The inn's mahogany door creaked open, the hinges screeching unintelligible profanity. Isla peered left at the arrivals, her gaze spotting Rydin's form. His sagging shoulders and downcast eyes proved he failed his quest. Eve followed him, her worried gaze trained on Rydin's dispirited mood.

"Find anything?" Isla asked.

"No," Rydin retorted, turning his sulking face away.

"Rydin."

His body tensed, but he refused to return her attention.

"We tried the guards," Eve intervened. "But they refused to assist. I'm afraid without any authority we won't receive a reaction from them."

Her gut had been right. On the surface, the patrolling guards provided peace but the rich oligarchy defined their actions. Why would they defend commoners and the poor? They gained nothing from the weak and helpless, except the perfect scapegoat for the missing tribute to the Gods.

Isla swung her head towards Squirt. "The gang responsible for the kidnappings has a scheduled shipment soon. We're planning to check the docks for the kids. Rydin, are you coming?"

He turned towards her, his gaze flickering between her and the shelves of mugs lining the wall. "Yeah," he mumbled.

She rolled her eyes. What was his problem now? They had larger, more pressing worries than his self-esteem. "Let's go," Isla snapped.

Squirt gulped the remaining contents of his mug then released a long burp before replying, "Aye, ma'am."

Leaving the Quiet Fox and Eve behind, they followed Squirt to the shipyard. The pungent smell of fresh fish and sea salt mingled into one heavy odor. The stink carried, coating the threaded nets and large wooden crates lining the dock's edge. Without nose struggling humor, the dockworkers hurled barrels, boxes and fishing gear alongside the water. Squirt had been right, late morning provided the best cover, but it also contained the worst smell.

Isla brushed a stray lock back beneath her hood, her gaze focused but alert. She spotted several guards mingling with the residents, their chain-mail glinting in the morning light. They protected inanimate objects but not the living. How sad.

Squirt slowed his pace, stopping near the final defending stone aqueduct against Detra's surging ocean. Luckily, the minor island opposite the port protected Lutenberg's rich gulf from the frequent quaking waves and unbalanced water levels. From afar, the land mass's distant shape could be seen. Westward, against the mountain's edge stood a large warehouse where workers strutted to and fro with goods from the arriving ships.

"See that corner dock?" Squirt whispered. His eyes darted around, watching the working men. "There be a hidden dock past the corner. The place leads to the dark alleys, that be Lutenberg's worst place ta be. Me guess, they plan to load durin' the night ontae that metal dogged schooner."

Isla scanned the shoreline, the metal-coated ship breathing steady upon the waves. "Can we get eyes on the children?" Isla asked, leaning against the aqueduct's damp, stone column.

"Eh, be tough, guards at the gates."

"Would a distraction pull them away?"

He shook his head. "Nay, not likely, ma'am. The city guards would be a problem."

Did they have to gamble? Isla crossed her arms, her eyes flicking between each passerby. There had to be some way to learn which children were kidnapped. If Callum couldn't identify them himself and they lacked concrete evidence, then they risked fighting blind. Truthfully, a battle not worth fighting.

"Ah, but, I migh' ha'e an idea. A bribe may do the deed," Squirt speculated.

Isla nodded. "Then let's split up. I'll find out when the ship's leaving, you and Rydin check on the kids. We meet back at the inn after we're done. Got it?"

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

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

"I understand," he muttered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh? Why is that, miss?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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