Chapter Text
She was going to kill that motherfucker if she came back alive, Slick thought to herself as she gingerly scaled the ice cliff.
Her ice picks dug into the glacier as she heaved upwards, her arms shaking with the effort. Hauling three spools of rope and heavy winter gear along with her own body created quite a workout.
The wind battered her side, pushing her sideways as her furs flapped in the gale.
She grumbled as she slammed the picks into the cliff, puffs of steam curling from her mouth like she was some vengeful dragon. She’d definitely turn into a vengeful dragon if she wasn’t given her riches when she got back.
“Go and fetch me those eggs,” the Monarch called to her from their highchair, “I want them. If you do, you will be handsomely rewarded.”
Slick was knelt on their luscious carpet, a rather overzealous example of their wealth, her head bowed low. She did not want to upset the hotheaded ruler, so she refrained from complaining.
Currently she felt she could complain all she liked, having to do this horrid job in the freezing cold tundra.
This was a time-sensitive mission, as it relied on the months of the year and the laying of the eggs, so she had set off immediately from her ramshackle town over the Atlantic and into the wastelands of Canada, or ‘New France’. The French were so entitled.
Some idiot was trying to make permanent settlements there, and while Slick was positive the explorers would get run out by the local tribes, she was grateful for the access to an inn, which she was certainly looking forward to right now.
She grunted once more, her arm hooked on a ledge; a reprieve from the unforgiving vertical wall. She hauled upwards, resting her upper body as she leaned forwards. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted wooden twigs entwined in a circle.
At last. She could cry.
Three spotted eggs resided in the middle, almost blending in with the rocky terrain. Perfect
She’d spotted the mother fly off before, almost pure white in colour, and huge in size. If she didn’t get paid handsomely, she’d kill the haughty snob who hired her herself.
She blinked, and peered closer. A small runty egg was hidden behind the bigger eggs, and a small pang of guilt-fear-knowing shot through her chest. She shook herself off. Not the time, Slick.
She didn’t have time or space to candle-test them that moment, so she nicked all four an left a half-frozen rabbit carcass in their place. Even though she was a hardened criminal, she still felt bad stealing what was essentially bird babies. She hoped the meat would be enough to suffice.
Looking back down the cliff, she wobbled in fear. She needed to get back down, especially before the mother came back. She did not want a talon to the face.
She placed the eggs into soft, fur-lined pockets on her left, each in their own compartment. She'd had them specially made for this mission. She buttoned each pocket closed and began unspooling her rope.
Digging one of her ice picks into the ground, she tied a knot around it. To be safe, she knotted a large spike of ice as well.
Wrapping the rope around her middle with her remaining pick in hand, she gently began to lower herself down.
The wind still raged, determined to fling her off of the cliff, but she held steady; her spiked shoes helping to grip the slippery ice.
She looked up, focusing on not freaking herself out, and spotted the mother circling overhead. The beast screeched before landing on the ledge, and the twittering echo seemed to dig its way into Slick’s frozen heart.
She steeled herself and kept lowering further. She was about halfway down the cliffside, still dangling precariously, when she heard a sickening stretch before a snap.
She lurched downwards, free-falling for a few seconds before the rope grew taught again, grasping painfully at her waist.
She hugged the wall as her ice pick flew overhead, landing with a crunch in the snowy rock below.
Shit.
Pushed by pure adrenaline, she sped up her movements until she was almost flying down the cliff, nervously trying to gain ground before her backup knot failed as well.
The rope loosened once more, dropping her closer to the ground. She held on for dear life as the rope completely gave.
By sheer luck, even though she wouldn’t tell it as such, she landed on her right side. The eggs had made it down the cliff unscathed.
Slick however writhed in pain as she landed, the impact shuddering through her bones.
She lay in the snow for a bit, the cold numbing the pain.
Eventually she stood, eyes squinting as the sunset hit her.
Time to get home.
The chair screeched as she pulled it closer to the wooden desk, her room lit by the fireplace beside her and the flickering candle in front of her.
She had shed her thick winter clothing, and had bandaged her side as well as she could. Every time she breathed it hurt, but she could ignore it for now. Currently she had something more important to do.
She gently lifted each egg to the candle flame, making sure not to burn them. She peered through the shell, and smiled as each contained an embryo. Each egg containing a little life, and a bigger paycheck.
She was lucky all four were fertilised, even the runt. Her brother had told her it was unlikely that more than two in a clutch contained a baby.
While she was happy with the confirmation of four live birds, she still had to get them through a three-week boat trip back to England, and a ten day ride to the Southlands where their owner resided.
Hopefully they didn’t hatch on the way, she didn’t have the patience to deal with four hungry babies.
She sighed and tilted back, stretching. She gathered the eggs into a specialised bag, lined with wool to keep them warm.
“I can’t believe that Electra only wants you because of a grudge.” She mumbled to the eggs, all snug in their pockets. Stars she was going insane, she was beginning to think the eggs looked cute.
She’d depart tomorrow, holding out hope that the little ship she was going to be traveling on could break record speeds.
For now, she gathered her things and slipped into the rock-hard bed.
Standing on the pier, she huffed a curling trail of steam as she waited to board the boat.
She was one of many travelers, covered in thick furs and bags. The line inched forwards every few seconds, each passenger being shown their hammock down in the belly of the ship.
She hauled onto the boat, dragging her bag behind her as she walked to her hammock. She placed her things into the strung fabric and fiddled her way in.
She patted her hip to feel the eggs and she sagged downwards, the tension escaping her.
Thank the Stars she hadn’t forgotten them.
Time to hunker down and plow through the nearly month-long trip.
As the other passengers bustled around her, she lay down in her cot and tried her best to fall asleep.
Standing on the deck of the ship, Slick squinted into the distance. She could see a sliver of Scotland’s land if she tried her hardest. They’d already passed the Outer Herbrides as they headed to Ullapool. From there, Slick would find her horse and ride all the way home.
Luckily it had only taken two weeks to get there, the winds in their favour. Perhaps the Stars had heeded her desperate prayers to ‘hurry this stinking ship up.’
On her boat trip, she’d checked the growth of the babies every other day, and they’d almost tripled in size within their eggs. Soon she’d be able to hear them squeak through the shell, and they’d hatch.
She was not looking forward to that, no sir. Eggs were quiet, eggs didn’t move or scratch or demand to be fed. Little hungry bird babies however enjoyed being annoying. They would take sick pleasure in torturing Slick whenever they could.
She also didn’t have the facilities to give the babies proper care. Apparently newborns needed to be fed every hour, even at night. They also required a slurried mix of meat and water, which she would only be able to reliably make once she was back in England’s borders.
Damn Scotland’s foreign hunting laws.
“What were you doing in Canada?” A high-pitched voice called to her, startling her from her thoughts.
A red-headed gentleman stood to her right, smothered in bright red coats. He had a jester-like smile, a little unsettling.
“Just visiting.” Slick mumbled back to him. He seemed somewhat familiar. Whatever.
Just as he began to speak once more, shouting emerged from the boat as they came to the port, ropes thrown down to be tied to the dock, passengers and sailors bustling as the gangplank was set down.
Slick lost sight of the man, which she was quite grateful for. She didn’t want to deal with unusual strangers right now, not with her precious cargo.
Slick hid in the crowd, head low. She sped down the pier, weaving through the crowd of families embracing. No-one was waiting for her here.
She needed supplies for the trip back into Wembley, the little ramshackle town she lived in. Just beyond that lied Victoria Castle, where the little eggs would be delivered.
Heading to the general store, she picked up what was probably enough food for her trip and filled her drinking bladder with water. Reluctantly she handed over the payment and left.
As the sky turned yellow with the sunset, she pushed open the doors to the stables.
“I’m here for Marshal.” Slick said to the stableworker, throwing a bag of coins on the table in front of them.
Slick followed the worker as he led her towards the paddocks, and with it came a small array of stables.
Marshal was easily spotted in the crowd of horses, the only grey stallion in a sea of chestnuts.
He was large as well as lanky and quick. A very expensive gift from the Monarch, to hep her do their dirty work faster.
She’d left Marshal here for the month she was gone, and he seemed very happy to see her.
The stableworker left her to tack up by herself, a posh saddlepad accompanied by a rough saddle crafted with several different leathers.
She stepped foot in the stirrups, and off they went.
Galloping through the populated town into the wilderness of the Scottish Highlands, the pair thundered down well-worn trade routes and swerved around carriages heading to market. Her chest still ached, and the bumpy ride wasn't helping.
It took almost three days of riding to make it to the Pennines, and by then she had crossed over the border of Hadrian’s Wall. Rolling hills of clover and cress laid the path for her and Marshal, who showed no signs of stopping.
They’d taken a small break at the river Tees, a small river. The refreshing water had given her a refill of her drinking bladder and some small fish for lunch. Marshal definitely enjoyed having a swim in the stream, wading up to his shoulders and having a sip.
Slick laughed at his antics, secretly happy she wasn’t entirely alone for the trip. She’d missed Marshal for the one-and-a-half months she was gone.
She was enjoying a small nap in the lush grass when Slick heard chirping come from her lined pockets. Uh oh.
Picking up the eggs and cradling them in her hands, she could see cracks forming in two of them. That was worrying.
“Marshal, we’d better get going bud.” She called to the very wet horse.
“Don’t you dare, don’t you DARE! We’re so close, just stop!” She practically yelled at her pockets, willing the eggs not to hatch. One had already popped a foot out, the one next to it had a beak protruding through the shell.
They were ten minutes from Wembley, ten minutes from Porter who actually knew what he was doing.
She kicked Marshal into second gear, sprinting down the sandy road towards her town, his hooves pounding against the dirt with urgency.
Green blurs whizzed past as the road weaved around a corner and there! Her house, smoke rising in the distance.
She screeched to a stop by the front door, leaping off of Marshal and banging on the door.
A very sleepy looking Rusty opened the door, blinking in the sunlight.
“Where’s Porter?” Slick demanded, all up in Rusty’s face, eyes wide.
“Oh, um, he was given a royal summoning this morning. He’s up at the castle, doing Stars-knows-what.”
“Fuck!”