Chapter 9 – Inconspicuous

If you’ve never had a child, it’s hard to really describe how tethered your heart can become to another person. It’s a connection that runs deeper than emotion, even. It’s instinctive, it’s primal. It’s all of those things and the love you come to feel for them as you watch them grow.

My son was a beautiful, fragile little child. He was born early, always small for his age, and that only made the protective urge inside me burn all the brighter. It was probably my undoing in the end.

Ishaya was a flawed woman too, and we definitely both had our share of abusive behavior towards one another. Hers was more verbal, more demeaning than aggressive, but it hurt all the same.

But all of our problems aside, I never doubted that she loved our son from the core of her being. It wasn’t that she was a bad mother. We just disagreed on how to raise Amon, and what to do with our future. And his.

Knowing that she’d only contracted herself was the greatest comfort I’d gotten out of finding that ledger. She was still the woman I remembered, even after she’d left. And I had no doubt that wherever she was, she was still with him, still protecting him.

She might try to protect him from me, if I found them. But if I even made it that far, I’d be happy enough. I’d be glad to be some part of my son’s life at this point, even if I had to do so from a distance. I was willing to accept just about any outcome, so long as I knew where he was, and knew he was alive and well. I’d become a criminal, after all. At this point Amon might be better off staying with his mother, even if she were still indentured.

But in the world the Clans create for indentured servants, the worst often happens. And I have to be sure. I have to know he’s not in danger.

Chavanasi is like many a bustling port city. An eclectic tapestry of color and activity when viewed from afar, bright and promising. But up close, there’s dirt in every crevice of the pastel veneer.

Here at least, there’s less concern that we won’t fit in. The port is full of foreign ships that we can catch hints of from many breaks in the skyline of the city, especially since some of them have masts taller than any building here. There’s the usual scattering of Huudari people, hyenas of course, rodents and canines, lions and other felines. But there are so many different foreign creatures here, I can’t keep track. Felines, canines and foxes that are unlike any in Mataa, rodents and mustelids of all shapes and sizes. Creatures with thick fur that must be sweltering in this climate, fur that’s all white, or all black. I can’t imagine what kinds of worlds they must come from.

Overwhelmingly, the Dog Lords and the peoples from the north country are most predominant. There are a few major trade routes that directly follow the coastlines down from their country into ours, and the war, if anything, only mixed our cultures together more.

The scent of canine is probably the strongest in the air, (other than the curry vendors). Dogs are a very varied people, ranging from tall to squat, bulky to lean, with every color pelt you can imagine. I’ve never seen a race of people with such variation. Jackals will vary in pelt color or eye color sometimes, but you could always identify us as a jackal, you know? Some of the dogs have completely different muzzles, let alone body-types.

One way I find very quickly to pick them out is their garb. The Dog Lords seem to favor more fitted clothing than Huudari people do. Much of it looks troublesome to make, with crisp lines and a lot of buttons and flourishes, like the small neck scarfs they seem so fond of. It all looks terribly uncomfortable, especially in the heat and humidity here.

That’s not to say that I don’t catch a few of them that are more adapted to the area. There were even women at Sigfried’s place that were wearing sarees.

Here, I’m not seeing many women who aren’t locals. Most traders are men, and unless they intend to settle, they don’t bring their families with them. But that’s not always the case. We pass a dancing troop of langur with a few females amongst their lot who are putting on what even I have to admit is a very energetic, entertaining show. There’s a sizable crowd, mostly comprised of foreigners, gathered about to watch them as they dance, undulating their lean figures and jangling their jewelry in time with an older male langur playing a set of drums.

“The kabobs that vendor’s selling smell amazing,” Raja says, gesturing to a sloth bear selling roasted meat right next to where the langurs are playing and dancing.

Lavanya rolls her eyes. “You are so transparent.”

“They do smell amazing,” Anala agrees, tugging out her small leather coin purse, where she’s keeping what remains of our stolen currency. “And I’ve got the coin, so we eat where I say.”
I smirk and fall in behind Lavanya as the group heads towards the kabob vendor. I lean in to whisper to her, “But it has nothing at all to do with the dancers, right?”

Lavanya snorts. “Clearly. What was I thinking?”

Ahsan just makes a haughty noise. “They’re not even that good,” he says, feigning snobbishness.

We all chuckle, and head over to get some meat. Which is, in fact, as good as it smells. So I can’t say I mind. We enjoy the show for a while, and Anala tosses the women a little extra coin. We managed to break down our highly valuable gold along the route here into more manageable coinage, to avoid suspicion whenever we have to pay for something. I’ll admit, when it comes to gold and other really valuable currency, I have no real understanding of what it amounts to other than ‘a lot’. But Anala has assured me that what she stole from the Contract Office would have probably been enough to buy out several of our contracts in their entirety, so we shouldn’t be running dry any time soon.

It’s amazing to think about how something so small, so easily lost, something that can fit into a pouch you can stow in your palm, can mean so much. My whole life, before I was contracted and after, would have been entirely changed by less than what’s in that pouch right now. It’s not hard to understand why so many lower caste and poor resort to theft and crime. Living without enough can just as easily ruin your life, drive your father to drink and beat on his family, become a wedge between a married couple, and in the end, mean the difference between slavery and freedom. The penalties for committing crimes aren’t even as bad as all that, a lot of the time.

It shouldn’t be this way. If I’ve come to believe anything wholeheartedly throughout all of this, it’s that. Now, I’m not a complete simpleton. I understand that places like this city only exist, only thrive because of commerce and coin. I believe a man should have to work to get by, sure. I understand the value of earning your keep. But something’s broken in the world when so much of the wealth’s in the hands of so few.

I’ve made some truly awful mistakes in the past, and I can’t say I agree with some of the things we’ve done as a group even more recently. But the fact is, I was made a criminal. . . not born one. And people like Ahsan, even Lavanya, would never have committed a crime in their entire lives if they’d had better options available to them.

We press on into the city towards the ports. Our rat guide had taken off once we’d made it to the outskirts, promising us that he’d meet us near some bar at the waterfront called the ‘Bootlegger’. I had no idea what the word meant, it sounded foreign. He insisted he had some family there who might be able to help us find a ship, but that he had some ‘business’ to do in the city first.

I’m at a loss what it was he had to head off to do on his own, but I’m sure it was exactly as shady as it sounds.

“You are paying him, aren’t you?” Lavanya asks curiously after we parted ways with Ermingild.

“Of course I am,” Anala replies, dryly.

“That’s comforting, honestly,” the lioness sighs. “I know it’s been months, but I. . . .”

“Still don’t entirely trust the rat, hnh?” Raja smirks.

“I believe his heart’s in the right place,” she says. “But we’re so close to leaving the country now. We really need to find the right ship. It’s not a decision we should take lightly.”

“If he doesn’t deliver, we’ll find one ourselves,” Anala says confidently. “Coin is the universal language in a place like this.”

“I’d be careful about flashing it around,” I caution, my eyes following a small pack of dholes, jackals and a fox or two who are crowding an alleyway, watching the street like vultures. They aren’t even bothering to cover that they’re armed. Likely a gang. “Place like this, there are a lot of thieves about more practiced than we are.”

Anala just snorts. “Two months herding camels and goats. I’d welcome some excitement right now.”

As we draw closer to the waterfront, I begin to smell something all new to me. . . the sea. I’ve never smelled anything like it, so it’s hard to compare it to anything I know. There’s the scent of fish, of course, but most of that is coming from the vendors and fishing vessels, I’d imagine. There’s a tang in the air that tickles my nose and reminds me of the salt flats in the desert, but combined with the humid air that comes with fresh rain. The distant roar and crash of the waves breeching on the docks, ships and shoreline is an ever-present, all-encompassing blanket of sound, not unlike the trill of insects was at the oasis. But there is no tranquility here. This is a place of constant change, where even the borders of the land change by the hour.

I had to have Anala explain the concept of tides to me. I’ve always known of the existence of oceans, and that they rose and fell somehow in time with the moon, but I never realized it happened every day, or how anyone could adjust to that and make their living here. The desert I grew up in was a very unchanging place. Rains were scarce, and when they came it was a time of bounty, but they were fleeting. The land around the Hyronses has been, for the most part, the same since I was a child. Save the river level dropping in some seasons, and that happened very slowly.

Here, the people must contend with monsoons, and daily changes in where the ocean will rise and fall to. The world here moves so fast, and I can’t help but feel a sense of foreboding about it. I’m not sure I’m ready to contend with a world that changes this quickly.

The quest to find my family has already changed me so much in a short span of time. By the time I find them, will I even be the same man? Is it better that I not be?

Anala points out one of the ramshackle structures along the docks, with a leaning, crumbling porch on one side and a raucous-sounding interior. The sign is written in a foreign language (not that it would matter, but I recognize at least that it’s not Huudari) but she still seems certain it’s our destination. So, bracing ourselves, we head in.

We pass a cackling group of drunken fishermen who smell like their work on the way in. Otters, I think, although I’ve only ever seen a few along the Hyronses. These look different than the ones I saw in the past, but then everything here is strange and new. They seem more focused on a joke, (or story?) one of them is still telling than us.

Once we push open the flimsy door to the inside, the noise becomes so overwhelming, both Ahsan and I have to tip our ears back. The place is a madhouse, packed with a whole lot of different peoples who combine that ‘ocean’ smell from outside with a lot of damp fur smell and body odor. And a whole lot more I can’t and would never attempt to identify. It’s like if you took everything that smells awful about a workhouse and got it wet, let it fester for a while in damp clothing, then threw in some dead fish and bad booze just for flavor.

“Ugh,” Anala growls, shoulder-shoving her way past a particularly dense cluster of canines to make way for the rest of us to get through. One of the dogs barks, (quite literally) something at us that sounds unflattering, then gets back to his drink and conversation.

“The rat could have picked a better location for a clandestine meeting,” Anala says, irately.

“We’re going to have a hard time finding him in here,” I add, wrinkling my nose as we pass a rodent of some kind who’s passed out against the wall, and clearly relieved himself in his pants either before or after doing so.

“Then we’re doing this ourselves,” Anala proclaims, in a way that’s worrisome. She shoves aside the unconscious rat with her foot, and pulls out the chair at the table nearest him with a squawk, planting herself in the seat and gesturing to us.

“There’s a reason no one’s taken this table,” I mutter as I sit, trying to put some distance between myself and the. . . smell. To no avail, of course.

“I like the idea of sitting,” Lavanya says dryly, sweeping her tail to the side of the chair as she does so. “My ass is getting raw from all the paws it’s had on it the last few minutes.”

“Mine, too,” Ahsan mutters.

I give the both of them a sympathetic look, and we all get as settled as we can at the small, crowded table. Before long, a stout boar pulls up alongside us with a rag in one hand and a serving tray of empty tankards in the other. When they speak, I’m shocked to hear a vaguely feminine voice. Beneath the apron, it’d been hard to tell.

“What’re you having?” She asks in accented Huudari. It’s hard to tell what accent, though. But then, it’s highly possible this place just has its own dialect entirely.

“We’re looking to find passage to the Shanivaar,” Anala says outright. “Could you recommend a Captain?”

The boar just gives her an odd look. “If yer takin’ up a table, yer ordering something.”

“Look here,” Anala begins to growl, but Lavanya coolly cuts her off.

“Whatever you’d recommend,” Lavanya says. “I’m sure you know what’s best here.”

The boar literally rolls her eyes, and turns with a hip sway I didn’t catch the first time she made her way here.

“I’m not drinking their swill,” Anala snarls, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest.

“I will,” Raja says completely un-ironically, his blue eyes sweeping the place over with a comfortable expression. “I like this place.”

“How. Could you possibly?” Ahsan asks in a muffled voice, two hands firmly over his muzzle to keep the smell out.

“Just look around,” the cheetah shrugs, doing just that. His voice gets distant for a few moments. “These people are free.”

I digest what he said. I can’t deny the truth in his words. The men here are disgusting, loud, lewd working men, clearly all low caste or whatever the foreign equivalent of that is, but no one here is collared. No Clan would trust a servant anywhere near a place with so many ships and avenues of escape. We’ve actually seen very few since I got here, and most were out on the fringes of the city. I doubt their owners let them wander far.

The boar returns with a tray of now filled tankards. . . hopefully washed, but I’m not holding my breath. She begins setting them down in front of us, and as she leans her bulky frame over the table near Anala, she murmurs, “Vixen by the bar. The one in tooled leather. She’s who y’lot want to be talking to. Don’t go takin’ them collared folks ‘round any old crew, or you’re like to get shipped back where you came from.” She deposits the last tankard at that, then holds out a palm to Anala.

“Oh,” the hyena pauses, then fishes in her coin purse, and deposits what seems to me to be far too much coinage for some bad booze into her hand. The boar looks it over with a scrutinizing glance, then at length, seems satisfied and moves off.

“Kadar,” Anala says, standing.

“Right,” I join her.

“Oh Gods, don’t leave us here,” Ahsan pleads from between his palms.

“Raja, keep an eye out,” I say back at the cheetah as we move off.

We head towards the bar, which is if possible even louder and even more crowded than the area with tables. Despite that, the vixen is easy to pick out. She’s female, for one, which is uncommon in this place. She’s also being given a wide berth, perhaps because of the dual pistols on her hips. She’s far from the waifish slip I was expecting of a vixen, but she also looks to be a foreigner, so for all I know, her curvaceous figure is normal for women where she comes from. Her fur is rusty red in color save her black-tipped ears and lighter throat, and her ears aren’t nearly as large as a fennec’s.

She seems to be expecting us when we approach, her honey-colored gaze on us the whole while. As we draw nearer, she snaps at a black-coated figure beside her who turns to regard us as well. The small. . . cat, it seems. . . is wearing a tricorn made for someone far beyond his size, so it’s hard to make out much about him beneath it save that he’s golden and spotted, and possessing a particularly enormous set of ears that, like his hat, seem oversized for someone of his size.

“You’re looking to sail to Shanivaar?” The woman asks, leaning back against the bar and showing off her more than ample cleavage. Considering her surroundings, she must have some nerve on her, or else is just looking for an excuse to use those pistols.

“Yes,” Anala replies before I can. “Have you a vessel?”

“I’m first mate of the Inconspicuous,” she says, showing off her thin fangs as she smiles.

Anala starts laughing at that, and I’m not sure why. The name sounded foreign to me. I continue to not get the joke, when the small man beside her speaks up. “Get on with it, Elizabeth,” he growls irately. “We need to set sail before the weather from the north moves in.”

“I was told you’ve got quite a few contracts to move,” the vixen says, glancing past us through the throngs of men towards the direction of our table. “And I’m guessing you can’t use legal channels if you’re here.”

“Obviously,” Anala says.

“The third island in the chain is the only one fully colonized,” the vixen says, glancing to the short man beside her, who is appraising us now as well. I can’t for the life of me figure out what kind of creature he is, but he most resembles a spotted cat with a longer muzzle. He’s easily half the size of a leopard or a cheetah, though. His feet dangle off the bar stool.

He’s not giving me a particularly friendly vibe, despite apparently knowing the vixen and likely being a part of her crew or some kind of comrade. The vixen, he called her ‘Elizabeth’, must be in charge of brokering their deals. She’s certainly the gregarious sort, unlike the glaring small creature beside her.

“We’re destined for the island the Immar Clan has taken up residence on,” Anala says, using the information Ahsan got off the ledger that listed whom my family had been sold to.

Elizabeth nods. “That’s the one. But if you don’t mind my saying so, why not just board one of their vessels if you’re bringing them more. . .” she pauses, looking my way and then apparently deciding she doesn’t care, “. . . stock? Plenty of their ships have been moving people through this port for the last few years.”

Anala sighs. “Can I just pay you enough to not care?”

The vixen smirks. “Always,” she says. “We’ve even got some false barrels we can hide ‘em away in, if you need them to get past the ports without a collar check.”

“Not sure that’ll be necessary. . . yet,” Anala says uncertainly. “But we’ll keep it in mind.”

“You might want to,” the curvaceous fox cautions. “These island communities, they aren’t like the big cities. The air’s different there, the Shanivaar makes people more dangerous, more desperate. Only the most vicious Clans risk ventures out there. Most of these little operations pop up and fail after the first monsoon, you know. This place. . . the two Clans that’ve stuck it out there. . . they’re tough salts. It’s a tiny little city stranded in the middle of the ocean, and it’s all theirs. Captain Owo and I don’t risk much time landlocked there,” she gestures to the small, spotted man.

The little creature turns to regard us, his expression as sour as it was when we first arrived. “And we won’t this time, either. We don’t need to know your business there, but how long’s it going to take you? Do you need a return trip?”

Anala and I look to one another. “Yes,” I answer after a few moments. “Although I’m. . . not sure how long what we have to do there is going to take.”

“You’re the Captain?” Anala asks.

“Captain Owoduni to you, miss,” he corrects her, not seeming at all intimidated by the War Priestess, which is saying something even when she’s not snarling and barreling down on you with a sword. He holds up a hand with three fingers up. “Three days. My frigate will wait exactly three days for you. We’re full to the gills with cargo bound for Carvecian shores, and I don’t mind taking on a little extra work if the price is right,” he stresses that point, “but I’m not risking running afoul of the squalls that come down from the north this time of year. We can’t dawdle long in that port.”

“Is it far?” I ask.

“Half a day from here in our quick little gal,” the vixen assures us. “And we’ve got enough cargo we can unload there to make the most of a few days, but again, price better be right if we’re takin’ you lot along. Especially if you’re hinky.”

“I’m sure you’re used to that,” Anala says with an edge of sarcasm in her voice. “You must be confident in your ability to avoid suspicion with a name like that.”

“Oh, y’like that?” The vixen chuckles. “We do almost all our trade here in Huudari waters, and to most of the Clans it’s just another foreign name they can’t pronounce. Owo and I get a real kick outta it.”

“Well,” Anala sighs, going for her coin purse. “To business, then-“

The vixen’s hand snaps out to grab hers, and I see her bristle and stiffen. I’m briefly afraid she’s about to draw her sword, before the fox says in a quiet tone, “You don’t do business in here, lass. Unless you want to get jumped on the way out, yeah?”

Anala grinds her teeth. “I would welcome it at this p-“

“Okay,” I say, standing and putting my hands on Anala’s shoulders from behind. She stiffens first, then seems to realize I mean it to be comforting and just looks annoyed. “We should get going. Where can we meet you, miss?”

“At our ship,” Elizabeth replies, reaching over and grabbing for her tankard. “Crew’s readying her now, so you’re in luck. We sail tomorrow morning. You can’t miss her. Blue accents across the bow, elephant figurehead. ”

“Sounds. . . inconspicuous,” Anala says, in a dry tone that I’m now certain is sarcasm.

The vixen winks. “Now you’re gettin’ it.”

We eventually find Ermingild, nearly an hour later. Apparently his ‘business’ had taken him longer than expected. When we tell him we managed to arrange our own trip and who with, his reaction is. . . mixed.

“I’ve heard of them,” he says, rubbing his chin. “But only in passing. Reseller, mostly.” He blinks, then clarifies, “And by that, of course, I mean smuggler. Their operation moves things mostly back and forth between Mataa and Carvecia. . . primarily drugs and other goods the Western Continent has to pay obscene taxes on. They’re good at getting things out beneath the Clans’ noses.”

“Well that’s exactly what we need,” I point out. “So, good find?”

“I don’t know them as well as I’d like,” the rat says, then looks up at us. “But time is an object, yes? The vessel I would have recommended does not leave for several weeks. They’re waiting on a caravan to return. So this might be a better option. When will you return?” He pauses. “Will you return?”

“Why?” Raja demands, as ever being the first to voice his suspicion. “Your help’s gone way past just sticking it to the Clans, at this point. You followed us across the country and now you’re asking when we’ll be back. I want to know why. It can’t just be the bit of silver this one’s been giving you,” he jerks a thumb in Anala’s direction.

The rat sighs. “You have me,” he admits.

We all wait, braced, after that. I’ve been worried for a long time that the rat’s help has come with strings attached.

“Do you know how many of my kind are indentured in this city?” The rat asks. “Surely you passed many of them on the outskirts.”

“Far less than in most cities,” Anala says.

“And yet still, dozens,” Ermingild says quietly. His nose twitches and he stares out towards the skyline. “I know what you stole from the Sura Compound.”

A lot of our ears go up at that, and Raja looks ready to go at the rat. I put a hand on his chest, then look down at Ermingild.

“How?” I ask, simply.

“I saw it in your room,” he replies matter-of-factly. “And since then, traveling with you. It has a very distinctive handle.”

“You recognized it?” Ahsan asks, disbelievingly.

“So you know which tool it is?” Lavanya demands.

At this point we’d narrowed it down to three. We. . . were pretty sure, anyway. But a lot of them looked so similar.

The rat seems confused. “You don’t?” He asks.

“How do you know what it looks like?” Lavanya presses.

Ermingild unclasps his cloak, and tugs it over one shoulder, baring his neck. And there along his nape, I see something I’ve only ever seen once before. A rubbed-raw spot in his fur, where something clearly used to lay.

“You’ve had yours cut off,” I say, knowingly. The only other time in my life I’ve seen something similar was on Lochan.

“I went about it the hard way,” the rat says, slowly putting his cloak back on. “But not all of my kin are as able.” He looks around suddenly, then back at us, dropping his voice. “There are many of us. In this city. Some like me who can move about uncollared, and many who still bear the burden of a contract. But all of us yearn for one thing. . . freedom. You hold that promise in your hands.”

“We still don’t know how to use it,” Ahsan admits.

“You have half the field conquered, at least,” the rat says. “That’s farther than most have gotten. With time, and perhaps some luck, we could learn how to solve the other half. And I’d say we’re due some luck, wouldn’t you?”

“We’re going to the Shanivaar,” Anala says, firmly. “One of us has family there.”

“Then I wish you luck,” Ermingild says, looking amongst us plaintively. “But I also beg you. . . please return. And be sure that tool does not fall into the Clans’ hands again. There are so many who need it. And so many who would follow you, simply because you have it.”

“We can’t know what will happen,” Ahsan says, uncertainly.

“I think we all know the importance of what we carry,” I look to the faces of my comrades, then back to the rat, “but. . . thank you. Thank you for reminding us. We’ll do everything in our power to ensure it returns to the mainland, and the people here who need it.”

“We’ll be waiting,” Ermingild says. “Mataa will be waiting. Please come back. You carry hope in your arms.”

Our guide’s message was on my mind all night, and haunted my sleep. I’d always considered this quest I was on to find my family as selfish, when it came to dragging my comrades through hell. But they’d long since confirmed that they were with me, understood me, and wanted to help me.

But were there more people I was betraying, by focusing entirely on my own kin? We had a key that could potentially unlock so many lives. And I was literally taking it off into the ocean, to a lone speck of an island, to free one, possibly two people.

By now, I was past the point of no return. But I was still questioning myself late into the night. Uncertain, foreboding dreams filled my every hour, waking me in a cold sweat. I could hear the ocean, moving constantly, changing, always changing, everything rushing and ebbing and moving so fast. Crashing, crashing, crashing. I dreamt I was caught in the waters, inexorably being dragged out to sea, it was all happening so quickly and I was powerless to stop it.

And just moments before, I’d had my feet firmly planted on land, and everything had seemed so hopeful and promising. Mataa was behind me. The worst was behind me.

My soul rushed across the ocean, towards this place I knew only as a few lines of indecipherable text in a ledger. The very place my wife had wanted us to go to together, so long ago. As a family, chasing a better future, for us and for our son.

If I’d only gone with her.

If I’d only given up on my stubborn pride, my cowardice and fears of the unknown, and gone with her.

If I’d only gone with her. With my. . . son.

The island is there in my dreams, a verdant dot of green on an endless blue plain. I fly across the ocean towards it, the clouds lifting around me, the ocean rushing beneath me. I can see him there, standing in a field of flowers. Red flowers.

I’m only dreaming of the Divine because I worked the Plantation, I remind myself. Aren’t I?

I can almost make him out amongst the tossing waves of green and red. His golden fur. His eyes. . . one the color of his mother’s. . . one the color of mine. He’s older now. He smiles at me.

And then, I’m choking. My breath leaves me all at once and the hard, unyielding pain of something digs into my throat-

I wake turned into my collar, the metal not quite as tight against my neck as it had been in my dream, but enough that I have to sit up and suck in an enormous breath, and feel the air moving in and out of my lungs.

Ahsan doesn’t wake, but I hear him stir beside me, tightening the arm he has around my midsection. Slowly, I slip back down beside him and settle in close against him. We’re sleeping on a woven straw mat again, like on the Plantation. It’s all the rooming house we’re staying at had to offer.

For some reason, it’s comforting. It reminds me of the nights we got to know one another, and I first realized it was alright to take comfort in his presence.

I wrap my arm around him as well, and bury my muzzle against his neck. I remind myself again and again that it was just a dream, that the fear I’m still feeling, the pain I’m still imagining, is not real.

I lie close to Ahsan, and tell myself that for the rest of the night. But I can still hear the ocean, beckoning to me.

The Inconspicuous is a large ship by any reckoning, but certainly not the largest at port. Still, to an inland man like me, it’s a breathtaking sight. I’ve never even seen a vessel with one mast, let alone three. We follow a few men carrying crates up onto the main deck, and for a while, we’re all simply lost, watching the flurry of activity taking place.

Eventually, thankfully, we’re lead below decks. . . far below, as it turns out. . . to where we’ll be staying for the short trip. It hadn’t been terribly hard to make it on to the vessel past the Clan guards that patrolled the docks here, with Anala by our side. They hadn’t even asked for papers, just waved us on by.

The vixen assures us it will not be like that when we make it to Shanivaar, and gives us a preview of how we’ll be making it off the ship. It’s innovative, really. They’ve designed several large pickling barrels (or at least that’s definitely what they smell like) with a false top that can be packed with just about anything, while someone hides in the main portion of the barrel beneath.

Elizabeth explains that they usually use fish, since the smell overwhelms the scent of anyone hiding inside. Which makes me wonder how often, and why, they’ve had to employ these in the past.

Thankfully, we don’t have to get into the barrels until we make it to the island. Which apparently won’t take long, it isn’t far off the coast. Elizabeth says the weather’s even favorable right now, so we should make it there by the afternoon.

The Captain, whom I’ve learned by now is a type of cat from Northern Mataa called a ‘Serval’, comes down to join us as we’re getting settled in. He looks as ill-spirited as ever, and somehow manages to be intimidating as he walks past us all, despite only coming up to my mid-chest.

“Mind yourselves,” he warns us. “We weren’t exactly prepared to take on living cargo down here, so it won’t be comfortable, but this’s where you’re staying in case we’re boarded. In the event that happens,” he stomps the ground suddenly, and one of the planks beneath his feet clatters, “false boards here. There’s a small crawlspace beneath that you’d all better be able to fit into, if you want to live. Because if the Clans find you here, you’re stowaways, got it? I don’t know you.”

He holds up a hand, and three fingers, once again. “Three days,” he repeats, “and that includes the day we get to port. Whatever trouble you’re making there, be quick about it, and don’t expect us to get involved. This is business, pure and simple. You aren’t our responsibility.”

His little tail thrashes, and I catch Raja smirking out of the corner of my eye. The small cat has all of our lives in his hands, so I’m not nearly as amused by his antics. All I can do is hope we chose the right ship.

The voyage is unpleasant, in that none of us have ever been on a ship before and nearly all of us suffer from some form of seasickness, but I’ll spare the details. It’s also pretty uneventful save that, especially since we can’t come above decks. Honestly, given the nature of my nightmares the night before, I’m thankful for that.

We aren’t even able to watch as we approach the island. All we get is a warning from above, followed by a lot of sounds of activity after the men sight land in the distance. I’m left to imagine what that must look like. The voyage of a ‘stowaway’ is not terribly scenic.

The second warning comes with a boarish shout from the vixen. “Barrels, folks!” She yells down. “Port’s bustlin’ today. You’re not gonna casually stroll past that many guards, trust me.”

“How long do we have?” Anala asks, being the fittest amongst us. Apparently she’s been on a ship or two before, and she’s also got a good constitution, so she’s been relatively fine.

“Half an hour at most,” the vixen says. “Then we start unloading. You’ll want to be packed in by then. Save you, lass,” she nods to Anala. “Those barrels are headed for one of the dockside storehouses. You can meet them there.”

Anala looks to all of us, and hefts her pack. “I’m going to head up, then,” she says.

“You’re going to help pack us into these damned things, is what you mean,” I mutter.

“. . . that does seem wise,” she agrees.

“Everyone?”

She and I, and Lavanya and Raja, all turn to see Ahsan standing over one of our packs. A very important one.

“Oh. . . .” Lavanya murmurs.

“I’m not sure we should bring it,” Ahsan says quietly, looking down at the carefully bundled tools. Ermingild’s words ring through my mind.

“Considering we’re headed right back into Clan territory,” Raja says, scratching at his neck ruff, “the hyena might have a point.”

“If something happens. . . .” Ahsan trails off, then sighs. “I don’t know. I’m not sure they’re any safer here. What do you all think?”

Silence reigns amongst our small group. All eyes rest on the bundle, humbly wrapped in old, weathered camel hide. I can feel the weight of this decision pressing down on all of us.

“We shouldn’t take it on the island,” I say at length, gaining the attention of everyone. “This place is a small community, right? Small is good for some things. . . finding someone, for one, and I’m counting on that. But it could also be a lot more dangerous. We can’t get lost in a city like we did when we fled the Sura Compound. If we end up needing to go on the run again, we don’t want to have to worry about losing or misplacing the tools.”

“But are they safe here?” Lavanya asks.

“We’ll hide them,” Ahsan says suddenly, toeing his way across the floor for a few moments before he stomps on one of the hollow boards the Captain had pointed out to us.

“Yeah,” I agree. “That’ll do.”

“They know that spot,” Lavanya points out. “You don’t think they’ll check it?”

“Captain said it was for hiding people,” I say. “I’m willing to bet they have other areas they’re not telling us about for contraband. I don’t think they’ll be searching it here in port, and even if they do, to most people it’s just a dusty old bag of odd tools.”

“It’s a risk,” Anala says, helping Ahsan pry up the board. “But less of one than it would be to take them back into Clan territory.”

I nod at that. “We don’t know how to use them yet,” I say, “although now at least we know which one is the breaker. . . but if we get my family off this island, it’ll have to be with their collars on. We don’t have time to figure this thing out in a matter of days.”

Ermingild had been good enough to finally make clear to us which tool was used for physically breaking the collars. It had in fact been one of the three we’d narrowed down, but not the one I’d have chosen. It was smaller than most of the others, and had some kind of gem-lined edge in the small section meant for cutting. The whole thing was blackened from the forge so we hadn’t noticed the gem edge. Anala had called them ‘diamonds’.

I watched Lavanya carefully set the bundled tools down, knowing everything they represented. If the worst happened, those tools were our legacy. . . the only impact on the world we’d leave behind after all of our struggles this past year, and for many of us, our entire lives.

Raja’s lifelong defiance, Lavanya’s will to survive, Anala’s war, Ahsan’s hope for freedom, and my oath as a father.

Everything we’d fought and bled for. Hidden away in the belly of this frigate, waiting for us to bring it back home, and start a revolution.