The moon hung low in the sky, its distorted surface reflected on the dark waters around them. The only sound was the quiet, steady splash of oars slicing through the black water, and the creak of wood as waves gently lapped against the rowboat. There were fourteen of them, barely visible in the darkness, six were manning the oars on each side. The final two, Captain Flint and his first mate, stood at the bow of the boat scanning the waters ahead. They neared the city whose lights twinkled faintly like fireflies in the horizon. Each pirate kept silent, save for the occasional whisper and muttered curse.

“Almost there,” muttered Flint, his voice barely audible above the sound of the waves. He glanced back at his crew rowing behind him. “Quiet as the grave, lads,” he rasped, “keep those oars steady, and voices low. One splash too loud, and the marines will be on us like sharks to blood.”

They had left the ship some distance away, hidden behind a large protruding rock. Agnes, their devil fruit user, had stayed behind on the ship with a skeleton crew. To make sure no roving marine patrols found their ship for the duration of their stay.

They were close now, the dark shape of the city walls silhouetted against the night sky. Captain Flint held up his hand, and the oars stilled. The boat drifted silently towards the docks, as the crew leaned forward.

“Remember the plan,” Flint whispered, “two groups led by me and Wright. Two stay behind to guard the boat ‘till we return.”

The crew nodded, their eyes gleaming as they reflected off the moonlight.

“We’re in and out like shadows,” Flint continued. “Wright will take six of you with him to the information broker—you know who you are—and I’ll take the rest of you lot—not the two guards—to the auction hall.”

The docks loomed closer now, the faint glow of its torches reflecting off the water. As the rowboat nudged up against the wooden planks, the pirates slipped out of the boat, their steps loud in the stillness of the night. A dog barked somewhere in the distance, causing Flint's crew to tense, but thankfully, its barks faded away.

Flint had never seen docks so quiet at night. It wasn’t natural; they should have been bustling with men loading or unloading goods. They crept forward, two staying behind, as they moved as one to clear the docks. Then, they split into two groups, one following Captain Flint, the other led by his first mate Wright, as they disappeared into the bowels of the city.

Captain Flint made sure to lead his group down streets that twisted and turned parallel to the main road. He knew where their chosen destination, the Royal Auction Hall, was; he’d been there before. Not as a seller like today, but as a customer. He also knew for a fact that they would be open in the middle of the night. Many of the goods they auctioned were sold by pirates like himself, and like him, no pirate would strut around in the light of day so close to a marine base.

No, he took that back. Some pirates, strong enough like the pirate lord of the South Blue, Agirni the Devourer, could do as they pleased. But those kinds of pirates were in another league entirely.

Their luck held as they reached the Royal Auction Hall, only needing to dodge one pair of patrolling city guards that they had been able to spot long before they were seen in turn.

The Royal Auction Hall was an imposing edifice, its towering structure facing the main street. Massive arched windows, made of precious glass, stretched from the ground floor up to the upper levels. Light cast from the lamp posts on the main street filtered into the entrance hall that stretched three stories tall. Flint stepped out of the shadows of a side street and into the light, his group following behind him.

Two large lion statues stood on either side of a set of enormous double doors. The closer the group got to the doors, the more details were revealed—bronze studs and intricate carvings embellished on its heavy wooden surface. Above the doors, Flint could make out a crest of the hall’s emblem: two lions with wings, holding a crown between them.

Their group stopped before the mammoth-sized doors, the statues dwarfing them on either side. A sign had been hung from one of the bronze studs, and Flint read it out loud.

“Please head to the back entrance,” he said, looking back at his men and gesturing for them to move on.

It took them a few minutes to round the large building, but once they did, they spotted a much smaller door with a miniature version of the crest that hung over the main entrance carved on its surface. Flint stepped forward and gently rapped his knuckles on the wooden door.

Flint waited a few moments until the door opened with nary a sound. A man wearing a butler's uniform stood on the other side. He glanced at the large group of men standing behind Flint, his face expressionless, and bowed.

“Please follow me, sir,” he said, turning on his heel.

Flint followed, his men hesitantly trailing after him. They emerged from the hallway into a large room—minuscule compared to the entrance hall they had seen from the glass windows, but large nonetheless. Two guards, their hands hovering over the large guns leaning against the wall, stood in the far corners of the room. A large desk dominated the center, behind which sat a small, mousy-looking lady with bright crimson hair, peering at them through gold-rimmed glasses.

Once the whole group had made its way into what Flint supposed must be some kind of reception hall, the butler bowed silently and walked back the way they had come. Flint's men stayed by the door as he walked up to the receptionist.

“Purpose of visit?” she asked once Flint was directly in front of the desk.

“To auction an item,” Flint replied.

The woman nodded and scribbled something down in the book on her desk.

“Item to be auctioned?” she asked curtly.

“Information on this scroll.”

At Flint’s silent prompting, one of his men ran forward and placed a scroll on the desk. The receptionist unfurled it, revealing a map.

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“The location of a devil fruit, with information on the dangers of the island it is in,” Flint explained, pointing at the annotations he had written on the map.

The receptionist studied the map. “Were you able to identify the devil fruit?” she asked, her tone flat.

Flint grimaced. “No.”

She tutted, shaking her head. “That will vastly decrease the starting bid. Do you have proof of the devil fruit, at least?”

Flint smiled, glad that he had thought to acquire proof before they had left the island behind. Of course, they had had to turn back, but it was all worth it. Another one of his men ran up with a den den mushi in hand—a small snail used for communication. This specific breed allowed for the scanning of images and the projection of the scans onto a surface.

The man placed the snail on the desk before retreating back to the entrance.

“We retrieved pictures of the site, as well as pictures of the devil fruit and the danger on the island.” Flint tapped the den den mushi, and an image was projected from one of its eyes onto the far wall. The receptionist turned to look at the image, eyes widening as she saw a colossal silver snake coiled around a huge tree, sleeping.

“That’s the guardian of the devil fruit,” said Flint, tapping the den den mushi once more. A different image appeared on the wall. “This is the devil fruit.”

The projection depicted a close-up of the devil fruit hanging from the branches of the same tree the serpent was wrapped around. The receptionist examined it curiously, noting its golden skin with vibrant green swirls.

“Yes, this will do as proof,” she finally nodded, jotting something down in her book. She retrieved a different ledger from under the desk and thumbed through its pages. After a moment, she looked up.

“The starting bid will be 65 million Berries,” she announced. “It would have been at least 80 million had you identified the devil fruit, especially if it was a powerful one.”

Flint nodded; it was as expected.

“The Royal Auction Hall will take a fifteen percent fee from the final amount. The veracity of the information will be verified, and if accurate, it will be auctioned in exactly a week’s time.”

The receptionist closed the ledger and tucked it back under her desk. “Please return after the auction for your share, and leave the proof behind for verification.”

Taking the dismissal for what it was, Flint muttered a quiet thanks and turned back to his men. They parted for him, falling into step as he left the reception hall. The butler waiting by the door gave him a small nod and opened it.

The group made its way around the building and back onto the main street. Flint quickened his pace, eager to leave the bright lights behind. He sighed in relief when they entered the side streets, weaving through the darkness in silence, returning to the docks in no time at all.

Especially since they didn’t come across any city guards. The docks were as quiet as ever, making the tight knot of worry in Flint’s stomach tighten even further as they made their way to their waiting vessel.

“We’re here, lads,” he whispered on their approach, warning the two guards they’d left behind.

Finally spotting their rowboat tied to the docks, Flint froze. His two guarding men stood over two bodies—two marines that had been knocked out and laid to the side of their parked boat. They glanced up as he approached and gave him a nod in respect. No need to speak. No need to make any noise. Marines, for some reason, were patrolling the docks. The very thought gave him the jitters. He should have listened to his gut when he’d realized how silent the docks were! Now all they could do was wait, wait and hope they came across no more marine patrols. The other group couldn’t come fast enough.

No, hoping was not enough—they needed to plan.

“Big Tom, Whisper Finn,” he called out to the two men who had stayed behind, his words barely above a whisper. “Keep watch on that side.” He pointed to the east side of the docks. “Jumpy and Treehugger,” he called out to another two by their monikers, “you watch the other side.”

They nodded and crouched low, hiding behind some barrels. Flint gestured to the rest of the group to hide behind one of the ships. His men on watch would warn them if any new patrols came around, and if they did, his group would be on them before they could blink.

Minutes dragged on in tense silence, everyone crouched behind their cover. Flint couldn’t wait for the other shoe to drop. Everything was going too well for him. Something was bound to happen. Something bad. He just knew it.

‘Call the devil and he shall come,’ Flint thought, as the two men he’d set to guard the east side raised their hands in a clear sign that a patrol was coming their way.

All was quiet, only the rhythmic slosh of the tide against the pier breaking the tense silence. They listened as two sets of boots thudded dully on the worn timbers of the docks. Then the flickering light of a lantern swung into view, casting shifting pools of light that danced in the shadows.

“Nothing but sea rats and salt tonight,” one of the marines muttered, his voice low and gravelly. He was the first to enter their line of sight, walking past Flint’s two lookouts who crouched behind a set of barrels. The marine adjusted his grip on his weapon, a musket that leaned on his shoulder. His partner walked into view moments later, holding the lamp before him. He was younger, more nervous, as he fidgeted with a flintlock pistol at his belt. He gave a nervous chuckle, his eyes darting around.

“Let’s hope it stays that way,” he responded, looking into the inky black waters to the side.

Flint could feel all his men holding their breath, waiting for his signal to pounce. He waited a few moments, watching them approach his position until they were well and truly surrounded. Then, he gave the signal, and the stillness shattered like glass.

His men charged forward. The guards spun around, the younger one raising his lantern just in time to see their figures barreling toward them. The older marine barely had time to shout a warning. The two hidden lookouts they had walked past jumped on him, wrestling him to the ground. The younger marine’s hand went for his pistol, but a wiry pirate with a scar slashing across his face was already on him. The pirate’s grin was all teeth as he lunged, a wickedly curved knife in his hand. The marine threw himself to the side, the pirate’s blade digging into the wooden floor.

A cutlass arced down, its blade catching the flicker of the lantern he’d dropped in his haste. He rolled, the blade missing him by a hair’s breadth. Flint stepped forward and loudly cocked his pistol. His men parted as he walked up to the panting marine. The older one had already been knocked out.

“You make a noise, kid, and you’re dead,” he said, pointing his pistol at the marine’s prone form.

Desperation lit the young man’s eyes, his breaths coming in sharp, panicked gasps. Flint pressed the cold barrel of the gun against his head, the marine’s breath hitching.

“Don’t move,” Flint commanded, and his men moved forward to tie him up, wrapping a gag around his mouth.

Flint turned back. “Everyone on the boat,” he said, walking toward the vessel. They had to be ready to leave on a moment’s notice. They’d made too much noise. His men climbed into the boat, leaving the tied marines behind a pile of fishing nets.

A group of dark shapes, moving like shadows, approached their position.

“Captain,” said the leading shadow’s voice. His first mate.

“Wright, we’re leaving posthaste. Get the lads in,” Flint ordered.

“Aye,” was the response, and Wright’s men rushed into the boat. It rocked slightly but quickly righted itself. Wright was the last to step in, and once he had, the men began to row.

“How was it?” asked Flint, glancing at his first mate.

“Nothing too unexpected,” Wright replied. “Although the broker did keep glancing at a table in the corner,” he mused, shaking his head. “We made sure to leave the place behind as fast as our legs could carry us.”

Wright turned to his captain. “How was yours, Captain?”

Captain Flint looked at the city, its lights now pinpricks on the horizon. “The same,” he said. “We’ll return on the day of the auction. Maybe even take part.” Flint smiled, picturing the bidding war his information would cause. “Let’s head to Port Maraday. We need to restock and get some disguises for the big event.”

They lapsed into silence, watching the city grow smaller in the distance. They’d be there for the auction. They’d be ready.