Anara
Roasted card mackerel. It’s heavenly scent filled Anara’s nose. The bartender had just slapped two heaping plates of it on a table beside Anara. If she leaned over far enough, she could grab the top fish off the plate. She seriously considered it for a moment, but she had come here for a reason, and she wasn’t about to risk her freedom for the sake of one fish. The last time she had tried stealing someone’s food, the whole tavern had chased her half the night.
Anara scanned the room, spotting two tables behind a group of rowdy card players. She would be less noticeable in the far back. Pulling her hood lower on her face, she waded through the haze of smoke and body odor to the far table. She was glad it was so crowded. This way, no one would pay attention to her. No one would have any reason to arrest her today. The dull roar of conversation, laughter, and clanking silverware hummed around her, making her head throb. This would be a horrible place for someone to mistake her for a rebel.
The door banged open, and another rowdy group sauntered in. Pirates. Most came to drown their failures, but these looked practically buoyant with success. Anara leaned in. This could be her lucky night. After three days with no success, she couldn’t afford to mess this up. She also couldn’t afford to be wrong. Her spine tingled with the possibility. Whatever they had must be a valuable prize. Nothing made pirates happier than the promise of gold-filled pockets.
The captain stepped up to the counter. “Ale for each of us, nothing special,” he said, scanning the room with calculating eyes.
“Aw, come on, captain!” One of the crew stepped up indignantly. “We deserve the finest drink this side of the Baikans for what we accomplished.”
“Silence!” The captain’s face darkened. “You would be wise to keep your mouth shut, Lorenzo.” He ushered his men to a table in the same secluded corner where Anara sat. Lowering his voice to a whisper, he continued, “We won’t get anything but a rope around our throats if this cargo is stolen. We are not in clear water yet. Only once the cargo is put directly in the hands of the commander will I even think about celebrating our success.”
The captain stood. “Well? Who wants a drink?”
His crew silently trailed after him.
Anara waited until they had settled down with drink and conversation before sneaking back out of the tavern.
Cargo. Cargo valuable enough to warrant a hanging if it wasn’t delivered. This was her lucky night indeed. She only hoped she could carry it.
…
Anara stepped onto the road. Little puffs of reddish dirt rose where her feet made contact with the sandstone. The darkness surrounded her, but she felt at home in this dim, bluish light. No one would or could stare at her here. She walked in the middle of the road, savoring her freedom. She passed by the closed stands where earlier, vendors had sold their fruit and fish beneath the blazing sun. Now it was quiet. Now it was dark. Nighttime brought with it the day of thieves.
A man was walking up from the wharf. Anara ducked into the shadow of an alleyway. The man passed so close she could smell his sweat, although that could have been quite far, considering how strongly he reeked. Anara stifled a gag. The man had stopped just beyond her hiding spot. She tensed, shrinking herself as small as possible against the wall. He was turning toward her. He raised a fist and brought it down hard on the shutters of one of the shops. The thud shattered the night. He continued to pound, making Anara’s ears wither. She was just wondering if she might be able to sneak by him without him noticing when the second-floor window flew open with a clatter. A lantern poked out, closely followed by a bony arm and an even more skeletal-looking face. Anara shrank further into her protective shadow.
“Well?” the old woman yelled croakily down at the man, “What do you want? It’s past my bedtime, so make it snappy!”
He seemed slow on the uptake. “Do yuh rent dinghies?”
“Yeah, I do, what of it?”
“Wull just finished loadin’ uh boat an’ it’s offshore an’ all, so…”
“Spit it out! Some of us like to sleep around here! I haven’t got all night.”
“Wull I need tuh rent uh dinghy fur tomorrow mornin’ real early, so I was wonderin’…”
“There’s a dinghy at dock six you can use, just go away!” and with that, the old woman slammed the window shut with gusto.
The man stood there for a moment, then shuffled away, mumbling to himself.
Once she could no longer smell his sweat or hear his muttering, Anara left her hiding place and continued toward the water.
Anara melted into the shadow of the last house on the street. Here was the tricky part. The houses and shops were set back some twenty paces from the docks, leaving a wide swath of road where she would be plainly visible to anyone walking in that area. The captain wasn’t stupid, he surely left some of his crew behind to guard the ship. If she was seen, she’d be in chains as soon as they removed her hood. But if she didn’t get that cargo, things would be just as bleak.
Anara frowned. Why are there no lights on the docks? Wait. There, moving along the far end of the wharf. A man carrying a lantern stepped from behind a large ship. He turned back and spoke with someone Anara couldn’t see. She cursed softly. More than one guard meant if she was noticed, she’d be caught for sure.
Movement. Anara turned, but there was nothing there. It must have been her imagination; the darkness playing tricks on her eyes. She willed herself to focus.
The Lighthouse 
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