Calvin’s lips tilted softly toward me, his arm outstretched toward the gangplank. It was enough to convince me to follow the crew upon the land of the Terraguard Bound.
Beyond the harbor buzzed with life, but I focused on the stiffness in my legs as they loosened with each step into town. The crew seemed to mimic my pace, a blessing they did without trying, and when I finally looked up, my heart ached to see every inch of the land.
Ship bells, merchants shouting, and the sound of cheery discussions surged around us. Mingling scents of roasting meats and the salty tang of the sea thickened the air. Horse-drawn carts flew through the bustling village, kicking up lingering dust.
I paused just to relish in it. Calvin wandered behind, hesitating to allow me time to take in the new scenery.
“Welcome to Gringham, city of merchants on Iredale island and home of the finest scams in all the Bounds,” Calvin announced and gestured around.
“All the Bounds? As in more than one?”
He scoffed. “Seafolk skip school, huh? The Bounds–you know–the Aetherkin, Terraguard, Oceanwrought, and the Shadeborne. Sky, land, sea, and the underrealm.” Calvin used his hands to name them off, layering them from top to bottom, from sky to grave.
“And you’ve been to all of them?” We started the trek back to catch up with Zahara and Jun, Calvin jogging to meet my side.
He shrugged, a wry smirk playing across his lips. “Not exactly, but I’m pretty sure they all know who’s really in charge.”
I rolled my eyes, and it almost felt natural. That man was one compliment away from proposing to himself.
“Thisis the Terraguard Bound?” I asked, and Calvin nodded once. “And I came from the Oceanwrought Bound?” He nodded again.
There was nothing I was more eager for than to understand our role in ending the sacrifices; however, to do that, I needed to actually know what I willingly signed myself up for.
Sweat drenched the crew’s worn bodies as we approached the first building. Even in the blistering heat as distant storm clouds rolled in, Jun’s hood stuck to his head. I couldn’t help but wonder what he hid beneath the cloak.
Bars barricaded the open windows, the door ironically left ajar on the dilapidated wooden plank structure. I tilted my head to read the slanted sign, years of age and weather making it near impossible to make out.
Anchor’s Rest Shop.
Zahara entered first, and the rest of us followed closely behind. Sconces peppered the walls, offering slight visibility in the dim shop. Shelves covered the floor, rows built from wood that collected different types of gear in hoards. The scent of smoke billowed throughout as the shopkeeper puffed through a crooked pipe, the tendrils curling around shelves crammed with ship supplies, rust-specked weapons, and all manner of seafaring oddities.
Unsure how to help, I casually strolled through the aisles while the crew moved amongst the shelves themselves, carrying handfuls of supplies. My fingers lingered longer on the blades, the weapons that curved and bent to cling to the wielder's prey.
As they pressed toward the front for purchase, my eyes caught right above the head of the shopkeeper. A Missing Poster printed on inky parchment, yellowed with age, the edges curled and brittle unveiled a secret I was sure the keeper was not aware of.
The eyes, the curls, that feline grin. Every detail in the sketch resembled Calvin. No, not just a resemblance. A mirror.
And now we were going to end up in handcuffs.
Below the photograph, I made out the words.
Missing: Benjamin Wisterbow
Reward 10,000 Gold
Calvin—or Benjamin—confidently strolled toward the front desk, meeting the middle-aged shopkeeper who stared down at her journal, a lit cigar wedged between her yellowed fingernails. He chanced a bemused glance back at me, and I shot my wild gaze toward the poster, trying to get him to notice. He trailed my line of sight, but when he returned my stare again, he knowingly smirked and flashed a wink.
He is out of his mind.
Calvin leaned against the desk before the woman, a charming smile intact with Zahara and Jun at leisure behind—a cohesive force running a seamless, common operation. He reached for the shopkeeper’s hand that rested upon her journal and slid his over, closing the bound book to get her attention. Her interest peaked when she laid her dusky brown eyes on the young male.
Fan club of one.
Watching became brutal as they stared at each other for a lingering moment.
“Will that be everything you need?” she purred, fingers trailing across the journal’s worn edge, inching their way up his arm.
“Unless you’ve got anything else worth sticking around for,” he replied, leaning in further, just blurring the line between joke and invitation.
