The following week was characterized by clear days and calm seas for the Wind’s Fortune. As the Upper Isle’s main naval force, an eye was constantly kept out for illicit vessels. However, no such vessels were found throughout the week. During this time, Cristin built up a habit of spending time atop the crow’s nest after concluding his tasks below deck. The other four newbies had begun to make friends among the crew, particularly Ray, who seemed to have many fascinating stories.
On the eighth day, the ship docked in the port town of Saltstead, having reached their first stop of the journey, the island of Sortyn. As the ship approached port, Cristin could make out cobblestone roads—roads that contained many street merchants selling a variety of goods—as well as buildings of all shapes and sizes. This stop was intended to be brief, a simple break to restock and allow the crew to stretch their legs. However, one other use of this stop was for something far more prosperous, rumor collection. It is not rare for privateering vessels to see dry spells in terms of income. So, a common practice in this line of work is to search for other means of income, whether it be transport of goods or the odd bounty collection.
As the boat was tied off to the docks, groups of crewmates began to leave, a small group of crew staying behind. Cristin didn’t particularly care to head to land, so he went below decks to ask Jessie if they needed anything. However, as he walked down the stairs, he soon noticed that they were passed out, leaning on top of one of the cannons.
With a sigh, he returned to the upper deck, deciding that he could at least aid the rest of the crew in finding job opportunities. Not really sure of where to start, Cristin elected to follow five of the crew that he had seen walking in the direction of a nearby tavern. The group was led by a man that was seemingly quite popular with the crew. He was fairly short and had a face that seemed to constantly be wearing a pleasant smile; Cristin was fairly sure his name was Porter.
Cristin followed them into a tavern known as “The Twin’s Spigot,” and watched as they moved to a table in one of the building’s corners. Cristin, on the other hand, decided to sit at the bar. As he did so, the bartender, a man seemingly in his late twenties, looked at him expectantly.
“Just water, please.” Cristin said, as he slid over three bronze coins.
The bartender looked over the surplus of coins with a confused expression.
“Water is just one eramen, kid.”
“How much to hear some potentially lucrative rumors?” Cristin replied.
The bartender let out a brief chuckle. “Should have guessed you were with that lot.” After a brief pause, he continued. “Can’t say I’ve heard anything that would interest your ilk, but I’ve got a regular here, Henry, that has a habit of collecting such rumors. If you come back in a few hours, you might have some luck talking to him,” he said, pouring and placing a cup of clear water in front of Cristin.
Cristin nodded, picking up his glass and turning to look at the five he had followed into the tavern. They had already received their drinks from a barmaid, and were now talking about something in a hushed tone. Cristin was too far away to hear what they were saying, but he noticed that they all seemed to be staring at an individual sitting at a nearby table. Said individual was clearly drunk, sitting partially slumped over as they finished off the last of the four tankards in front of them. This intoxicated patron eventually stood, slowly stumbling out of the tavern. Cristin was puzzled regarding the five’s interest with this inebriated patron, until about a minute after they had left, and the group suddenly stood and walked out of the tavern, once again led by Porter, leaving the drinks mostly unfinished.
Cristin didn’t exactly have the best talents of insight, but in recent years, he had gotten quite skilled at discerning when others had malicious intentions. In this case, he found it quite obvious that whatever interest the five crewmen had in the intoxicated patron, it was not something good. Worried, he got out of his stool and left the tavern without another word.
Stepping into the dirt road, he saw that the five individuals had split into two groups—one on each side of the road—both following the drunk. Cristin pulled up his mask and hood before following after them, giving both groups a wide berth to avoid suspicion.
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The drunk appeared to be stumbling their way towards where the majority of residential buildings were located within the town. Eventually, after passing through an area occupied by numerous stalls, they turned down a narrow alley, seemingly nearing their destination. The two groups soon followed, each waiting about ten seconds to turn into the alley. Cristin was left with a dilemma: were he to call out to the group, he could likely stop them from pursuing the patron any further. However, that would likely prevent him from learning what exactly they were up to.
His curious side ended up winning that internal confrontation, and he waited for both groups to enter the alley before following. However, upon making his way in, he saw neither of the groups he had been following. Instead, he saw multiple potential paths, each going down yet another narrow street. Looking down at the dirt pathway for some indication as to the group’s location, he found it nearly impossible to tell due to the apparently frequent foot traffic in this area. Frustrated, he instead chose to rely on his ears. Shutting his eyes, he focused on the sounds around him, hoping to focus in on the footsteps he had been following.
The business of the street behind him made it difficult to hear an exact location, but thanks to his keen perception, he was able to estimate that they had gone down one of the left pathways. However, of the five options, he could not tell which one. With nothing else to go on, he decided to go down the closest path on his left, planning to try each until he found the group. The first came to a fruitless dead end, as did the second. Going down the third path—by this point at a very hurried pace—he initially thought it was similarly pointless. That was until he spotted an extremely slender alley that cut through some of the buildings on the right. He attempted to peer down this alley, but was unable to make out much past five feet in, due to the exceptionally dark interior. Gritting his teeth, he stepped in, his attempts at stealth ceasing out of concern. Even upon entering the alley, the darkness was oppressive, causing him to guide his path by placing his right hand along the stone wall.
Moving through the alley with his right hand grazing the wall, Cristin began to look for any peculiarities, spotting nothing aside from various piles of trash. However, he did notice that the alley came to a dead end about forty feet away, with a wall about three meters high giving vision into a further point in town. Continuing further into the darkness, he felt runoff water from the wall coat the tips of his fingers. Finally, he reached the end of the alley, standing in the beam of light that shone from above the wall. Frustrated with this waste of time, he began to make his way out of the alley in order to continue his search. Not before, however, quenching his growing thirst with a drink from his waterskin. It was not until after he had begun to cap his waterskin that he noticed that the fingers of his right hand were coated with blood.
Dropping his waterskin out of shock, Cristin retrieved and lit a torch from his bag, no longer worried about being seen. The orange light of the torch illuminated the alley in front of him, allowing him to see that what he had thought to be runoff water was actually a thick coating of crimson along the wall. Despite his better judgment, he moved away from the beam of light shining from above the wall, attempting to find the source of this blood. Not even five seconds after moving forward, he saw it. There, slouched against the left wall, was the patron he had been in search of. He was naked, and his organs were spilling out from a large gash moving vertically up his torso. His body was covered head to toe in many other small lacerations, each leaking blood. His face was painted with an expression of fear and agony, with his arms hanging limp at his side. At this sight, Cristin involuntarily retched the contents of his stomach onto the dirt path of the alley, falling to his hands and knees and dropping his torch.
Breathing heavily, Cristin scrambled away from the corpse, back into the beam of light. He stood shakily, picking up his waterskin as he did so. He had anticipated that something bad was going to happen, but this was far worse than anything he had imagined. It was then that he heard the echo of footsteps and muttering from the opposite end of the alley.
“Shit,” Cristin hissed in a soft tone. Panicked, he looked up the wall towards the only available exit, a small gap that led further into the town. Looking at the nearby walls he saw a windowsill sitting about eight feet up. Leaping upwards, kicking off the wall to cover any remaining distance, Cristin grabbed onto the windowsill, his fingers nearly slipping due to the thick layer of dust and grime that covered it. The voices and footsteps at the end of the alley continued to grow louder, as Cristin hoisted himself up to the top of the windowsill, getting ready to make the final leap. As he did so, he saw a pair of town guards reach the entrance of the alleyway, noticing him and the corpse, which was faintly illuminated by his dropped torch.
The guard on the left shouted out to him, “Hey you! Stop!” but Cristin had already begun leaping to the top of the wall. As his hands grabbed onto the stone above, he heard the guard shout out more orders. “Stop or I’ll shoot!” Not wanting to try and explain his presence in the alley to the guards, Cristin ignored the orders, continuing to hoist himself upwards. Just as he managed to pull his body up and over the wall, onto the street above, he heard the sound of metal on stone as a crossbow bolt barely missed his leg. Having made it out of the alley, Cristin stood with haste and began to sprint in the direction of the Wind’s Fortune, not stopping until he had made it on board.