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chapter three / dirty rotten scoundrels ❛crescent moon, coast is clear.❜ content warning: murder, nightmares
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The harbor wasn't far from Hiraeth. Cargo ships were always coming in and out, and the docks were packed with bodies hustling throughout. Eulalie's nose wrinkled at the stench of fish mixing with musty rotting driftwood and sour sweat. She squeezed her fists into tight balls as people brushed past her. She figured hopping on a ship would be quick. She just needed to find out which ones were headed for Ketterdam.
Eulalie was on high alert, listening for someone speaking Kerch. She weaved through the maze of people and cargo pallets. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one was following her. By now, someone at the manor would have noticed her absence. Someone by the docks would recognize her. Word traveled fast on small islands like these.
Though most of the merchants by the docks were decent enough to murmur behind raised hands, Eulalie could still hear the whispers. She could feel all eyes shifting to her, realizing she was one of the Duke's daughters.
"That's that Downing girl..."
"Such a shame about..."
"...not even dead a month..."
"...cursed..."
The hairs on the back of Eulalie's neck bristled at the mention of a curse. It was a foolish rumor that Eulalie firmly didn't believe, but rumors had a way of morphing into something big and ugly.
"What's she wearing?"
"...make her leave..."
"...she'll bring bad luck to us..."
"Hey! You there!" a voice rang out over the quiet buzz. "You shouldn't be here!"
Eulalie looked behind her to see who had yelled but found no source—just the weary faces of townspeople and foreigners. She turned back around and hurried away toward the boats lining the docks. Eulalie brought herself back to her plan in progress. She remembered someone—an admiral, perhaps—uttering a dangerous man's name to her father. A mobster in Ketterdam, the Bastard of the Barrel. Dirty Hands.
