The dock wards are the southernmost portion of the city, up against the natural harbor created by what Flynt calls the Graceful Sound. As we walk, the ocean smell gets stronger: the salty, fishy scent of a working dock district.

“It’s very different from Mornrise, I’ll tell you,” Jonas says, shaking his head at the scenery. “There, everyone wants to live by the water. Here… I’m not so sure…”

And he has a point. The clean streets and upstanding townhomes have shifted into run-down buildings, dirty warehouses, and dank, dark alleyways. The snow has largely turned to slush this close to the water and it’s dirty, as if it fell weeks ago. The people look tired and rough, with many carrying weapons. It’s not all that unusual to see people with some kind of weaponry on their person— I’m walking around with a bow, while Meg has her massive sword— but they’re typically either dressed like we are or they’re part of the official city watch. It’s very different down here where most of the inhabitants seem to be waiting for the next ship that’s going out and the trouble it may find.

There are also kids running around, dozens of them: dirty kids with dark expressions that make them look far older than they are. My heart hurts for them.

“Let’s all stay close together,” Flynt says.

Jonas winces. “Was definitely planning to. This is sobering me up.”

“They’re following us,” Tyrus observes. “In the alleys. On the rooftops. Spotters.”

“They’re probably with the local syndicate,” Meg says. “They’re waiting to see what we’ll do. We’re not the typical visitors to this part of the city.”

“People have to come to the docks, though, right?” I ask. “For fish markets, to collect shipments… it can’t all be a hive of scum and villainy.”

“The western ward is where you do all those things. Eastern ward is a little different. Every city has its crime. Oosal just wears its a little more clearly than some of the others in the country,” Flynt says. “The watch largely leaves the east ward to take care of itself. It’s why I was a little surprised by the post.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Meg asks.

Flynt shrugs. “I thought you all knew.”

“We’re going to have to have a conversation about the sorts of things you share with the group and the sorts of things you keep to yourself,” she says.

“The locations of organized crime in the city he shares, and theories about the non-existence of giants he keeps to himself?” I ask.

“More or less,” she agrees.

“I honestly thought you all would know. We don’t make a secret of it.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Tyrus says, shaking his head and waving a hand. “What we need to do is figure out who to talk to so we can: one, figure out where this is happening; two, make sure we’re not stepping on anyone’s toes; and three— and I can’t stress this enough— make sure we’re not stepping on anyone’s toes. The last thing we need is to walk into a site that the local crime lord is using for their disappearances.”

“It’s not as bad as all that,” Flynt says. “It’s just rough around the edges.”

“You’re just about the last person I’m going to trust on that. Sorry, Book Boy.” Tyrus takes something out of one of his pouches, wandering over toward one of the alleyways. He gestures for us to stay put.

“What’s he doing?” Jonas stage whispers.

“I think he’s finding a source,” I whisper back.

Indeed, our rogue has gotten the attention of one of the kids, who sticks to the shadows, though every now and then, we see a small hand strike out gesturing directions. Tyrus gives the kid a coin, says something else to them, then heads back our way. As he does, a call comes from the alley— it sounds like a gull’s cry— and then the kids very conspicuously pull away from the rooftops, disappearing back into the shadows.

Stolen story; please report.

“You got rid of them,” Jonas says.

“I gave them the information they needed,” Tyrus corrects. “They were here to find out what we were doing, I told them and bribed some directions out of the kid.”

“How do you know they’re real?” Flynt asks.

“I guess I don’t, but at least it’s something to go on. I don’t think Lirah Kartesian is going to make a big deal out of adventurers coming to stop the disappearances of her own people just so long as we stick to ourselves and don’t interfere with anything she’s got going on.”

“How do we do that?” Jonas asks.

“Just follow my lead, you’ll be fine.”

We do, and Tyrus takes us through narrow winding alleys that look like Dickensian London slums. Okay, they’re maybe not quite that bad, but they’re certainly not great, and I’m reminded that nowhere is as idyllic as it wants to seem. Even in my fantasies, apparently, though I’m putting this squarely in the Fuck, It’s Real column.

Tyrus leads us to a partially collapsed warehouse not far off from the waterfront with two very large people standing outside. One must be half-orkish, and I am further confused by how Flynt could be mistaken for the same given the comparison. This guy is huge, we’re talking more than seven feet tall with biceps probably as big around as my waist, medium green skin, and much more pronounced tusks, though his hair is a sandy brown color. The other is human, by my estimation, with fair skin and white-blond hair, and is also bigger than Flynt. The half-orkish man growls at Flynt on our way up.

“You Tyrus?” the human asks, peering down at our dwarven companion, who nods but makes no move to further introduce himself or us.

“We were expecting sewers,” Tyrus says, his voice lower and gruffer than usual. “Is that not the case?”

The human shakes his head. “The disappearances have taken place around this part of the district. We’ve traced them to this building and sent guys in a couple days ago. We haven’t heard back. It looks like some kind of tunnel system that was unearthed when we started tearing down the buildings in this area. Boss thought we should get some experts in. You’re experts?”

“We’re the type you’re looking for,” Tyrus replies. “We’ll find out what’s going on.”

“See that you do. And we expect your discretion with the city. You understand?”

“Sure. Anything we see that raises any eyebrows we didn’t actually see.”

The blond man taps his nose at that and nods, taking a clear look at each of us before he waves a hand to his companion and takes the lead down the street into the fog. Tyrus lets out a tense breath as soon as they disappear and looks back at all of us.

“That was Gretz Kartesian himself,” he whispers, voice maintaining that low tenor. “His mother’s top lieutenant. We do not want to fuck this up, or we’ll find ourselves really deep in it.”

“Good to know,” Flynt says, his jaw tight as he looks around at us. “Let’s venture into the dark, crumbling building, then, shall we?”

We pick our way through the detritus and inside, carefully sliding down a slope into what would be the dilapidated building’s basement level. There we find a tunnel at the base of the side wall that angles downward into the earth. It looks like it was burrowed by something large— large enough that we can fit if not comfortably then at least easily.

I shudder and pull my cloak closer. “What could make that?”

Meg frowns, inspecting the edges. “Any number of things. It could have been an earth moving spell. Could also have been giant rats, direroaches…”

“Excuse me, direroaches?”

She nods. “Roaches the size of a wagon. We do not want to tangle with more than one of those at a time. Their carapace is brutal to get through.”

I shudder again. “Gross. Just gross.” I can barely deal with sewer roaches without gagging and wanting to burn down the house. I can’t imagine something nearly the size of my Kia. That’s just… not okay.

“So. Who wants to go first?” Tyrus asks. We all just look at him.

“You’re the one with the strong investigative talents,” Meg says. “Isn’t that how you were selling yourself to us?”

“Oh, sure,” he mutters, frowning at the tunnel. “I was thinking a little more like vault cracking and so on, but I can take the lead down the damp, smelly hole.”

“Good. I’ll have your back. Keira, you take the rear. Casters in the middle.” Meg pulls the torch off the back of her belt and lights it before unsheathing her sword. She then ushers Tyrus in, following close behind.

“Yes ma’am,” I mutter, falling to the back and nocking an arrow to have at the ready just in case. I’m still amazed at how natural it feels, as if I’ve been an archer all my life.

We slowly follow the earthen maze some hundred feet down. It’s slow going: the ceiling of the tunnel isn’t especially high, meaning that all of us but Tyrus have to crouch going through. To make matters worse, the ground is made of slick mud that almost takes Jonas out a couple times. He’s starting to look a little peaky, but he and Meg are both persevering. I guess we are rather committed now.

The tunnel opens out into a cavern big enough to stand in with the ceiling about nine feet high. It’s the size of my office’s main conference room and covered in mud, dirt, and debris. What I first think is a stalagmite is actually the remains of a stone column. I frown, using my foot to clear away some of the guck to reveal a laid stone floor.

“I think we’re still in an old building,” I say, looking around at the team.

“Careful,” Tyrus says, pointing forward. “The floor feels unstable and there’s a large hole up ahead.”

“Good eyes,” Flynt replies, gently easing toward it. “That must be where the missing Kartesian team went in.”

There’s a crumbling, rumbling noise, and Flynt stops cold. We all hold our breaths and I look over toward Tyrus who makes eye contact. Then, suddenly, he plummets out of sight.