The mist was beginning to thin in the brightening sunlight, and I looked up to the redbrick buildings as we passed. Round windows were set into their faces, reflecting Clove and me as we passed. It was a familiar scene, the two of us. One that I didn’t want to look at.

I’d heard almost nothing about the port town of Sagsay Holm except that my father had been here a few times when the Trade Council of the Narrows met with the Trade Council of the Unnamed Sea. Back then, he’d been playing hand after hand to get a license to trade in these waters. Whatever he’d done to finally make it happen probably wasn’t legal, but in the end, he’d gotten what he wanted.

Clove shouldered through the crowd and I stayed close, following in the wake of his steps. He seemed to know exactly where he was going, taking turn after turn without looking at the hand-painted signs that marked the streets and alleys. When he finally stopped, we were standing beneath a faceted, circular window. The panes were fit together like a puzzle, reflecting the deepening blue of the sky behind us.

Clove shifted the chest beneath one arm and reached up to tap the brass knocker. The sound of it echoed with a ping around us, but it was quiet behind the door, the window dark. When he knocked again, it suddenly opened.

A small woman clad in a worn leather apron stood before us. Her face was flushed red, a bit of dark hair sticking to her wide forehead. “Yes?”

“Looking to turn over,” Clove answered, not mincing words.

“All right.” She let the door swing open, pulling a stack of papers from the pocket of her apron. Her nose scrunched until her spectacles fell into place. “We’re a little tight this week.”

“I need them today.”

Her hands froze, and she looked at him over the rim of her spectacles before she laughed. “Not possible.” When he said nothing, she set one hand on her hip. “Look, we have a schedule—”

“I understand.” Clove was already reaching into his jacket. He pulled out a sizable purse, holding it out without a word. “For the trouble.” When her eyes narrowed, he pushed it toward her. “In addition to the fee, of course.”

She seemed to think about that, her mouth twisting up on one side.

It was one of many purses I’d seen him and Zola pull from their pockets, and I was beginning to wonder if Zola had wagered his entire fortune on this venture. He was clearly in a hurry, and he was willing to take chances. What required a two-day dive and a rush turnover in Sagsay Holm? He’d risen a fake crest over the Luna and whatever documents he used to make port had to be forgeries. What could possibly be worth losing his trade license?