As dawn broke over the eastern sea, Rugr left his horse tethered in an overgrown field on the outskirts of Balta and headed into the port on foot. The city stirred slowly, its streets quiet save for the occasional bark of stray dogs. Rugr passed shuttered stalls and grimy alleys; his steps were quick and deliberate.

  The Salty Mermaid loomed ahead, its faded sign creaking in the morning breeze. A lewd image of a succubus adorned the placard—a grotesquely exaggerated figure with a wicked smile, mocking any notion of subtlety. The establishment was seedy even by Balta's standards, but Rugr knew it well enough. In a city of merchants and mariners, its anonymity was an asset.

  He entered quickly, the bell above the door jangling before he could silence it. Behind the bar, a man sorted bottles and wiped the counter with a rag so filthy it likely spread more dirt than it removed. Rugr approached, his cowl pulled low. The bartender had served him before, though Rugr doubted he’d remember. He was more familiar with the man’s wife—a sharp-tongued woman known to loosen her lips when drunk, a trait Rugr hoped to avoid today.

  “I’m looking for the captain of the Merakai,” Rugr said.

  The bartender paused, sizing him up. “Sorry, mate, but I wouldn’t be much of a proprietor if I just gave out information about guests to any ol’ sod who walked in, now would I?”

  Rugr’s voice dropped to a low growl, deliberate and steady. “He’s expecting me.”

  The man’s confidence wavered. Likely deciding it was too early for trouble, he nodded toward the stairs. “Second floor. Last room on the right.”

  “Thank you,” Rugr said, turning toward the stairs. He paused briefly and added, “And get a new rag.”

  The bartender glanced down at the grimy cloth in his hand, frowning as understanding dawned. Rugr was halfway up the stairs when he muttered, “Yar.”

  The hallway above was lined with doors, with muffled sounds of stirring guests behind some of them. As Rugr approached the captain’s room, the door opened, and a middle-aged woman stepped out, clutching a threadbare blue dress to her chest. She carried a pair of worn sandals in one hand, her face flushed as she mumbled an apology and shuffled past. Rugr stepped aside, barely glancing at her sagging figure as she disappeared down the hall.

  Inside, the room reeked of stale alcohol and sweat. The captain lay sprawled across the bed, snoring lightly, the remnants of the previous night’s indulgences scattered around him. Rugr moved a chair from the desk, turning it backward and straddling it near the bed. He rested his forearms across the backrest, his sharp gaze fixed on the man.

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  “Captain,” Rugr said, his voice loud enough to cut through the haze of sleep. The man stirred but didn’t wake. Rugr eyed a pitcher on the nightstand, briefly considering dumping its contents over the captain’s head. It was a close call, but he decided against starting the meeting on the wrong foot.

  “Captain,” he said again, shaking a small purse of coins. The clinking sound was enough. The man groaned, raising his head to squint at Rugr through bleary eyes.

  “I see you’ve brought something to wake me,” the captain muttered, his voice rough.

  “There’s been a delay,” Rugr said, his tone clipped. “You’ll need to hold the ship for two days.”

  The captain sat up slowly, rubbing his face. “That’s no small thing, friend. I’ve got places to be and goods to deliver. People don’t like it when you’re late—it damages my reputation. Costs me money.”

  The emphasis on money was deliberate, and the expectation of compensation was clear.

  Rugr’s expression didn’t change. “The original price was more than fair. That’s the price I’ll pay. I need time to retrieve the cargo. Assuming I can find a wagon, I’ll return by dawn after next.”

  The captain studied him, weighing his options. Another party had already paid handsomely to take claim of the cargo, and greed whispered temptations in his ear. But Rugr was not a man to trifle with. The captain knew better than to push too far. This job was simple: take the box, drop it in the deepest waters, and forget it existed. For that, he’d been paid handsomely—twice. The fact that the box would not see the ocean floor mattered little to him—the additional coin would buy a lot of booze and women.

  “Aye, it was a fair deal,” the captain said, leaning back against the headboard. “A lot of coin for sinking a box. That’s still the plan, isn’t it?”

  “Aye,” Rugr confirmed. “Deepwater. Keep the crew in the dark. The fewer who know, the better. And the money is for your silence. Remember, Captain, a dead man can’t spend his riches.”

  The captain gave a dry laugh, though Rugr’s words sent a shiver down his spine. He knew it wasn’t a threat—just a statement of fact. With work like this, forgetting quickly was a survival skill. Women and drink helped.

  “It’ll be done,” the captain said. “Be back when you say. The box comes on board, and we set sail. And, seriously, friend—try not to be late again.”

  Rugr stood to leave, his movements deliberate. The captain considered asking about the young woman rumored to be traveling with him but decided against it. This deal already stank of secrets, and the fewer questions asked, the better.

  As Rugr reached the door, the captain called, “Rugr.”

  He stopped, turning back.

  “Keep your eyes open, and your back will be safe.”

  Rugr nodded, his expression unreadable, and strode out of the room.

  The captain's words were common, but Rugr knew they were said with intent. Before, he had merely considered the possibility of trouble. Now, he expected it.