Almost two centuries have passed since the mysterious tragedy of the Poseidon's Fury left its entire crew slaughtered without a trace of the assailant. Only a single shred of evidence remains - a cursed scroll clutched in the captain's severed hand...
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Chrysomallo adjusted her wig one final time, then turned to Mnesarete. "Are you prepared, my brother?"
Mnesarete took a deep breath to calm herself. "As prepared as I'll ever be."
Chrysomallo carefully examined Mnesarete's disguise. "Let me make a small adjustment to your wig...there, it looks more natural now." She smiled warmly. "So, what's our plan once we're downstairs?"
Mnesarete pondered for a moment. "We need to walk like men and lower our voices without straining so that we don't arouse suspicion."
"And then?"
"Next, we offer drinks and keep the conversation lively," considered Mnesarete. "And when people begin to talk..."
"You will steer the conversation towards Caravos," continued Chrysomallo. "Meanwhile, I will discreetly take notes on everything we need to know. These disguises have served us well."
A nostalgic smile softened Chrysomallo's expression. "I recall the ports I explored when I posed as a man. I took great risks to map uncharted coasts on my charts. Unfortunately, women were not permitted on exploration vessels back then."
She furrowed her brow thoughtfully. "Let me ensure your bindings are flat, brother. A sailor's clothing should look worn as well. Your tunic appears sufficiently weathered; you will blend in downstairs."
Mnesarete adjusted herself, testing the comfort of the subtle bindings. Finding them secure, she smiled and thanked Chrysomallo.
Chrysomallo returned the smile. "One final check, sister—where do you come from?"
Mnesarete stood tall. "I am Demos, the son of the great Euboea." Her lower tones flowed effortlessly.
Chrysomallo chuckled softly. "Your disguise suits you well, Demos. Now, why have you come to Delos?"
Mnesarete's eyes twinkled with amusement. "For trade, of course. What else would bring hardy sailors like us to this place?"
Their laughter blended harmoniously with the sounds drifting up from below. Chrysomallo's features softened as she reassuredly patted her bindings. "Everything is prepared. Our charts and tools are close at hand. Now, let us go and commence our search among the new crewmates down below."
They rose together and exchanged a final glance—focused within the warmth, reassured by the tranquillity. Then, side by side, they descended, their breaths synchronising in practised rhythm as they assumed the roles of friendly strangers, concealing their true purpose in the guise of role-playing.
The inviting light from the lamps glowed through the cracks in the stairs, guiding their steps into ongoing conversations. Their skilled pretend play allowed them to gain hidden insights on this evening. Experience and opportunity awaited them downstairs as they mingled with the crowd, taking on their new personas effortlessly.
