Tag: Four Corners: Quest of the Three

Kane

by Lucie Ruggiero

“Stop lying!” General Rotia snarled. “I know you’re part of the rebellion.”

“No, you don’t, because I’m not,” Kane said from his chair, preparing himself to tell his carefully practiced story of who he was.

Rotia grabbed him by his shirt and lifted him so they were face-to-face. Kane’s feet strained as he tried to stand on tip-toes. Her breath was hot in his face, “How else would you have known about the map?” 

“I don’t know about your map.” Kane tried to breathe conviction into his next words, “I’m telling you, I was only on that ship because I thought there would be money. I’m a thief, not a rebel.”

“It means the same thing, boy.”

“No, it doesn’t!” Kane gasped, his collar digging into the back of his neck. “A thief doesn’t have ulterior motives. Those rebels do.”

“And what are their motives?”

“Crushing Carellia and seizing power for themselves. It says so,” he wheezed. “On all the wanted posters.” 

Rotia loosened her grip on Kane’s shirt slightly and he was able to stand properly.

He added, “the difference between them and me is that I’m willing to work for Carellia.”

Rotia snorted, “And what would you do, clean the latrines?”

“I’m a thief,” he said as if that explained everything.

“Not a very good one. The only thing of value on that ship was stolen from right under your nose,” Rotia said. “I have no desire to hire a dauvish thief whose loyalty shifts with gold. Especially not one who was caught stealing from me.”

“I never actually stole anything.”

“You are not helping your case.” She was calmer now, almost indifferent. “No, I need your information, not your services.”

“I don’t see why I should give it to you.”

General Rotia looked down at him, her face hard. “You will give it to me because you don’t want to be hanged at sunrise tomorrow morning.”

“Fine. What do you want to know?”

“Your accomplice. He knew about the map.”

“If you’re talking about the other thief, she wasn’t my accomplice. But yes, I assume she knew about the map. It was the only thing she took, as far as I could tell.”

“She was a woman? You saw her face?”

“Yeah, I saw her face. I didn’t know there were rebels that young. I thought they were all older. She was probably the same age as me.”

“She was a rebel then?”

“I assume so,” Kane shrugged. “You said only a rebel would know about your map.”

General Rotia looked thoughtful, but not completely disbelieving. “Could you describe her?”

“Well, she was dauvish. Taller than me, I’d say. And she had curly hair. That’s all I could see. It was dark. I’m surprised the patrol didn’t catch her. She must not have been in the town.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, they searched the whole place, didn’t they? But they didn’t search the boats. If I was hiding from the patrol, that’s where I’d go.” 

Kane had absolutely no idea what he was talking about, but Rotia looked thoughtful. Kane wondered if the thief had escaped by boat. If so, he had no idea where to start looking for her or the map. They’d been so close to getting it and now, because of him, they’d have to start all over. He’d really messed things up.

“Give him to the guards to lock up,” General Rotia said to Gustov, pulling a pencil out of her graying blond braid. “I need time to think. You and your crew will stay at the fort until I decide what to do with you.”

Night had fallen and the hallway outside the library was dark. The main corridors of Fort Goranhall were better taken care of than the back passageway Gustov had used to sneak them in, but it was still the worse for wear. The carpets were worn and lanterns hung only every so often on the walls. The hallway was empty except for the guards in front of the library door. Kane stumbled between Gustov and Erika, his eyes watering from exhaustion. The hallway faded in and out of the darkness. He didn’t know how long they walked. It seemed like ages. 

Gustov shoved him through a doorway and his eyes opened with a snap. 

“Captain Gustov,” said the guard at the door in surprise. “We weren’t sure if you were coming back.”

“I live to see another day,” Gustov said, stepping into the moonlight.

The guard squinted at Gustov’s crew, who were filing out after their captain. “I don’t suppose you left the general in peace as she asked?”

“Important business. Couldn’t wait until morning. We have a prisoner for you.”

The guard shook his head in amazement as he took Kane’s chain from Gustov. 

Gustov grinned, “Well, I’ve got to get my crew some food. Can you handle the prisoner?”

He nodded, still amused. “Goodnight, Sir.”

Kane let himself be led under the firm grip of the guard. He was too tired to protest. 

The entrance to the prison was in a small building next to the wall of the fort. The guard led him down a steep, almost pitch-black staircase. At the bottom, it opened up in a hallway lined with cells. The room stank and its closeness to the river made it damp and cold. The icy air washed over Kane as he stumbled past huddled clusters of prisoners. Almost all the cells were full. At the very end of the room, the guard stopped at a cell half the size of the others, with a solid wooden door instead of bars. He unlocked it and opened the door.

“In you go.” 

The door closed behind Kane with a clang. Kane stumbled in the ankle-deep mud. The cell was narrow and nearly pitch black. All he could make out were shadows. Something moved. He looked up. His eyes hadn’t fully adjusted to the dark, but he could see the shape of someone standing towards the back of the cell. 

“Who’s there?” He couldn’t keep the quiver out of his voice, both from cold and fear.

“Hey, don’t worry. I’m not going to ambush you.” She sounded familiar. “I’m Esti.”

“Oh! It’s you!” He swayed where he stood, a wave of tiredness hitting him. “You were…on the prison cart.”

“Are you alright?” Her voice was closer. 

“I’m fine.” He tried to move, but stumbled. His shackles held his arms awkwardly behind his back. 

“You’re caught,” Esti said. “Here, let me help you.” She bent down and tugged the chain where it was stuck. “Don’t pull against me, I can’t unhook you if you do that.”

“You’re the one who’s pulling.”

“Step towards the door to give it some slack. There you go.” Esti straightened and brushed the mud off the chain. The end that wasn’t binding Kane’s wrists had another handcuff attached to it. She inspected the cuff. “You know, this isn’t a complicated lock. If the ones on your wrists are the same, I might be able to get it off for you.”

“Really?”

Esti nodded. “It’s drier on that side. We can sit over there and I’ll work on it.” 

Kane followed her to the back of the cell. It was darker there, but the floor was hard and less muddy. Esti sat them down next to her sleeping father. 

“Is…is he alright?” Kane whispered.

“He’ll be okay,” She looked down at her father, brows knitting. “So long as I get him out soon. Turn around so I can work on the shackles.” She pulled a pin out of her hair and brandished it like a sword.

“Careful!” Kane yelped. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Don’t worry,” she grinned, seeming glad to have something to do. “I’ve done it before.”

“If you say so.”

Kane turned around, still wary, and Esti began to pick the lock. It was an awkward position with both hands behind his back, but he tried to be patient with the constant tugging on his wrists. It reminded him of back home when he was little, and Jamal had tried to scrub his hair. Jamal was always the one who’d taken care of those sorts of things before Kane learned to do them himself. His mother was nearly always too busy; having meetings and talking with important people. 

“That’s the first one,” Esti said. She freed his wrist and Kane sighed in relief, shaking out his arm to get the blood circulating again. 

“You have no idea how good it feels to have my hands more than a foot apart,” he said, laughing. More seriously he added, “Thank you.” 

“Of course. Here, give me your other hand and I’ll do the next one.” As she started to pick the lock, she asked, “What’s your name?”

“Oh! I’m Kane. Sorry.”

She laughed. “That’s okay.”

He watched her jiggle the hairpin in the lock, twisting it from left to right. He closed his eyes, leaning his head on his free hand. “Do you know why we’re the only ones in this cell? The rest looked full.”

“I think this is the high-security cell. For potential rebels.”

“You’re a potential rebel?”

“You heard my father on the cart, didn’t you? He was caught stealing from the patrol camp.”

Kane chose not to mention that stealing food wasn’t usually a reason to be arrested as a potential rebel. Instead, he asked, “But you weren’t caught? Then why are you here?”

“I couldn’t let him go alone. Our family has already been separated enough.”

“That’s…very brave of you.”

“Or stupid,” she sighed, pushing her dark hair out of her face. “I didn’t have time to think of a better plan.” 

Kane shrugged. “My brother used to say that no plan is stupid until you look back on it. And then there’s almost always a better solution. But you can’t blame yourself for not seeing it at the time.”

“He sounds very philosophical,” Esti said, lifting Kane’s wrist to get a better angle on the lock. There was a click and it sprang open. 

Kane shook his hand out. “He was philosophical sometimes. But most of the time he was getting everyone into trouble by daring them to climb roofs or something. He was kind of a natural leader, but he liked pranks. It drove our mother crazy.” He yawned, remembering how tired he was. 

“Did you sleep on the cart ride?” Esti asked. Kane realized she’d been studying him. 

“No.”

“You look exhausted, you should try to rest.” 

Kane shrugged and lay down on the cold dirt. He was exhausted, but he didn’t think he could sleep. There was too much to think about, what with his failure to get the map and the fact that he was in a Carellian prison. There was no way he’d fall asleep with everything on his — Kane’s eyes closed and he drifted off before he could finish his thought.

Kane

By Lucie Ruggiero

The Eastern Carellian army headquarters loomed over the barley fields of Danabe. Built long before the Carellian invasions, Fort Goranhall used to be a Danabian fortress. Its stone walls had given protection to Danabians in times of war and had housed their army. At least, that’s what it was supposed to do. The Carellians had broken through those defenses during the invasions, and now the fortress, and the country, were controlled by Carellia’s army. 

Fort Goranhall stood on the banks of the Goru, at the convergence of the Yet and Sti rivers, its size dwarfed by the immensity of the Goru. The Goru river was as wide as a lake in some places. Anyone who wished to cross it had to take a ferry, and all ports in or out of Danabe were closely guarded by the Carellians, making the land effectively a prison to its people. 

Kane wished he could see the river instead of the gray, windowless stone walls of the fortress. The air was dank, with a muddy sort of humidity, and the passages were dimly lit. His neck prickled from dried sweat. What he would give to jump in the refreshing water and let his problems float away. Joining a mission was not what he’d expected or hoped it would be. His feet ached, and his hands stung. So far, this trip had been more exhausting than exciting. Now that the adrenaline of capture had worn off, he felt drained. Why use energy on worry? The worst was passed. He’d go to jail; he’d sit in a cell. It would be dark probably. Cool. He could sleep. Sleep, sleep would feel goo–

A jerk on his shackles sent him lurching forward. Jamal’s hand barely prevented him from crashing face-first onto the stone floor. Kane caught his balance and looked up. They had stopped in front of a wooden door. Captain Gustov pushed it open.

“The general doesn’t usually see people this late in the day, so we’re going to bypass the guards.”  He waved them through the doorway but stopped Jamal. “You might want to wait here; the general doesn’t trust duaves, even those who are working for her.”

Jamal shook his head. “I’m coming, Sir.”

Captain Gustov probably thought Jamal wanted to prove his worth, but Kane knew Jamal was coming to stay with him, and he was grateful. 

Behind the door was a spiral staircase, just as shadowy as the passages before. They stamped up the stairs in single file. At the top was another door, which the pirates shuffled through, Kane and Jamal last. When Kane stepped through the door, the sunlight dazzled him. He shook his curls out of his face and gaped over the vast swaths of barley stretching below to his right. The great Goru flowed steadily on his left, stretching so wide that he could barely see the opposite shore. And dwarfing it all were the Baikans, snowcapped and rocky, towering in the distance. He breathed in the clear air. It was beautiful.

Captain Gustov seemed unfazed by the spectacular view from the walkway. “Hurry,” he said. “I want to finish talking to General Rotia before nightfall.”

They continued to the far tower, Kane soaking in the outside world. He’d heard Danabe was an incredible place before the invasions, and seeing it, he believed it. Canals cut through the green and golden fields, reaching as far as the eye could see. From far away, it was hard to believe that poverty and famine plagued the country. Kane looked back at the peaceful landscape as he stepped through the tower doorway. Why did it have to change? He sighed and ducked into the tower.

They stood at the top of a staircase that ran along the edge of the tower wall. Panels in the roof were open, allowing sunlight to fill the tower. At the bottom of the staircase, the tower opened into a large open room. In the center of the room, a long wooden table sugged under the weight of stacked maps and documents. Overflowing but dusty bookshelves lined the round walls. It must have been a library before the invasions, Kane thought. 

A tall woman stood bending over a map at the table. She straightened at the sound of the tower door and turned to squint up at them through the late afternoon sun. 

“Who is it?” Her voice wore armor. It sent shivers down Kane’s spine.

“General Rotia,” Captain Gustov sounded weak compared to the General. “It’s good to see you.”

“Captain Gustov,” General Rotia sounded disdainful. “I certainly hope, for your sake, I agree with you. This had better be important.” 

Captain Gustov beckoned to his crew and walked down the stairs.  

The general waited for him to stand in front of her, “Did you retrieve what I sent you to find?” Kane could tell she thought it unlikely. 

He frowned, surprisingly calm for someone whose life depended on a map he did not have. After weighing his options, he spoke. 

“We found the map, Ma’am.”

General Rotia raised her eyebrows. “Really?” She drew out the word. “Well, where is it?”

“It was stolen off our ship in Agora harbor.”

“I see.” The general clearly thought he was lying. “That is very disappointing.”

“Indeed, Ma’am,” Captain Gustov said, pretending he thought she believed him. “However, we captured the thief’s accomplice. Erika?”

Erika took the chain from Jamal and led Kane forward. General Rotia’s eyes widened a fraction of an inch, then narrowed as she turned to Gustov. Her voice was icy.

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, Captain, but if you are lying, I assure you I will personally make the rest of your life a living hell.”

Gustov shifted his weight, not breaking eye contact with the general. “I understand. Shall I continue?”

She nodded. 

“We had docked in Agora for the night, and I left two of my crew to guard the ship. They saw two figures on the ship. Jamal went for help, and Erika stayed. She says she shot her pistol in the air as a warning. One of the thieves jumped overboard, and Erika caught the other. By the time I got there, the curfew patrol had also arrived. In the confusion, we didn’t realize the map had been taken. By the time we did, the other thief had escaped.

“We sent out a search party but couldn’t find him. The patrol guards can confirm my story, at least, the part they were there for. I thought you should know as soon as possible, so we came directly from the harbor. You have more resources than I do. The thieves are Dauvish; they might be part of the rebellion.”

Kane’s insides shriveled as the general trained her hawklike stare on him. His blood pounded in his ears. There was no escaping it. Jamal needed to keep his cover as one of Gustov’s crew. He would have to do this alone. 

General Rotia was speaking. “I admit, your story is plausible, Captain. If nothing else, you’ve brought a possible rebel, so you are not a complete disappointment. I am willing to let your failure to bring the map slide. Of course, you will have to make up for it, but it won’t be in prison.”

Gustov nodded gratefully, “Thank you; I am in your debt.”

“Undoubtedly.” General Rotia smiled. “Luckily for you, I may be in your debt as well.” She turned at Kane, and his blood froze. “You, on the other hand, are in a rather sticky situation.”

“You aren’t any use to me unless you have information, and I get rid of things that aren’t useful. However, if you do cooperate, I will limit your punishment to prison. You seem like a reasonable young man,” She sneered as she said it. “What will it be?”

“I’ll take prison, please,” Kane said, trying to keep his voice steady and failing spectacularly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jamal move, but he kept his eyes firmly on the general. “I have information.”

“Good. I’m glad we are on the same page.” She motioned to the chair she had not offered Gustov. “Why don’t you sit down so we can get started?”

Kane

by Lucie Ruggiero

Snap. Clank. Jangle. The shackles binding Kane’s hands jingled as the prison cart thumped over yet another bump in the road. Curse that girl. If it wasn’t for her, he’d already be across the border and getting the map back to the rebellion. Instead, he was sitting in a cramped prison cart squashed against half a dozen other prisoners of Carellia. The cart was a pungent box of trapped stench. The heat of the day made it stuffy with heat, and dust from the road clouded the stagnant air. 

Kane shifted to a more comfortable position. He’d been squished in this infernal cart for three days now. Somehow that pirate captain –Gustov? Yes, Gustov– had convinced the curfew guards he was following orders from a Carellion general. They’d agreed to escort him to the Carellion Army headquarters, and Kane was put in the prison cart along with the rest of the prisoners being transferred. He couldn’t imagine why the guards had believed Captain Gustov, but they had, and now Agora was days behind him.  

“So, what’d you do?” A balding old man asked the man next to him, who looked like he’d been uprooted from the heart of a forest.

The man grunted and shrugged.

“Well, I took some bread from a house,” said the old man, seemingly undeterred by the other’s lack of interest. “‘Sept it wasn’t a house,” he continued, “it was the patrol camp.” The old man chortled and nudged the ragged woman next to him, “That’s the third time this week the patrol ‘as caught me, i’nit Esti? Guess they got tired of catchin’ me stealin’ food, finally decided to lock me up er somethin’. Dunno why you had to come along, though.” 

The young woman sighed brokenly and leaned against the wall. “Pa, please just give it a rest.”

He patted her shoulder, “It’ll be okay, Esti, they’ll probably let us go. The jails are pretty near full, I’d reckon.” 

Kane looked away. He couldn’t stand the sadness these people had to face. The jails were indeed full. Full of innocent people whose only crimes were defying the tyrannical Carellion soldiers’ orders or stealing out of their desperation to feed their families. Few real criminals were arrested anymore. The Carellion invasions had brought nothing but destruction and hardship to the Arklands, and the Carellion soldiers didn’t care about the people whose lives they uprooted. Kane knew all too well that the queen of Carellia was willing to do anything to get the power she thought should be hers. Kane couldn’t let the map fall in her hands or any other agent of the queen. Not after all the rebellion had gone through to keep the relic pieces safe from Carellia. 

Ugh! Kane raked his grimy hands through his equally dirty hair. How had that girl even known about the map? Few people knew, let alone believed, the legends anymore. She couldn’t be any ordinary thief. No dauvish thief could outlast the Carellion Army on their own. Dauves were arrested on sight to ensure no rebels could escape. Being dauvish was a crime in itself, even if you weren’t a rebel. She must be working for someone. It was the only explanation he could think of. And it was the least of his concerns right now. He needed to get the map. The fate of the rebellion depended on it. And to get the map, he would have to do the impossible; break out of a Carellion prison.

As if to remind him of his situation, the cart lurched, yanking his shackles painfully. The rough metal dug into his wrists. The cart lurched again and rolled to a stop. 

Kane heard boots crunching in the dirt, the shouts of soldiers, the creaking of a gate being opened. The cart groaned and began to move. The sounds of people and equipment grew louder. 

“This way, corporal.” The voice was gravelly. “Any top security prisoners?”

“Mostly the usual, sir, although we did escort some men who say they’re working for General Rotia, and they brought a duaf.” 

“Shouldn’t require extra security?”

“No, sir.”

“As you were, corporal.”

The cart had stopped again. Kane strained his ears to get a sense of what was happening, but the clanking of shackles from the other prisoners made it impossible to hear anything definite. All of a sudden, everyone in the cart stood as if it was some pre-choreographed motion, and Kane was hauled up by the wrists. His wrists screamed in protest. Sunlight flooded in. “Everyone out, no funny business,” barked the corporal, jerking the chain. 

Eyes watering, Kane stumbled after the rest of the prisoners. He had no choice, after all. Kane tried to get his bearing, swaying a little as the rush of sunlight and nausea overwhelmed him. He would forever hate carts, that was for sure. 

Someone detached him from the rest of the prisoners, shoving him gently towards a doorway.

“Just hang in there, okay?” a familiar voice whispered in his ear. “We’re going to figure this out.”

“Jamal!” 

“Shh, keep it down, they don’t know I’m with you, remember? Just don’t do anything stupid, and we’ll be okay.”

Kane sagged with exhaustion and relief. Jamal would figure this out. Hope wasn’t lost just yet. He shifted so his brother’s broad back partially blocked the blinding sun, giving him a chance to adjust his eyes. His entire body felt lead-weighted. Having slept on the cart ride would have been wise, but there was no help for that now. 

“Captain, I have the thief!” Jamal raised his voice above the hubbub of soldiers and horses. 

“Good,”  Captain Gustov strode up with the rest of his crew. His face was set, and Kane could’ve sworn he looked worried. “We’ll take the boy to the General and explain the situation.” 

“Captain!” It was a rather skinny young pirate who spoke. “Do you really think she’ll let us off for not bringing what she asked? We lost the map! You said yourself we’d be in trouble if–”

“Silence, Lorenzo!” All doubt left Gustov’s face. “I will not tolerate you contradicting me. You wanted a spot on this crew, didn’t you? Now act like you meant it.”

Lorenzo mumbled something that sounded like “yes, father.” Kane glanced at him curiously. It hadn’t occurred to him pirating was a profession one passed down; he’d always thought of pirates as cold and ruthless, without family ties. He scanned the rest of the crew, intrigued. His eyes landing on the backlit figure of Erika. His captor. He gritted his teeth. She was a ruthless pirate. He might have escaped if it hadn’t been for her. He might even have gotten the map from that slippery thief’s hands if the pistol fire hadn’t startled him into letting her go. 

Gustov, who had been talking to some soldiers, turned to his crew. “Alright, men, we are going to meet with General Rotia to give her the report. When we get there, I’ll do the talking.” He looked pointedly at Lorenzo, then continued, “Stand respectfully and quietly. I want to leave here with both our dignity and our heads intact.” 

And with that dire thought planted in their minds, Captain Gustov led them through the door and towards their destiny.

Anara

by Lucie Ruggiero

Roasted card mackerel. Its 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.

Anara crouched behind a stack of crates that smelled pungently of fish. The docks were packed with boats tonight. Hordes of merchants came to Agora for the day trade, but the town was dead by sundown. The enforced curfew began once the patrol arrived from the nearby Carellion camp, and no one stayed outside after dark to test their luck. No one, that is, except Anara. She shivered a little from the salty night breeze. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. The curfew patrol would come any minute, and that slimmed her chances even further of escaping unseen. 

Logic was telling her two things. The first was that her plan was stupidly dangerous. The second was that if she didn’t get whatever that valuable cargo was, her chances of leaving Agora would be non-existent. Anara shifted her weight so her feet wouldn’t fall asleep. She’d been stuck in Agora too long. It was hard enough finding food without the added danger of being caught by the night patrol. This could be her only chance to get away from here for good. Anara pulled her hood low over her face and moved out of the shadows.

“Stop!” a commanding voice broke through the darkness. 

Anara froze mid-step. Already? She hadn’t even fully left her hiding spot. 

“Show yourself if you don’t want to be turned in for breaking curfew!”

Anara realized the voice was coming from a distance. He hadn’t seen her. He must be talking to someone else. Anara peeped over the edge of the fish crate. The man was the same one she’d seen before, at the far end of the docks. He had his back turned and his lantern raised towards the trees, which marked the beginning of the scrubby woods at the end of the wharf. This was her chance.

Anara dashed along the docks, as close to the water’s edge as possible, to avoid being seen by the rest of those on guard behind the ship. Her feet fell quickly, light and silent on the ground. At the same time, Anara noticed a shadow climbing the side of the pirates’ ship. Another thief? Anara clenched her teeth and ran faster. Reaching the ship, she began to climb up the side. The wood was rough under her bare hands, and the ship swayed, making balancing tricky.

“Hey, Erika, I saw a light in the woods, should we go check it out?” The man with the lantern was talking to the other guard.

“Leave it be, Jamal.” The woman’s voice–Erika, Anara presumed–was hoarse, like the grinding of two stones. “It’s probably just some fisherman sneaking out after curfew. We’d be wasting our time. Besides, no one knows about the map except us.”

Jamal still sounded unsure; “Are you sure there’s no chance that someone found out? I think maybe we should check around the docks again.”

“We’d see if someone was in the captain’s quarters–the windows, remember? And the captain said to stay by the ship. Do you really want to disobey his direct orders?” 

“I guess you’re right.” 

All of a sudden, Anara’s foothold faltered, and she slid on the slick planks. She gasped as her hands took all of her weight. Clinging to the ship like a barnacle, she searched for another foothold. Her arms shook from the strain of holding herself up. After what felt like ages, her foot found a firm hold again. Her hands shook as she continued to climb. Something hairy brushed her fingers. She snatched her hand back, but it was only a very old, seaweed encrusted rope. She almost laughed as she grabbed it, but her confidence was still shaken. Gripping the rope so hard her hands began to numb, she pulled herself onto the deck of the ship. 

So, a map was what this valuable cargo was. Anara wondered what could be so important about a map. She sat for a moment, rubbing her sore hands against her breeches, then stood. 

The map would be kept in the captain’s quarters. Anara looked around the deck of the ship. She had seen countless ships come into port, but she had never been on one. This plan was falling apart faster than she could come up with it. 

Through a crack in the deck, Anara saw a muffled light moving. The other thief! The map must be below-deck. The best plan of action would be to follow the other thief and hope she could get the map before they did.

Below deck, the boat groaned and creaked. Anara felt even dizzier. She walked along the narrow hallway, listening for any sign of the other thief. A clink. Small but audible. There it was again. She crept forward, shoulders tense. There was a door at the end of the hallway. Through its window, she saw a sliver of light. She tip-toed forward and looked through. 

A boy of around sixteen–not much older than her–stood, blue face illuminated by a covered lantern on the navigation table. Anara gasped. The last time she’d seen a dauf was when her parents left. He must be part of the rebellion. She’d seen the wanted posters for rebel leaders and dauvish convicts, but it had been a long time since she’d seen someone who looked so similar to her in person. 

The boy held a scrap of paper up to the light, no bigger than Anara’s hands put together. The map. Anara sighed a little. It looked rather unimpressive. Old, maybe, but other than that, unremarkable. It will be worth it. So long as I’m not caught. 

Anara waited, flat against the wall, as the boy packed up the map. He opened the door slowly, silent as a spider. The leather map-container was in the hand closer to Anara. She seized the chance. Ducking out from the shadows, she grabbed the map. The boy’s split-second of surprise was enough to give Anara the edge. She raced towards the ladder as quietly as she could. He was hot on her heels. Anara slipped the map into a bag on her belt and grabbed a rung of the ladder. Halfway up, he grabbed her foot. She shook him off and climbed faster.

Anara threw herself onto the deck, crashing into a stack of barrels. They tumbled on top of her, making a huge racket in the process. One fell directly on Anara’s ankle. She yelped as the heavy barrel rolled off her foot. 

“Hey! Who’s there?” Erika yelled. “Come on, Jamal, I think we have a trespasser.”

Anara scrambled to the gangplank and pushed off the ship. Erika yelled a curse.

“Get the captain, Jamal! There’s a thief on board!”

“But what if they get away…?”

“Just go! I’ll make sure they don’t escape.” 

Anara heard the sound of a cocked pistol. Oh no. She raced across the deck, side-stepping barrels. She could jump into the water and hide beneath one of the docks if she just–a hand grabbed the hood of her cloak just as she was about to jump. She jerked back, hood falling off, and turned. Before she could pull her hood back up, the second thief saw her face. His eyes widened in surprise. 

“But–wait–you’re dauvish? But, you’re not part of the–who are you?” 

Anara froze. Erika had climbed the side of the ship. Her broad silhouette loomed tall. 

Anara’s ears exploded. A flash of fire shot towards the sky from Erika’s pistol, and suddenly Anara was falling through the air. Her head rang from the sound of the pistol shot. Everything was spinning. 

Water hit Anara’s face full force as she crashed into the sea. Salt filled her mouth. She kicked upwards and surfaced, gasping for air. This is ridiculous. She paddled towards the nearest dock. Clinging to the slimy pylon, she tried to catch her breath. Through the ringing in her ears, she could vaguely make out the sound of Erika yelling. Then thundering footsteps. More shouts. More confusion. More dizziness. 

She stayed wrapped around the pylon for a while, just letting the water lap up and down. She breathed deep. In and out, push and pull. Her hearing was beginning to come back. She opened her eyes and listened. 

The patrol had arrived. The docks were in a state of confusion. Guards were yelling about curfew, and the captain from the tavern was yelling back about special privileges. They didn’t seem to know yet that she’d stolen the map, but it was only a matter of time. She needed to move. Once they started searching, she’d have little chance of escape. They’d probably wake half the town if the map was as valuable as the captain had said. She let go of the pylon and swam further away from the pirates’ ship. 

The next dock was different from the others. Most had one ship docked, but this one had many small boats and dinghies. Dinghies. The word rang a bell. She looked at the dock number. Dock six! This was the one the old lady told the sweaty seaman he could get a dinghy from. And there! Anchored in the harbor! The boat he’d said was leaving first thing tomorrow. Maybe she could hitch a ride.

Anara

by Lucie Ruggiero

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.