Isla heard the splintering of wood as much as felt it as her back collided with the table. The force of the impact sent her rolling off and crashing to the floor. The tavern smelled of ale, dust, and bad decisions. Beneath her fingertips, she felt the ground thrum with a storm of footsteps. A riot of jeers, laughter, and yelling swarmed above her. A pair of boots rushed forward into her line of sight.

When Sparrow began to bend down to assist his captain, Isla shot his an icy glare that froze him in his place. Shaking off the buzzing in her ear, she pushed herself up. Her back ached, but she rolled her shoulders, shoving the discomfort away. Seeing her rise sent a rumble around the room, voices picking up as money changed hands.

Waiting on the opposite side of the table, was Isla's opponent. The shaven dome of his head shone with sweat though his wide, taunting smile contradicted the display of tiredness. His body was lean and snaked with tattoos on his forearms. The malicious gleam in his eyes said that he had no qualms over beating a woman.

"You should have stayed down, vysta," Orzan said.

Isla didn't need to speak Tecrum to know what specific insult he had chosen, the mocking curl of his lips said it all. From the corner of her eye, she saw Sparrow and Brockton drifting from one person to next, Sparrow's eyes always darting to Isla as he spoke, a skeptical draw to his face. In response, the person always nodded.

As Isla rounded the table to face off her opponent again, her father's voice rang in her ears.

"No matter where you go, Little Wander, men will think you are weak. But," his finger tapped her. "You are a weapon that they will not see coming. Where they use only their fists, your mind and each limb will act as a knife, cutting them down."

Around her, Isla saw the doubt, amusement, and taunts in the men's eyes. She was almost half of Orzan's size. Their thoughts were written in the air above them mocking her to be something she could never be and that was a man. As if to fortify their beliefs the only women that occupied the tavern were barmaids who rushed about - hustled by orders and grabbing hands - and the women on the men's arms only there because the necessity of livelihood had demanded it.

It was a strange paradox to live in, knowing on the ship she was seen as an equal, respected but out in the world she was less than. But at least for now the notion that she was weaker played into her hand.

As she stepped back into the imaginary arena, the door to the tavern opened. If it hadn't been in her line of sight, the action would have been lost in the sea of people. But as it was, Isla noticed. Despite the mass in the tavern, Hawk's eyes narrowed in on her the moment he entered. He gave a single nod.

Isla focused on Orzan, it was time this fight ended.

The man's smile widened, eager to break Isla's spirit along with a few of her bones. As the two closed the distance between them, the volume rose, anticipation crackling through the room. Hunger burned in eyes and greed kept fingers clenched around their coins.

Stepping forward, Orzan swung for Isla, but she ducked out of his reach and landed a kick to his exposed side. The blow lit a spark of surprise in his face, but he clamped it down as he charged forward. His speed managed him to get a punch to her side as Isla spun away, but her mind was already running to the next move and barely registered the spiderweb of pain that skittered up her body.

When Orzan swung again, Isla used his forward momentum to her advantage. Avoiding his fist, she grabbed hold of his other arm, pressed her boot to his thigh and climbed into his back, wrapping her leg around his middle. Using her weight, she twisted his body at a harsh angle, making his whip around and smash into the floor. Seizing the dazed second, Isla yanked her knife out of her boot and slammed the hilt into Orzan's temple. His body collapsed half on top her. She forced him off and clambered to her feet.

The tavern was a tomb of silence. In one breath all the air had been sucked out and the only sound left was the echoes of the last shouts as they floated away. Wiping the dust off her shirt, Isla reclaimed her coat from the back of a chair and slid it on. Giving Sparrow and Brockton a quick glance, she cut through the stunned throng to the door. Hawk opened it for her and the pair stepped out into the streets of Caterum.

Caterum was a place where night did not exist. Night was when life was thriving. It was a loud city that catered to any pleasure a person might seek. Laying at the center of the kingdom it was the heartbeat of entertainment and the bloodline of information. Ships from every corner of the world converged on this one city, finding whatever they desired.

Standing outside the tavern, Isla could feel the pulse of the city. It was a living being that beat with desire and need. The air was perfumed with flowers that swung from vines clinging to the walls like girls calling to passing customers. The sky above glittered with stars as if they had been put there for the mass's benefit. Cobblestone lined streets were packed with the rich and the poor, both united by a wish to forget reality for a time.

As the pair put some distance between themselves and the tavern, Hawk pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to Isla. She took it and dabbed it against her temple. It came away with a splotch of blood. Everything felt sore, but there was something satisfying about the pain, knowing that it at least was doing some good.

"How much did Orin make tonight?" Isla asked.

A carriage trundled passed and lanterns from overhead caught on the glittering jewels that adorned the occupants. Their laughter was boisterous, for money was never a heavy thought.

Before Hawk could answer, Sparrow came sprinting for them, Brockton following behind at a controlled pace.

"You made twice as much as Orin did last night," Sparrow breathed out, his face beaming with a pride that truly belonged to Isla alone.

The scheme had been created by Isla's father. Start a fight and have someone else rile up the onlookers and begin the betting. It was a three-person job, a Fighter, Talker, and Money Man. Isla often was the fighter, knowing men rarely bet on women. Sparrow acted as the Talker, throwing out skeptical remarks about Isla and her odds of winning. Brockton was the Money Man making the exchanges and collecting what was his due.

With the money gained, it made it possible to stay at port without the burden of taking on a job. Still the drawbacks were a couple of weeks worth of bruises and sore muscles. But at least Isla knew she was doing something for the crew.

Sparrow gestured to Brockton to show off their winnings. The impassive faced man stepped forward and opened the pouch. What was there was enough to keep them comfortably settled in Caterum as they searched for the next step. That knowledge lessened the pain in Isla's limbs. Hawk nodded in approval, though the crease in his brow still spoke of his discomfort in seeing Isla bleeding.

"Brockton, get that back to the ship," he said. "The captain and I have an appointment."

Isla's eyes cut to him, not willing to let herself feel anything at this announcement. The previous eight days had been filled with dead-ends on information for the Emerald. Though Raif offered up a man in Oxley, Isla had little faith in anything he said. She would need another source to confirm before she let herself blindly follow his word.

"When can I be the Fighter?" Sparrow asked. He bobbed, swung at imaginary foes and kicked out, startling a cluster of women. "I can take someone on."

"No," the three adults said in unison.

Though improving in his skills, Sparrow was still equivalent to a puppy, a lot of energy but no focus or experience. The unanimous refusal stilled his buoyant mood. At the obvious disappointment, Brockton clapped a hand on Sparrow's shoulder, the gesture fatherly.

"After we do as we're told, I'll take you to see The Penny and The Whistle."

The offer had the desired effect, Sparrow grinned and raced forward, leaping up to bat at a hanging sign.

"Thank you," Isla said.

Brockton nodded and trotted after his young charge. When they had slipped among the mesh of people, Isla faced Hawk.

"Tell me this meeting is worth it," she said.

A rowdy trio of nobles staggered by, their arms wrapped around each other's shoulders to keep them from teetering too much to one side or the other. One on the end called out to Isla, but his passing attempt at drawing her attention was ignored.

"From what I have learned of the source, I believe so."

Knowing there was no way she could refuse, even if the chances of gaining any real knowledge was slim, Isla nodded and gestured Hawk to lead the way. Life of Carterum pushed in on them as they walked; it was not just the thick press of bodies passing them, but the tantalizing odors that wafted out of doorways, like slender fingers tugging customers inside and the rich colors that enticed the eyes.

It was towards one of these goody establishments that Hawk guided Isla. Above the wide-open craved, oak doors was a raven with its wings spread wide, as if it were welcoming all into its fold.

The interior was splendent with lush red carpets, vaulted ceilings and touches of gold splashed throughout. Round tables covered in satin clothes were surrounded by men and women in every mode of dress from merchants to nobles. The entertainment they sought was in the toss of dice and the turn of a card. A Gambling Hall.

Isla surveyed the scene with contempt. These people willingly entered a place where their money was swept away in a blink of an eye. Before she could question whether that what waited for her as well, a girl - who barely came up to Isla's eye level appeared.

"Come," she said. "I'll take you to him."

Without any more information, the girl turned and headed towards the back of the gambling house. Giving Hawk one final questioning glance, Isla followed the girl's path.

They were lead into an office that displayed none of the luxuries of the Hall. Instead, it was simple and to the point like the man who sat behind the desk. He was younger than Isla expected, around Isla's own age. He motioned to the two chairs before his desk and nodded to the girl who had shown them in.

"I heard you want information on the Serpent's Eye," the gambling house owner said. His voice was a rasp like dead leaves scratching on the ground. "That type of knowledge does not come cheap. You were told my price?"

In answer, Isla dropped a bag of coins onto the desk. She guessed in his profession he could count the amount the pouch held just from the sound. Rolland reached for the bag. Before the he snag the strings, Isla drove a knife into the desk between the items.

"Information first," she said. "We've been dealt false iron the past eight days."

Staring at Isla, Rolland eased back. His coal-black eyes seemed to be cataloging her. She held his gaze waiting for him to decide.

"Fair," he said. "Though it was hard to come by, what I have is very little, as you know information on this particular item is difficult to find."

Isla gave no response, six months already proving this fact. Rolland laced his fingers together and rested them on the mahogany desk.

"I don't have its whereabouts, only a source to it. There is a collector who has been rumored to have been apprising the Emerald. I don't have a name, but he lives in Oxley."

The name echoed in Isla's head. She had confirmation of what Raif had said. Despite this, she had a bitter taste in her mouth. She stood and Rolland's head followed her.

"You have your payment," she said, turning away.

The noise of the gambling hall roared around Isla. It was tangled with the scent of liquor and cigar smoke. Though she had gotten what she wanted, she felt like one of these eager customers, giving away everything to only get a half in return.

The air was clearer outside, the ocean barely two lengths away. The prominent salty tang of it reenforced the thoughts in Isla's head, conjuring up the image of the man that was locked away on the ship.

Sensing the storm that was raging in Isla's mind, Hawk said nothing as they made their way back to the ship. What waited for them was a decision Isla felt she would lose no matter what she chose.

As they neared the dock, the choice at hand was stalled.

For waiting before their ship, beside a carriage was a man in a crisp livery suit. Stitched into the fabric on his chest was Lord Sutherland's crest.

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Hang the rules and hang the Code. They're more like guidelines anyways!

Soooo....something's looming on the horizon! Predictions on what it might be? Or just any thoughts in general? 🗯💭💬

Okay, moment of honesty. Yeah, I hear you rolling your eyes, not wanting to know what other odd quirk I have! And I get it, but it's a different moment of honesty. ☺️

Here it is...this chapter is the type of chapter that I always have the urge to apologize for. It's needed, it holds a couple key factors but it also doesn't fill you up. And I always feel bad.

In a normal book you'd flip the page and the next chapter would be there, but right now you have to wait for a week and I'm sorry. Just know that you sticking with me fills me up! ❤️

පරිච්ඡේදයේ ප්‍රශ්නය (Sinhala) If you could meet one famous person and hang out for a day, who would it be and what would you do?

Vote, comment, follow!