really am Elleniralla now,” Leni confessed.

McKenzie pulled the shutters aside, letting in air and light. He wasn’t really listening. “Did you just literally throw a load of random syllables together to make up your elf name?”

“Yeah, that’s how they do it, right?” Leni frowned.

“Could be, for all I know,” McKenzie shrugged. Outside, the buildings of Vyrinios were already getting smaller as the Posh Elf Titanic gained height and speed. McKenzie could feel the thrum of magic – and hear the creak of stressed timbers.

His phone buzzed silently in his pocket – a text, from the usual mysterious source that he hadn’t quite yet decided if he trusted or not: Use caution. Not everything about this ship is as it seems.

“Oh hey Buzz,” McKenzie murmured the name he’d assigned his enigmatic text message informant, and hit reply. Certainly makes noises like it isn’t as posh as it seems, but could I perhaps maybe have some details, Buzz?

There was no answer to that.

“Figures,” McKenzie said. Buzz’s information varied between incredibly specific, precise details to very vague intimations of possible problems: this certainly seemed to be the latter, and Buzz very rarely replied and never picked up on the occasions when McKenzie tried to call.

There was another number that McKenzie tried sometimes, and there was never any reply to that, either.

“What does?” Leni asked, after flopping down onto the bed, then giggling as it bounced.

McKenzie decided not to let Buzz have the monopoly on non-replies, and said nothing.