The tunnel mouth gaped before them like some ancient beast's throat, its weathered stone arch bearing the marks of countless years of traffic. Vesper's usual playful demeanor subdued as they approached, its surface darkening to a deeper blue that seemed to absorb the afternoon light.

"The Throat," Seraphina announced unnecessarily, watching a merchant wagon rumble past them toward the valley, their wheels finding familiar grooves in the worn stone. "The traffic's oddly light today, given this is the only safe way through the rim,"

Thristle nodded. The mounted lanterns cast their usual warm glow at regular intervals, reflecting off the maintenance gates that lined the passage. A group of children ran past, laughing as they raced toward the valley side, their voices echoing off the smooth walls.

"Those flood doors still make me nervous though," Thristle commented, eyeing the massive metal structures. They were rarely closed except during the heaviest storms. "Even if they haven't been used in what, five years?"

"Six," Seraphina corrected, adjusting the rifle on her back as they approached the guard post. "Though they still test them every spring."

A guard approached, his armor bearing Lord Blackbriar's sigil. His eyes widened slightly at the sight of Vesper, and his hand instinctively moved to his weapon before Seraphina stepped forward, producing a sealed document from her apron.

"Lord Blackbriar's personal maid," she stated crisply, "escorting his lordship's special envoy." She gestured to Thristle, who tried her best to look scholarly and important rather than nervous. "The creature is contained and under control."

The guard scrutinized the document and then looked dubiously at Vesper, who had arranged small stones in peculiar patterns near the tunnel entrance. "That thing is... controlled?"

"Most-" Thristle's was cut short by a sharp elbow from Seraphina. Vesper chose that moment to absorb one of its carefully arranged stones with a satisfied burble.

The guard's eye twitched. "Right. Well, regulations require me to warn you - keep that thing of yours from the support beams. The last thing we need is structural damage, even if they are reinforced."

They joined the steady stream of travelers moving through the passage, merchants and families making their daily commute between the valley and the port. The air carried the usual mineral scent mixed with torch smoke and the occasional whiff of someone's packed lunch.

Behind them, Vesper's surface rippled with curiosity at the tunnel's familiar acoustics, its usual bouncing gait creating musical echoes off the curved walls. A young girl pointed at it excitedly, tugging at her mother's sleeve until she was hurried along.

"At least the weather's good," Thristle commented, falling into the comfortable rhythm of the well-worn path. "Last time it rained so hard they had to close the maintenance gates. Remember how everyone got stuck here for hours?"

"Indeed. Though I doubt we'll have that problem today." Seraphina glanced at the clear sky visible through the tunnel's mouth. "Unless our friend decides to redecorate the infrastructure."

Vesper burbled innocently, though it did pause in its apparent attempt to taste one of the support pillars.

---

The tunnel's exit was dominated by massive floodgates that towered overhead like the jaws of some ancient leviathan. Their iron-reinforced panels gleamed dully in the afternoon light, thick rivets studding their surface like barnacles on a whale's hide. The gates stood partially open, their shadows stretching across the path ahead like dark fingers.

"Those are new," Thristle commented, craning her neck to study the intricate system of counterweights and chains that lined the walls. "And a fair bit more impressive than the ones back in the valley."

"After the last wave took out half the port, Lord Blackbriar convinced the other merchant houses to invest in better defenses," Seraphina explained, her eyes tracking the movement of workers performing maintenance on the upper mechanisms. "They can seal the entire tunnel in minutes now."

Vesper's surface stirred with obvious interest at the engineering display, forming small pseudopods that reached toward the nearest support column. Thristle quickly produced a honey treat, drawing its attention away from the critical infrastructure.

"Don't even think about it," she warned, tossing the treat. "I fear even to think how I would repay those."

A guard stationed by the gates eyed them warily, his grip tightening on his spear as Vesper enthusiastically absorbed its snack. "Keep that thing away from the mechanism," he called out.

Beyond the gates, Port spread out below them, a precarious collection of structures clinging to the narrow strip of land between cliff and sea. Most of the buildings looked surprisingly new, their timber still bearing the pale hue of fresh-cut wood. A sparse collection of ships bobbed gently in the harbor's calm waters.

"The guardhouse is just ahead," Seraphina said, gesturing toward one of the few sturdy buildings outside the floodgates. Unlike the temporary-looking structures around it, this one was built directly into the cliff face, anchored deep in the living rock. "They're holding your... equipment."

Thristle's face colored slightly at her tone. "It wasn't my fault this time," she protested. "The crossbow never exploded. And those accidents were completely unrelated to weapons."

"Which is precisely why you weren’t allowed to carry them into the tunnel," Seraphina replied dryly.

Vesper burbled curiously, its surface rippling with what looked suspiciously like amusement. It had been unusually well-behaved since passing through the gates, though Thristle noticed it kept forming small pseudopods to test the texture of the weathered stone walls.

The guardhouse interior was cool and dim, smelling of oil and metal. A bored-looking guard sat at a desk, methodically recording entries in a massive ledger. He barely glanced up as they entered.

"Retrieval papers?" he drawled.

Seraphina produced a sealed document from her apron. The guard examined it with suddenly sharp eyes, his posture straightening as he recognized Lord Blackbriar's seal.

"Ah, yes. The, er, special case." He disappeared into a back room, returning moments later with a familiar wooden case and Thristle's prized crossbow. "Had to store these separately, given the... volatile nature of the contents."

"It's perfectly stable!" Thristle protested, reaching for her belongings. "I made them myself."

Seraphina and the guard exchanged a look that spoke volumes about the questionable reassurance of that statement.

"Yes, well," the guard cleared his throat, carefully transferring the wooden case as if handling a nest of angry vipers. "That's precisely what concerns me. Your, ah, reputation precedes you."

Thristle clutched her recovered possessions protectively. The light crossbow was beaten and battered, but its brass mechanism gleamed with the evidence of careful maintenance beneath the wear. Seraphina eyed the weapon with mild curiosity.

"I wouldn't have taken you for a crossbowman," she commented, studying the worn stock.

"Most alchemists use crossbows," Thristle explained, running her fingers along the brass fittings with obvious affection. "They're simple, reliable. You don't need years of training like with a proper bow. Just point, squeeze, and if you've done everything right, hit what you're aiming at."

"And if you haven't done everything right?" Seraphina asked.

"Then you probably shouldn't be mixing potions either," Thristle replied with a small grin.

"Of course," Seraphina replied dryly. "Why not a rifle then?" Seraphina patted the stock of her weapon. "Or one of those new pistols everyone's so fond of?"

Thristle shook her head. "You can’t experiment with ammunition much. They’re too loud in most cases. Try hunting anything with those and you'll scare off every creature for miles. Plus they're finicky - get them wet or dirty and half the time they won't fire at all." She gave her crossbow an affectionate pat. "This beauty has little needs." The movement caused the wooden case to shift, and clink quietly as she moved, prompting the guard to take several rapid steps backward.

"Everything's properly padded," she assured him, though her gentle handling of the case somewhat undermined her confident tone. "The glass won't break unless something really unusual happens."

Stolen novel; please report.

"Like shaking it?" Seraphina suggested.

"That was one time," Thristle muttered. "And technically, it was the fumes that caused the reaction, not the shaking itself." Another gentle clink of glass from within the case made the guard flinch. "Though perhaps we should avoid any sudden movements."

Vesper stretched upward with obvious interest, a tendril forming to investigate the mysterious box. Thristle quickly stepped back.

"Oh no you don't," she warned. "Some of these mixtures are... well, let's just say they might not agree with you. Or the building. Well... possibly the entire cliff face."

The slime retracted its exploratory appendage. The guard watched this exchange with growing alarm.

"Right then," he said quickly, already reaching for the door. "If you'll just sign here... and here... and now take your volatile concoction of doom somewhere that isn't even close to our defenses?"

"You’re exaggerating," Thristle protested weakly. "They're just... enthusiastically reactive under particular circumstances."

"Like existing?" Seraphina suggested helpfully.

The guard practically shoved them out the door, his relief palpable as they emerged into the afternoon light. Behind them, Thristle could hear multiple locks engaging.

"I don't know why everyone gets so nervous," she grumbled, carefully adjusting her grip on the wooden case. "I haven't had a proper accident in... well, at least five months."

"Interesting how you specify 'proper' accidents," Seraphina remarked, adjusting her perfectly straight apron.

"The Rusty Anchor," Thristle read from Seraphina's proffered note, still cradling her recovered possessions. "Please tell me it's not actually rusty. The last thing we need is for Vesper to get ideas about structural integrity."

The slime managed to look remarkably innocent for a creature without a face, though Thristle noticed it was paying rather more attention to the metal fixtures they passed than was strictly necessary.

"Just... try not to dissolve anything important," she sighed. "We need to meet the captain."

---

The Rusty Anchor turned out to be a weathered two-story structure perched precariously close to the water's edge. True to its name, a massive anchor served as one of its support pillars, painted a red that reminded Thristle of the time she'd accidentally dyed all of Rose's white linens reddish. The actual rust beneath peeked through like freckles on a sunburned face.

Vesper's gelatinous body pulsed with obvious interest, tiny blue-purple waves racing across its mass as it studied the anchor. A pseudopod began forming with what Thristle recognized as that particular 'I wonder what this tastes like' quiver.

"Don't ye dare," she hissed, then caught herself. "Don’t. That's probably the only thing keeping this place from becoming fish housing." The slime retracted its exploratory tendril, but something in its innocent burble made her nervous.

The common room surprised her - someone had actually bothered to clean. Late afternoon light filtered through salt-crusted windows, catching dust motes that danced above worn but surprisingly spotless tables. A few patrons nursed their drinks in shadowy corners, their conversations a low murmur beneath the constant slosh of waves.

"You must be the party mentioned in Lord Blackbriar's message."

Thristle nearly jumped out of her skin at the voice behind them. A tall man emerged from a side door, wearing the kind of smile that reminded her of market merchants right before they tried to sell you something that would "change your life forever." His captain's coat had been mended with obvious care. Seraphina nodded, her hand casually adjusting her rifle strap. "Captain Darren Hawthorne, at your service."

Seraphina produced yet another sealed document from her apparently bottomless apron—Thristle was starting to suspect it had secret compartments as she peered critically at the garment, trying to spot them. "His lordship's instructions mentioned we'd find you here."

"Ah yes," Hawthorne's perfect teeth flashed as he broke the seal. His eyes darted between the paper and Vesper with the eager look of someone who'd just found a gold coin in their pocket. "Though I must say, the message hardly did justice to your... unique companion."

Thristle clutched her case closer, feeling Vesper's surface darken beside her. The slime's usual playful ripples had settled into something more... watchful.

"I understand discretion is important," Hawthorne continued, gesturing them toward a private alcove, "though I confess, it's not often one encounters such a remarkable creature." His smile widened just enough to make Thristle's shoulders tense.

Vesper's surface darkened a shade, and Thristle noticed how it moved itself more between them and the captain. Smart blob.

"Indeed," Seraphina replied, somehow making that single word sound like a polite warning. She'd positioned herself where she could watch both the captain and the room, her hand never far from her rifle. "Though I'm curious how you know about those properties. His lordship's message mentioned only passage."

"My dear lady, in my trade, information is as valuable as cargo." Hawthorne pulled out a chair for Thristle with the flourish of someone who'd practiced the gesture. A lot. "Particularly given recent events. The storm that damaged our deep water moorings has made reliable transport quite... scarce."

"The storm?" Thristle asked, carefully setting her case beside her chair.

"Drove many ships onto the rocks." He spread his hands expressively. "But my Wavechaser weathered through admirably. She's small enough for the shallower channels, you see, but sturdy enough for open water." His eyes flickered to Vesper again. "And I have some experience with... unusual cargo."

The slime's surface roiled with deeper blues and purples, the kind of patterns Thristle had learned to associate with suspicion. She noticed Hawthorne watching these color changes with poorly concealed interest.

"Fascinating," he murmured. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to discuss your companion's remarkable properties? Purely academic interest, of course. I have connections with several scholars who would-"

"Our arrangements are with Lord Blackbriar," Seraphina cut in, her voice carrying the kind of politeness that could scratch glass. "Though we appreciate your... academic curiosity."

A crash from the kitchen saved Thristle from having to respond - shouting followed by breaking dishes. Something flickered behind Hawthorne's perfect smile.

"If you'll excuse me," he said, standing with practiced grace. "A captain's duties are never done. Please, make yourselves comfortable."

"I don't like him," Thristle whispered once Hawthorne disappeared through the side door. Her stomach twisted at how Vesper's surface had darkened to a purple she'd seen only once before - the kind of purple that suggested their slime friend was contemplating serious property damage.

"Me neither." Seraphina's eyes hadn't left the door. "Though what concerns me more is what he's not saying." Her fingers drummed once on the table, her only tell. "Lord Blackbriar's message should have specified arrangements. Yet our good captain seems more interested in collecting information than providing it."

Vesper slid closer to Thristle's chair, its surface churning with dark patterns. A serving girl approached with drinks, took one look at the agitated slime, and decided the other side of the tavern desperately needed her attention.

"Well," Thristle muttered, unconsciously pushing the case of volatile mixtures further with the tip of her boot, "at least Vesper's a good judge of character. Usually only gets like this around things it wants to dissolve."

"How reassuring," Seraphina replied, though her hand hadn't strayed far from her rifle.

The shouting from the kitchen had died down to the kind of silence that made Thristle's teeth itch. She found herself wondering exactly what kind of "unusual cargo" the captain had experience with, and why Lord Blackbriar would send them to someone who clearly knew more than he should.

Vesper suddenly went still - that particular stillness that usually meant trouble was about to walk through a door. Sure enough, the side door swung open. Hawthorne glided back to their table, smile firmly in place, though Thristle noticed a fresh dark splash on his pristine coat sleeve that hadn't been there before.

"Now then," he said, settling into his chair like he owned the whole port, "shall we discuss the particulars of your journey?"

"Before we discuss anything," Seraphina said, managing to sound both polite and dangerous, "perhaps you could explain why Lord Blackbriar's message lacked the usual arrangements?"

Something flickered behind Hawthorne's perfect smile. "Ah, unfortunate timing. The regular courier service was... disrupted by recent events." He gestured vaguely toward the harbor. "I received only preliminary notice. The detailed instructions must have been delayed."

Thristle felt Vesper ripple beside her - that slow, dangerous ripple that usually preceded something expensive getting dissolved. She nudged it back with her boot before it could fully extend a tendril toward the captain's feet.

"How convenient," Seraphina replied, her tone suggesting it was anything but.

"My dear lady, in times like these, certain... formalities must occasionally be circumvented." Hawthorne leaned forward, lowering his voice to a conspirator's whisper. "Particularly when dealing with cargo of a sensitive nature."

"We're not cargo," Thristle muttered but fell silent at a sharp glance from Seraphina.

"The Wavechaser is well-equipped for discrete transport," he continued, smooth as oiled silk. "Special holds, reinforced with materials similar to those used in your friend's containment pit at the inn." His smile widened at their startled looks. "Oh yes, I make it my business to be thorough. In fact, I've already had a suitable space prepared, lined with obsidian-"

"That's not-" Thristle felt her carefully practiced accent slipping. "Ye can't just lock it away like that." She flushed at the slip but pressed on. "Vesper stays where I can see it."

The captain's smile didn't waver, but his eyes went hard as harbor ice. "My dear, this isn't a negotiation. My ship, my rules. The creature stays contained, or you find another vessel." He swept his arm toward the nearly empty harbor. "Though given recent events, I suspect you'll find your options rather... limited."

Thristle glanced at Seraphina, seeing her thoughts mirrored in the maid's careful expression. With the deep water moorings wrecked and most larger ships scared off by the storm, the Wavechaser might be their only chance to fulfill whatever mysterious task Lord Blackbriar had planned.

"Fine," Thristle managed, her hand finding Vesper's surface. The slime's agitated patterns calmed slightly at her touch. "But I want regular access. And no experiments."

"Of course, of course," Hawthorne agreed, his smile never reaching his eyes. "We're all reasonable people here. Now, shall we discuss the specifics of your passage?"

Vesper's surface churned with colors that suggested it had its own opinions about "reasonable people" and what should happen to them.