It was close to midnight when we reached the harbor.
The sky was black as ink, the moon hidden behind clouds, leaving the water to swallow most of the night's light. But the harbor was alive with lantern glow—hundreds of them swinging from masts, pier posts, and the hands of patrols. The smell of tar, salt, and drying fish clung to the damp air. Ropes creaked, hulls groaned against the dock, and somewhere a gull cried as if it had been woken from its sleep.
The Deens were everywhere.
They patrolled in twos and threes, each man clad in deep blue coats trimmed with brass buttons, cut short enough to move easily on deck but long enough to keep the sea wind off. Wide leather belts carried cutlasses and pistols, and their boots slapped wetly against the planks. They moved with sharp, deliberate steps, checking every warehouse, ship, and alleyway leading toward the docks. I watched them pound on the doors of houses near the water, dragging bleary-eyed folk outside for questions.
Beside me, Elhaan shuffled forward, bent low over a gnarled walking stick. His illusion magic was perfect—he looked every bit the frail old woman, back hunched like a camel's, with a faded kerchief tied beneath her chin and wisps of silver hair escaping.
I followed a pace behind, disguised as her grandson, dressed as a household servant—black coat brushed clean, breeches tucked neatly into boots, silver buttons catching the lantern light.
The two children at our side looked the part of wealthy heirs. Elhaan had draped them in fine silk coats, the fabric dyed a deep sea-green and embroidered with silver cranes. Ribbons tied back their hair, and polished leather shoes tapped quietly on the planks as they walked.
We threaded our way between patrols, every step measured. Elhaan's magic was so subtle even the sharpest Deen officer wouldn't pierce it—but that didn't mean we could afford carelessness.
A voice called out.
"You there—stop a moment."
We obeyed without hesitation.
A Deen officer stepped into our path, a short man with a beard thick enough to hide most of his jaw. His lantern threw our shadows long across the pier.
"Where are you bound so late, mistress?" he asked, squinting at Elhaan.
"To the Summer Pavilion, dear," Elhaan replied in a quavering tone. "The young masters wished to see the sea before bed."
The man's gaze drifted to the children's clothes, then to me. "And you?"
"Household butler, sir," I said with a respectful bow.
He grunted, clearly deciding we weren't worth the trouble. "Best move along. The commander's out tonight—he's in no mood for delays."
We thanked him and moved on, keeping our pace slow, unhurried.
I spotted the commander soon after.
Tall and broad-shouldered, he wore a black longcoat trimmed with gold braid. The lantern light made the gold glimmer faintly, like the edge of a drawn blade. A rapier with a polished silver guard hung from his hip, and a brace of pistols rested across his chest. His hair was tied back in a queue, and his eyes swept the pier like a hawk searching for prey.
We turned away before those eyes could find us, slipping toward a moored Chinese junk near the outer dock.
The vessel's hull was of dark, oiled wood, its deck narrow and high-sided. Ropes of paper lanterns hung from the masts to the railings, each glowing a warm amber. The sails—furled now—were of brown canvas patched in places, and the smell of frying garlic drifted down the gangplank.
It was no cargo ship—it was a floating tavern.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of roast duck, soy, and rice wine. Low tables of polished teak filled the deckhouse, their surfaces shining in the lamplight. Porcelain bowls painted with curling dragons were stacked neatly at each table, and a musician in the corner played a slow tune on a two-string fiddle.
We found a table near the stern, close enough to the open deck to see the black water sliding past. The children wasted no time—skewers of grilled meat were in their hands before they'd even sat down. The glaze dripped down their fingers, their mouths too full to speak.
Elhaan leaned closer, his voice lowered so that even the fiddle's notes could hide it.
"You'll take the Dagger's Oath from Ilyaas and gather the crew," he said. "Some of Azan's men chose to live ashore. Others guard lands in his name. They are strong—and they'll join you."
"You're not coming with me?" I asked.
"I go to Starland," he said. "To study the copper sphere and the papers from Gorran's chest. When your crew is ready, we meet again for the next step."
"And how do I convince them to join?"
He gave a slow smile. "They'll see the ring. Azan wore it every day—they'll know it."
I turned the ring on my finger, feeling the cool weight of it.
"In Takhbay we part ways," Elhaan continued, "but before then, we'll take another. Small, but dangerous. A fighter worth ten men."
Outside, the junk moved quietly across the harbor, the lanterns glowing like a chain of gold stars against the moonless black water.
To be continued.....
Captain's Log — Author's Note
I've read this chapter twice, keeping a sharp lookout for any spelling or grammar mistakes. If one or two still managed to sneak past me, my apologies — let me know in the comments and I'll fix them faster than a pirate draws his sword.
I'm pretty sure this one's in good shape, though.
If you have any questions, thoughts, or ideas, leave them in the comments — I read them all and always reply. 😉