Shattered Line

Chapter 7: A Shaky Plan

Squirt hesitated but then nodded his head. "Aye."

He turned, heading on his mission. Rydin followed, but Isla grabbed his arm, pulling him back. "Keep your eyes and ears open. Unless you want to save your brother, do not lose your head. Understand?" she warned.

"I understand," he muttered.

Isla released her grasp on Rydin, watching as he maneuvered his way to Squirt. He better regain a semblance of composure. Patience and keen observations were needed to decode the slew of information buzzing around. They couldn't rely on Squirt alone for this task, he had nothing to lose, unlike Rydin.

Like similar port cities slewed across the Mortal Realm, Lutenberg assimilated a customs enforcement organized and monitored by the governing power. They would tax incoming and departing ships, pulling all monetary earnings together for the Gods. If human trafficking was their trade, an officer would be knowledgeable about the exchange. Squirt had confirmed this fact, now she had to find a way to obtain the ship logs. How hard could that be?

She reached a hand underneath her cloak, checking the weight of coins. Bribery would be her last resort.

Her eyes scanned the bustling docks, customs was easy to spot. Purple flags with a white crescent hung from wooden poles. They jutted out from the wall, flailing in the light wind. On each side of the entrance stood two full armored guards, both wielding halberds.

Isla breathed deeply then strode over to the establishment. She avoided eye contact with the guards but kept her posture straight. They spared her no glance.

Past the entrance, Isla stopped, taking in the bare minimum adornments of the room. The pale white walls met wood panels halfway to the bottom. The soft maple collided into rough hardwood floors, from wall to wall. Most of the interior was sectioned off, preventing contact with the working officials.

She moved to the corner, positioning her back against the wall. Three officials manned the partition. Isla paid close attention to their slight movements and insignificant quirks; the way they wrote, shuffled papers, and speech patterns. Each factor weighed their odds either favorable or dangerous, but who knows, she might get lucky.

The left one wore his brown hair tied back, his long bangs falling forward with each motion. He kept scratching the back of his neck and his head drooped with each new arrival. His coarse gray collared shirt had the sleeves rolled up to reveal bony arms.

He looked the perfect target, but the sudden glint that crossed his eyes when a clerk came forward, unnerved her.

Her gaze swept to the middle officer. His weight doubled the first with his gut sticking out. Yet, what caught her attention wasn't his oversize and clean appearance, but the golden band on his fat finger. She might have a chance.

Isla headed towards the middle officer after he finished servicing the last clerk. She lowered her eyes then looked up. "Can you help me, please?"

He frowned at her. "What can I do for you, miss?"

She tugged her hood, her eyes flickering to those at the counter. "I need help finding someone. Well, not someone, but the ship he'll be leaving on."

The man scratched his stubble, eyeing her. "He your man?"

Isla smiled at his question. "Yes, but he doesn't want me to see him off."

"Oh? Why is that, miss?"

"He claimed embarrassment," she cried, dabbing her eyes with her palms. "But I'm sure it's because it'll be late at night. I even told him I wouldn't go alone. Please help me, I know it'll be soon. It's the metal schooner all the way on the end, near the mountain wall."

"Miss, I don't know. Without proper identification, it's hard for me to give that information out."

"But sir, this might be the last chance I get, please. I might never see him again." She reached forward, clasping his rough hands. "Don't you see—don't you understand my fear of never seeing him again?"

"Miss, it's not that I don't see your point, but the rules," he groaned.

"You've never bent the rules, not even once?" Isla pouted and removed her hands, balling them into fists.

He glanced both ways, checking his compatriots. Both officers were distracted, servicing the ongoing queue of ship clerks.

The man sighed, long and deep. "Very well." He turned his attention to the leather-bound logbook on the counter. The pages were wrinkled and smudged with black ink. He scanned each line with his finger, flicking the page when he found the spot. "Today, first watch."

Isla smiled. "Thank you, sir." She paused, her gaze flickering towards the slammed shut back door. "Truly, you don't know how much this means."

She nodded her head low once more before leaving the customs office. Isla re-emerged onto the stifling and noxious odored streets. She raised her cloak, defending against the foul scent. Still, Lutenberg's scum infested coastline neither diluted nor dirtied her clean victory. She had won.

They had time before the ship left tonight. She could make minor preparations to minimize their chances of failure.

With her sight focused ahead, she weaved through the crowd of sailors, merchants and guards. She veered away from the polished suits of armor, weary of their detection. At the fork, she took a left, heading back towards main street.

The ongoing throng of people deviated from her path. Her walking slowed and she observed the residents, their eyes avoiding her or flinching forward on contact.

Isla turned another corner wide, glancing behind. Three sword-armed men tailed her, their distance narrowing. Long hair and beards, combined with heavy dark cloaks wrapping their strong bodies. Nothing said welcoming. Well, shit.

A sharp left, and she squeezed through those blocking her path. Pausing a fraction, her arm shot out, and she rammed her fist into the back of a tall, muscular man. Without looking back, she continued on at normal speed.

A growl was released behind her. "Scallywag, ye askin' for the bludgeon. Aye'll smash ye into fish food."

"Blimey! Out of the way, matey. The lass's ye fight," the second voice fumed.

"Ye liar, no lass hits like a well-armed seadog. Hidin' behind the lass ye pathetic."

Isla smirked, moving on ahead. She spared no peek behind at their quarrel, instead, she retreated from view through another side-street. Good riddance.