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  She headed up to a trade shop less than half a mile away from the main market square, in a back alley, but close to one of the main arteries of the city. The hour was early, but having reached the place, the girl knocked on the door without hesitation. Thud, pause, thud, thud, thud, pause, thud, pause, thud, thud, thud. The door opened, and through the crack she heard a faint whisper.

  - Of what use can the trading brethren be? - The wording was innocent enough not to arouse suspicion, yet so unusual that it could not be mistaken for anything else.

  - Winter boots would be of service, because water is being bound by ice.

  - We have only cramps left.

  - This is even better because I know a good medicine for cramps. - The door opened after this ridiculous exchange, and the girl was pulled inside. It was dark in the room but her eyesight adjusted immediately. Before her stood a man of medium height, elderly, with greying temples, but holding himself straight and of a stout posture. With unbuttoned shirt and wool trousers with braces the man did not look like one, whom she was supposed to find.

  - Young lady from Daelwynn? Sent by our mutual friends. - Merchant neither asked nor stated.

  - Who am I dealing with?

  The man grinned and bowed somewhat mockingly.

  - Master John, apothecary and dealer of ointments, potions and creams for all purposes. Breiig for mutual friends.

  The girl curtsied in reply.

  - Hanna von Blitzen, in search of her poor devil father, who’s gone missing in Smiteverden. For mutual friends Iskandriel.

  - Nice to meet you, even though the circumstances are not the most pleasant. I was not expecting a guest from the city fathers. Especially since this eastern screen was put around the port. So what brings you to me, comrade?

  - I am to take you home. Together with each man or woman that you point out as sufficiently meritorious and useful for further service. In the port a ship is waiting for you.

  - The one which breached the blockade last night and entered the port in utter darkness?

  - Yes. The same.

  - A real captain you have contracted. Not only a daredevil but also skilful enough to transform his courage into action. - Breiig watched her carefully. Almost seeminglessly changing a professional conversation to a more direct, affable one. Iskandriel withstood the look, and obliged without missing a beat.

  - Do you doubt my organizational skills? Then don’t. Collect the people and we set sail this evening. Before anyone realizes we will already be safely in Haaven. We will sail in quietly under an exotic flag and straight from the port we can set off to Daelwynn.

  - You do not waste time, I give you that. So be it. Wait for me in my shop. In half an hour I’ll come back and I'll tell you when we'll be ready to leave. On the table there is white wine and cold tea. In the bookcase there are books. Can you read?

  Iskandriel snorted. Breiig’s directness put her off balance, and his last remark was simply a drop that overfilled the cup of her anger. She stepped into the private office behind the merchant’s shop, took one of the books from the bookcase and having sat down behind his desk ostentatiously opened it on a page with illustrations, all the while staring defiantly at the man.

  - I wi-wi-will look at the pictures, if your lo-lo-lordship allows.

  - There is no need for nerves. I did not mean to offend.

  The agent shrugged, reached for the carafe, sniffed the contents, drank straight from the vessel, hawked up, spat and wiped her mouth with a sleeve in a sweeping motion.

  - Th-th-this is how we a-a-re, si-si-simpletons.

  Sitting around in a trade shop with no obvious escape routes was not a part of her plan, but she did not want to abandon her pose at this moment. The first round was won and she did not intend to diminish her satisfaction through idle discussion with Breiig, who only shook his head disapprovingly, and then seeing that the conversation was finished, turned to leave. Iskandriel replied with a very obscene gesture, which the old agent probably did not see.

  The girl poured a little wine into one of the glasses standing next to a decanter. It tasted sweetish, but crisp. The agent was not a connoisseur, but she easily recognised the wine’s exquisite origin. This wine could only come from Zirro. Agent Breiig clearly indulged himself with Daelwynn's taxpayers money. She was not a snitch, but embezzlement of funds for his own pleasure and exceeding spending was simply a crime exposing other comrades in other places to unnecessary danger. Moreover, at first sight she disliked the Smiteverden resident.

  Absent-mindedly she began to look through the images in the book she took from the shelf. The book treated about the flora and fauna of the eastern continent, commonly called The Ipion. Descriptions of unknown animals, particularly large and dangerous absorbed her to such an extent that she did not even notice when three quarters of an hour passed. The front door opened wide and right from the doorstep Breiig’s low, hoarse voice could be heard.

  - Are you still there?

  - I am, I am. You’re back quickly. How are things?

  - I visited two of my friends. They have already notified whom they needed and we will meet in the afternoon in one of the harbour taverns. We should go there soon, and you will bring there this captain of yours. We will tell him to keep the ship ready to sail at the right time, and to send some of his trusted men to pick up the luggage of our comrades from the pub. When everyone gathers we will go to the ship, set sail and take off.

  The plan seemed to be a good one. Iskandriel would prefer to take action according to her own rules, but could not find any point, with which she could not agree. Reluctantly, she got up from her desk, finished her wine in one gulp from the cup and reluctantly put the book back on the shelf of the bookcase. Not having anything to do, which would allow her to delay the need for a decision, she turned to Breiig and looked him straight in the eyes.

  - So be it. Just remember, since I'm in charge of the mission now, I require absolute obedience.

  - You can count on me. I have already been in charge for far too long. Now I long for a quiet evening in a pub with a decent Daelwynn beer. Time to go home.

  - Well, what are you waiting for? Head upstairs and start packing up this brothel you call an outpost. Take only the most essential items, gold and jewellery. Leave all other valuables and clothes that might hamper the escape. Burn what you need to burn and let’s go.

  Breiig nodded and obediently walked up the stairs. Iskandriel started igniting a large, ornate fireplace, and then began to put beside it all the books and papers that she could find. The merchant joined her after a few minutes. He threw down a stuffed travel bag by the door and began sorting the documents. Books that did not contain codes or notes landed on the side pile, and all the rest of the papers in the fire. When everything has been reviewed, Iskandriel changed him as a stoker, and the old agent began to carry down the rest of the papers from upstairs. In two hours they were finished with the closure of the intelligence residency having burnt any evidence of its existence.

  Iskandriel, happy with an impeccably carried out operation, swept the trade shop with one last look and gave the signal to move out. Breiig slung the luggage packed in a sailor’s fashion over his shoulder and muttering something under his breath about wasting public assets, which will fall into the hands of the enemy, came out to the street. The girl took his travel bag nearly immediately after setting foot on the street, saying that a stranger with luggage is much less conspicuous, and a local, respected merchant with luggage heading to the port can cause unhealthy sensation. They walked close to each other, but not together, so as not to arouse suspicion. All of these precautions proved to be futile, because not even two hundred yards further their way was barred by a swarthy man with a close-cropped beard.

  - Miss Iskandriel, I presume?

  The girl startled, but before she could take any action, two nasty young men smiling nastily turned from the nearest stand ready to shoot their crossbows, and she felt a blade of a dagger stabbing her gently in the
back. In the corner of her eye she saw a sturdy man, dressed as a docker, putting two nasty-looking guns to Breiig’s spine. A man with the goatee approached slowly to the agent and grabbed her chin with a lazy motion.

  - You will come with me, birdie. And do not try any tricks, because Larsen is just waiting to tickle you, and besides him there are still half a dozen shooters no less eager to plant something in you.

  A murmur of laughter from Larsen and his stalwart companion summed up the sleazy ambiguity. Iskandriel wondered whether the attackers were actually so determined to start a shooting in the centre of the city, but if they were, any attempt to escape would cost her life, and she did not want to find out about a possible decision making error in a way so final. Resigned, she gave in and let them quietly bring her to the guardhouse, where she was separated from Breiig, who was immediately taken to the interrogation room.

  Guards were not overly violent, though it was hard to call their behaviour courtly. They treated her harshly, but did not beat her pointlessly, limiting themselves only to routine jabs and kicks. Besides, they did not rape her right there at the guardhouse, which could even be considered a unique sign of respect. On the other hand, perhaps they felt that they will have their chances later, because it looked like she would have to spend some time in custody. For a start, she was to soften overnight in an extraction cell. After a brief conversation with the clerk she was escorted to an oubliette, stinking horribly, but dry, in which with considerable astonishment she met the captain of the ship, aboard which she sailed in. Kristoff sat against the wall and bluntly gaped at a small barred window placed level to a side street, or rather in fact an alley, where all the impurities from the headquarters of the municipal guard landed. Seeing the compost heap by the window, the agent ceased to be surprised about the pervasive stink.

  They were both chained to the wall by the ankles and wrists, but the chains were long enough to allow each of them a few steps. The first few attempts of accosting the smuggler failed. The captain was sitting against the wall, his hands covered his knees and completely ignored any communication attempts made by Iskandriel. Finally, when she knelt beside him and began to shake his arm, he sprang up and looked at her hatefully and croaked out with constrained fury

  - Can you, young lady, explain to me why a lamebrained copper took over my own ship and enforced an arrest on me?

  - Um... I was also taken in custody, was I not? Besides, why are you so sure that it was my fault that you were brought here? Was I the one smuggling illicit goods?

  - I have done my share of dark deeds, but I have never stuck my nose in political affairs. And my ship was interned for anti-state activity, and not for smuggling. Had the young lady said plainly that we sail with a secret mission, I'd probably be able to give the young lady some advice.

  - I can handle myself. - She stood over still chained Kristoff rubbing her sore wrists. The captain looked dumbfounded at the empty shackles lying beside her. The girl impressed him, but he did not lose his cold blood, knowing in the face of new evidence, that the conversation evolved into negotiations that are likely to have a key significance for his future existence.

  - Then save yourself on your own and while you’re on it find another fool for a captain, because you will not sail out of Smiteverden on my ship.

  - Okay, I give you that. What do you want in return?

  - The truth.

  - Sorry but that I can not offer.

  - Beautiful, beautiful... I wonder how the lady plans to escape from the city. The northern path is probably not really an option for the young lady, otherwise you would try to get in here this way as well.

  - Let’s make a deal: I will answer those questions which I can, and the rest I will pay off together with your silence.

  - Pay off? With what?

  - A privateer’s patent.

  - Really? Of which state?

  - The Free City Daelwynn.

  - It is indeed free to joke. Daelwynn is located in the hinterland. It doesn’t even have any allied ports now, since even in Haaven you are not welcome.

  - It’s always better to be tried as a soldier than as a smuggler.

  - To be shot instead of hanged? Please explain to me, young lady, how is one superior to the other?

  - Firstly, I think it's time to start calling each other directly by name, as all prisoners and criminals are equals everywhere... and you sir put enough venom in calling me a “lady” it will be easier for me to listen to you without it. Besides, I think we both know that the names we have previously presented to each other are false.

  - What a sudden and unexpected change of topic... but let your will be done. So what is your real name?

  - Iskandriel. Iskandriel of Daelwynn.

  - Iskandriel... - he weighed her name on his tongue and tasted it in his mouth. - Somehow strange. But... suitable for a witch. Especially the one with a need to shine everywhere. Isn’t this so, Sparkles?

  - If you just have to twist it, I prefer Sparks, if you will. I am much more likely to set you on fire than to flash you. And if you wanted to insult me this “witch” of yours, your shot couldn’t have been further off target. I had heard worse things and more than once too. In my line of work it is my daily bread, so to speak.

  The captain looked at her intently, and his eyes appeared to glow with a sudden glare of enlightenment, then he pointed an accusing finger at her.

  - You are not a simple spy. You are a special forces agent...

  - There is no way to deny such a splendid deduction.

  - This father of yours, is he one too? - Iskandriel silently nodded in confirmation. The smuggler smiled sadly and shook his head as if incredulous of his own naivety. He looked at her, and his smile took on a mysterious and somewhat sinister expression - Nice to meet then, Sparks, spy from Daelwynn. - The captain stepped back and bowed in front of her in a slightly mocking, but quite correct courtly fashion, jingling his chains. - I am Kristoff von Truanpago the captain of the “Thunder Led”, the best and most wanted smuggler of the East Sea and the Inner Ocean.

  - I know. - The girl grinned a cheeky smile, and Kristoff was simply rendered speechless with astonishment. - I was very lucky that you just sailed to port. Otherwise, I would have to hire some dilettante. Did it not surprise you that in just a few hours you got rid of the whole load of zemnas and at a good price too? Who do you think put up the money for it?

  - What did you need my ship for? - The sailor sat down on the stone floor quite impressed. For the next few moments he listened carefully to the girl’s story adding from time to time his own observations.

  - I had to discreetly get into Smiteverden, cut off by sea blockade, reach Breiig, who was for many years the head of the Daelwynnian intelligence network, here in the far, cold north, and then safely extract him and all his most distinguished, and above all, most useful people...

  - I guess Breiig and his men were involved over the last few years in destabilizing the situation, and hence it is them one should be thanking for the secession of Smiteverden from the Trade Guild Union and the subsequent blockade of its harbour by the Eastern Company. I think I should thank him personally for his deeds, because he single-handedly tied the majority of this organization's military potential for more than half a year. I will not deny that the last half a year was extremely lucrative for me thanks to all this.

  - ...and when push came to shove, I was to take back with me anyone I could, before the local authorities catch on to the fact that the current dispute with Eastern Company had been likely their work.

  - Actually, I'm not interested in politics. Tell me what happened next.

  - My mission began triumphantly. I came to Haaven as a travelling herbalist, from there I got on a scheduled schooner to Trogar. It’s the informal capital of the pirates and smugglers of the Karahamian Islands.

  - I know. That’s where I'm from.

  - After getting off the ship, in the back of a dingy pub away from the city centre, I kicked off the women'
s clothing and turned into a young Karahamian tradesman on a trip to the Northern Kaesary, looking for a quick ship sailing across the Inner Sea. When the vessel I found sailed back to Haaven, I could proceed with the main part of my plan, having gained confidence that through my elaborate evasions all agents, tracking me in that merchant city when I first arrived there, were confounded and lost. Still in the harbour, I changed into a distraught daughter of a Kaesarian merchant begging the captains for help to gain passage to Smiteverden and to take her poor father out of there, and the young tradesman disappeared in the morning mist hovering over the harbour docks.

  - And then you met Hans.

  - No, not yet. I’ve been in Haaven for three days already, when I met him, but the delay in my travels paid off doubly. I was able to recruit a contact in the person of an aspiring merchant in serious need of a quick and substantial cash influx, whom you’ve met already, as he was the one buying your goods, but above all... Above all, I managed to get to captain Kristoff Truanpago, the most reliable and most cunning smuggler of the Thousand Isles Ocean.

  - Don’t be cheeky.

  - Now, how could I? Thus, after brief negotiations, I teamed up with the famous islander, having an infamous reputation as a smuggler and a knockabout, but also, and most importantly, an excellent sailor. And his ship...

  - Stop it. There is no time for foolery now. Think about what we can do next.

  - We will do as follows: We will open the cell door...

  - Nice... And how are you going to do that?