Macha huffed. The intimidating ship revealed through the spyglass had so many hatches that he couldn’t count them all before discounting. “It doesn’t matter!” Em shouted from inside.

“It matters to me,” Macha mumbled, chewing his frustration together with the last bits of a sailor’s cookie that had taken too long to soften up. The man-o’war following the Ballerina at stern waters was massive. A majestic Full-rigged vessel from the Nor’Wes. With all of Tampraparni’s economic power, it was common to see large numbers of warships either docked in port or patrolling the waters ruled by the southern Rajanate. Even so, that ship was, by far, the biggest Macha had ever seen in his life. Em, Macha supposed, had deduced that she was from one of the armies of the far north because they did not carry the rampant elephant of Tampra. They were not from any of the other countries from the Ring either, as no one else had the means to build such massive crafts. Macha wondered what intentions they had, and tired of a long journey, he hoped their business was nothing that would disturb a good rest. Em, on the other hand, was worried. Ships hiding their colours were weird and suspicious but what bugged him the most were the two strange ships winging the ship of the line: Ironclads, En had called them. To Macha, the smaller hulls, although made entirely of metal, were not as threatening as the main ship they custody, but to the old captain for some reason it escaped the young sailor, were a terrifying threat that slowly was closing quarters towards the Ballerina.

At first, they were certain of the pursuit, but as the Ballerina reached the Rigg, the three mysterious pursuers changed course to the south. “What a relief. Last month I was sick and didn’t enjoy the time. I want to try flying the wings again. No puking over Ivy this time.” Macha sneered at himself, not realising that Em had come outside to steal the spyglass from his hand. The old man growled, one of the many animalistic ways he used to communicate and that Macha had already learned to differentiate. That one meant trouble.

“What is it?”

“They’re not rerouting.” Em hissed. “They’re lining up the batteries.” A shiver rippled through Macha’s body. After months of sailing back and forth the Rigg, it was no secret that by now Tampraparni had brought to the Maze’s entrance a formidable share of its navy. In the shallows of Inde, Northwest of the Rigg, there were at least a dozen vessels anchored and, in the Atoll of Whales, gathered even a bigger force, close enough to strike in little time. In addition, it was constant to see patrols sailing up and down the edges of the reefs as a warning that the Rajanate didn’t forget the Plantation offence.

The constant fear of attack had everyone on edge and that had pushed the Blue Kingdom towards an arms race that, although formidable, did not seem to be able to match the threat that was slowly growing around it.

“I just want a good bath and a long nap,” Macha protested through clenched teeth. After months without any kind of grievance other than demonstrations of power, the waters had calmed down, and returning to the Rigg after weeks of hard work under the grumpy old man’s gaze, was blessed glory.

As the Rigg staff yelled, he awoke from a slumber of daydreams. Rushing, like anytime he delayed too much to start a job he’d supposed to know better, he lowered sails and tossed ropes. The rush made his heartbeat noticeable throughout his whole body, a feeling he enjoyed deeply.

The new Macha was already an experienced sailor, with calloused hands and tanned skin. Em had taught him everything he knew, and although he still had a lot to perfect, with hard work and determination Macha had made the sea wolf, for the most part, proud. And that was even better than any heartbeat pumping his muscles. Even so, old customs were hard to forget, and the little thief from the city inside him, was still dedicated to analysing all the details around him, especially the people. Ced, for example, although he received them with extreme effusiveness, wrinkled his eyebrows strongly, letting out clues of a concern, that Macha did not need much intelligence to know that it was related to the ships without a flag.

Ivy, perching dangerously on the railings between the top floor’s guns, as every time they met, greeted them with broad but contained hand wave. It was her way of being; a continuous struggle between wanting to show the tough person she built on the outside, and the sweet, vulnerable girl hiding underneath. The warrior, the image of her facade, was still as fit as the last time they visited. An enviable constitution that mixed the athleticism of those who were prepared for anything, with femininity that blossomed more each time they returned. A femininity she used to hide so she'd blend with the rest of the rangers. Especially she tried with a boyish way to dress, and in addition this time, with a new short haircut with top long locks in which Macha was already delighting his thoughts with ways to mess with during the dinner. She’d not mind much. Of course, there would be a chase, and maybe a wrestling match she’d win. But that would bring many laughs for the men. And that was all Macha’s plan: Good-hearted jokes involving her and many others in the gang worked well for bonding the team. It helped Ivy to be well included, and that made her happy. And so, it helped with their mutual friendship, which since the plantation had nothing but improved.

“Son,” Em said while shuffling, stern in tone and face. “We’re going to leave the Red Isle for later. We have to go to the north of the Ring to dust off an alliance we made years ago. We can’t wait any longer. After you report the trip to Marie, ask her for the Otoke box and she will explain the details.”

“You’re not joining me?” Em huffed and jumped away without a word. Macha didn’t need it anyway. The answer revealed itself as he crossed by Marie without a word or even a glimpse. The governor of the Kigndom, who seldom showed any emotion, seemed annoyed by it. Without returning Macha’s joyful greeting, she turned for the ramps and shouted. “Report, office, now!”

Macha, who learned well to not let her intimidate him, turned to the other side. “You pissed her off.” He said to Em, who was locked in a corner hushing with his brother in arms.

“That may be my fault this time, Mon’lad!” Ced said, sliding an arm over his shoulder and shaking heartily. A routine that was already common at each visit.

“Do you want me to come?” Em said.

“Nay,” Ced answered sharply, “I need your help to speed everything here.”

His name echoing loudly from the ramps gave him a start. Marie was not a patient person when angered and, whatever Ced did that time, it turned her into a caged beast growling to get out. She was, as her husband, the spitting image of exhaustion, both emotional and physical. Before he reach at ther on the second floor, she started talking, slurring words and dragging feet. “No news about Lim, and Ujan ready to defend themselves, I suppose?”

It was the first time he’d reported the whereabouts of the trip. Other times, Em would tell Ced and he’d tell his wife. The new task brought a cold sweat to his forehead. He was happy to be trusted, but facing the Kingdom Governor’s temper was bringing a mixture of fear and nerves that he couldn’t get rid of. “Nothing new about Lim, I’m afraid. Ujan has the weapons. Most of them are in Charles’ hands.”

“Good. I don’t like that new man in charge, what’s his name?” Marie waved her hand impatiently to clear the way through a group of sailors lounging in the hallway. “It doesn’t matter, it’s not important, and you go back to work!”

Macha surreptitiously turned towards the sailors trying to show a sort of apology with his factions. He always felt bad for her. Marie did what she could, but having to do what must be done makes you a scapegoat. Completely beaten up by months of hard decisions and little rewards, she was the continuous target of mockery, and curses from all her men. And she had plenty of it. To his attempt to apologise for her rocket, he received answers in the form of an eye roll, a deaf whistle, and an obnoxious hand sign that was not part of Ivy’s language.

Once in her office, she sat behind an enormous desk. Macha remained standing with the feeling he was not entitled to sit unless she said. Quietly she dropped the pen in the ink and began to write numbers of arrivals and departures that had nothing to do with Em’s trip. Before Macha could continue with a report he hadn’t had time to begin, Marie turned to the door, holding up a finger that made the sailor’s jaw stop. The finger danced in the air before coming to rest over her mouth, all together with the rest of the hand. Leaning on the table, she stared at the plank wall that hid a horizon full of threatening ships. The finger, which for some reason Macha could not stop following, began to poke rhythmically her little pointed nose. “Marie?” Macha asked with a dried mouth.

He called her name again, in an attempt to break the uncomfortable silence, to just receive a second spook with the scratchy sound of a chair slide. Marie began to move up and down the shelves, filling a big leather pouch with documents and coin bags. As she passed the strap over her head, she started a race to open and close all the drawers within her reach. “Did Em say something about a box?”

As Macha nodded, she raised a little wooden box and tossed it to him. “Listen carefully. This is a blood promise from one of the Harpy’s daughters, Otoke Dan. She swore once to help us when in need. You and Em will go to claim that oath. But if something happens so-“ she froze with the sound of a firestorm.

Macha had lived the fear of the sea’s merciful weather, and nothing feels scarier than that. Not even a full-rigged ship firing dozens of cannons at once. But that’s not to say that anyone who still has a bit of common sense won’t quail to the call of the drums of death.

No cannonballs reached. Nothing broke the calmness of the Rigg. Marie, who had been left holding her breath since the blasts, let out a snort of relief as her shoulders unashamedly relaxed. “Must be a warning fire, Miss, Do not worry,” Macha said, trying to calm her and himself down.

“No, listen, listen!” she stammered, pushing another bag of coins into her pouch, now full to bursting. “If you find yourself alone with that box, you have to find Otoke, no… find the White Fox, find Uri,” The return of war drums pushed Marie’s lids to close and her lips to a tremor. “Uri… No one else you’ll trust but her.”

“Who is this U-” his words cut as the entire Pontoon shook to the beating of lead. The office wall, a simple plywood plate that functioned as a protecting shield from the outside world, and its dangers, exploded. So did the desk. Hundreds of splinters shot out like tiny arrows, piercing skin, and flesh.

As Macha softened his fall by the large couch in the middle of the room, Marie hit the shelves, receiving a shower of books that completely covered her. Shocked and barely remembering how to move, how to breathe, or how to even live, he gingerly rose into an office that was nothing more than a hole filled with floating papers and dust.