The tavern door swung open, hitting the wall. The bang stirred the room's late afternoon occupants, causing them to glance up from their mugs of ale and half-finished bowls of stew. The barman paused in his polishing of a glass to lean against the counter, eyeing Isla as she entered. Before he could make a comment, she strode passed the bar, paying no heed to the eyes that followed her. Her gaze was fixed on the door at the back.

Under one arm was tucked the small chest with the oak tree carved into the lid. With each step the contents clinked, ringing around the silent room. The air was choked with the smell of ale, onions, and garlic. The floor held a layer of grime that wasn't likely ever to be removed. As Isla reached for the door handle, the barman called out.

"Aye, you can't-"

But Isla paid no attention to what it was she couldn't do, pushing the door open and walking inside. The office was cramped, a desk at the center taking up most of the floor space and the rest was taken up by crates of liquor and chests with heavy metal locks.

A single rectangle window at the back offered a weak source of light, the pane of glass layered with a coating of dirt. The main form of illumination was the lantern set on the desk. In the tight enclosure, the smell of lamb oil was overbearing, equal to the clawing scent of cigar smoke.

The particular stench was tied singularly with the proprietor of the office, who sat behind the desk. He was a large man in his late fifties with an untamed beard, pudgy fingers and a thick cigar hanging from his lips. Smoke curled around him as he leaned back in his chair, taking in his unannounced guests.

"Isla," Callas said, showing off his parchment yellow teeth.

Isla dropped the chest on the desk, not bothering with a greeting in return. This man was as foul as the space he lived in and she wanted the transaction done with.

"What you asked for," she said.

Callas leaned forward and picked up the offered item, inspecting it with greedy eyes. A crease formed between his eyebrows as his survey of the chest wasn't to his liking. When he raised his head, Isla was staring at him with unflinching certainty.

"The wood is warped, it's been in water," he accused.

Isla crossed her arms. "For a fair price, you hired us to acquire the chest. You made no mention of how it was to be attained or transported."

Callas balled his meaty hands, his emotions building.

"I made a deal for the chest, not something ruined by your careless actions."

"The chest is barely worth what you are paying for. What you want is the contents. Based on the weight and the sound I can judge what that is and it would take more than water to damage it."

Not wanting to be beaten, Callas scowled, his temper rising. Before he could do anything about it, Isla slammed her knife into the top of the desk right beside his fist. Her patience was at its wit's end and she was done wasting time on a pathetic man. Leaning forward, she brought herself eye to eye with him, the picture of control.

"If you try to renege on our deal, I will take the chest and sell it to someone else." Callas swallowed and the righteous indignation he had been working on wilting under her stare. "Or I might simply return it to its owner, making mention of who it was that took it and leave you to deal with his Lordship's wrath." The color in Callas's face drained. "That is Lord Evert's seal, is it not? What would he do to the man who tried to steal from him?"

"You are the thief," Callas hissed out, his yellow teeth bared.

"Why would I steal from his Lordship?" she asked, her voice lowering into a deathly quiet purr. "I'm here on Lord Sutherland's orders. I have no need to steal, not when a man with Lord Sutherland's power already has claim on my time."

The words felt like venom in her mouth. What Lord Sutherland had on her was a chain wrapped around her neck, dragging her further and further down.

Callas stared back at Isla, searching her for a crack that would let him get the upper hand. What he found was an impenetrable wall of will. His weak brown eyes dropped from hers and she knew she had won.

"Payment. Now," she said.

Edging away, he reached down and opened a drawer. Isla remained where she was leaning against the desk. Faster than she excepted a man of his size to move, Callas whipped out a knife swung at her.

Instinct took over and Isla jerked away, but not before the blade cut across her face sending a lightning shock of pain through her.

The chair crashed back as Callas stood, but Isla reacted faster this time. Leveraging her weight on her hands, she swung herself over the desk, slamming her boots into Callas's chest. The man hit the ground, head smacking the floor with a hard crack.

The door to the office was thrown open. Isla twisted around and sent her knife flying. It hit the barman in the shoulder and he staggered back, clutching the bleeding wound. Before the man could gather himself, Isla rounded the desk and yanked him inside, shutting the door behind him and blocking out the shocked expressions of the patrons.

The barman leaned against the wall, eyes closed in pain, the knife still lodged in his shoulder. As Isla moved back to where Callas lay, she ripped the knife out. A cry of pain left the man's lips and he sank further into the wall. On the floor, Callas was blinking himself back into consciousness. When his vision cleared, Isla was crouching beside him, the bloody knife in her hand.

"One more time," she said. "Payment. Now."

Wincing, Callas pushed his heavy body up. As he rose, Isla rose with him, the dagger acting as a constant warning. A trickle of blood snaked down her cheek and she roughly swiped at it, ignoring the stinging sensation. When Callas opened a second drawer, Isla took a step closer, the single motion a threat. The large man tensed and moved with more caution. From the drawer, he pulled out a leather bag that thudded on the desk. Isla scooped up the pouch and checked the contents.

"The deal is finished," she said, tucked the bag away.

Callas glared at her, his fingers probing the back of his head where a bump was likely to be forming.

"The deal is finished," he echoed.

Isla left the office, the bloody knife in her hand garnering stares as she passed by. Swiping a dirty cloth from where the barman had dropped on the counter, she cleaned the blade before sheathing it. Outside the air was clean, the scent of the sea dashing away the stink of the tavern. Long shadows lay sprawled across the stone, the warmth of the sun retreating as its source made its way to the horizon.

Feeling the weight of the gold in her possession, Isla made her way through the crowd to the docks. She didn't get far before Hawk's tall figure cut towards her. His look of worry and irritation left Isla wanting to turn right around to avoid what he had to say. But she didn't, when he reached her, she didn't stop, letting him move alongside her.

"You should not have gone alone," he said, with the tone of a chiding parent.

"You were asleep. I let you be."

Hawk took Isla's arm, stopping her. "Then you take someone else."

"Why? It went fine. We have our money."

That was all that mattered in the end, the job was finished and they could do what they came here to do. Hawk pulled out a white handkerchief and wiped away the blood on her cheek. Isla flinched. Staring at her, Hawk held up the evidence of her blundered interaction.

"This is things going fine?"

"I handled it."

"You are alive and so I can not question that, but next time you might not be."

Isla crossed her arms, shaking off Hawk's hold. "Do you not trust me?"

"I trust you, it's the greed and anger of other men I don't trust."

Isla opened her mouth to argue, but before she said anything, Hawk handed her the smeared cloth. The gesture wasn't one of judgment but of affection and concern. Letting out a breath through her nose, Isla accepted the offered handkerchief. After a shared looking of understanding, they moved on, Isla holding the cloth to her cheek. 

"We have what we need to resupply," Isla said, passing the leather pouch over to Hawk. "We should be able to get what we need before the end of the day. Have Heath get to everything. You and I will pay a visit to Earl Kesler." Hawk shifted and Isla could hear the objection before it was voiced. Not wanting to hear it, she went on. "We've already wasted too many days. We will get what we came for and leave with the tide tonight."

************

The dim corridor absorbed Isla as she headed below deck. The thumping of boots vibrated overhead. It was a comforting sound. A sound that had played in her ears since she could remember. Like the lapping of water and the changing moods of the sea, the sound was a melody to her. The hallway lay empty and Isla unlocked the door to the brig. Inside was dark, the only slice of light getting trapped by the open doorway. Raif looked up as she entered.

His hands were chained in front of him and his weakened state had receded. The bit of food and water that had been given to him over the past days had restored a piece of his lost strength. The bindings on his wrists clinked as he rested back against the hull. The spark of defiance had returned in his gray eyes, as well as the mocking curl of his chapped lips.

"Who cut you?" he asked, eyeing the clean line on her cheek.

"A man who now regrets his actions."

A breathy chuckle left Raif.

"I have no doubt many men feel that way after encounters with you."

"Then you would be wise to learn from their stupidity and not cross me."

Raid cocked his head, the motion a mixture of weariness and curiosity. His dark brown hair was matted to his face and the sharp planes of his face were harsher in his current state. The bruise on his cheek was fading and his once clean jaw was scruffy. A trait that would have made him fit easily with the men aboard the ship.

"I have given you what you asked for," he said.

Isla took a step closer. Raif's eyes watched her like she was a dangerous creature and a mystery that he was trying to pull apart. It was a look that very few men had given her, most deciding they knew what they saw when they laid eyes on her.

"You gave me a piece of what I want," she said. "I am here to tell you that I want more."

The beginnings of a smirk played over Raif's lips as he leaned his head back, staring up at the ceiling.

"Most women do." 

Isla ignored the comment.

"When I return you are going to tell me all I need to know about Lord Ellis's holding, his guards and as much as you can remember about the layout of his manor."

Lifting his head off the wood, Raif locked eyes with her, the touch of confusion in the line between his brows.

"Why not tell you now?" he asked.

"It took you so long to reveal the first bit of information that I am giving you a chance to collect yourself, all the while enjoying," she waved her hand over the room. "Your time in here."

Raif adjusted his hands, the metal clanging.

"I will tell you now, willingly," he said. Unaware of his actions, Raif leaned forward, the need to escape the darkened place clear in every line of his body.

"No," Isla said. "I have business to attend to. After that, then you will tell me everything I want to know."

Resigned, Raif sank back against the wall as if all his energy had been spent. He said nothing for there was nothing to say, he was chained and his freedom lay in his knowledge and in the hands of the unwavering person before him.

As Isla reached for the door, she saw a tinge of hatred in Raif's eyes as well as something else. A look that was discerning, calculating. She closed the door and locked it, the loud thunk reenforcing who was in control.

Above deck, Hawk was waiting for her by the gangplank, a sure sign that he wasn't letting her leave without him this time. Isla had no objections to it. The main deck was mostly empty, sailors sleeping off the previous night or spending their newly acquired pay. Those who were still there were lounging on the railing, trading idle conversation. The scene was too stasis and Isla felt her restlessness rising.

"Did you give Heath his instructions?" she asked, stopping before Hawk.

"I did. We will need another man. Who do you want coming with us?"

Isla gazed around and found the solid mass that was Orin. A nod to him was all her answer.

"Orin," Hawk called out.

The man detached himself from the group of men and walked over.

"You will be joining us to Earl Kesler's," Isla said. "Bring what weapons you need for an unfair fight."

As he moved to gather his needed things, Isla scanned the rigging. Fading light glared back at her and she squinted. 

"Sparrow," she said.

The cabin boy scrambled down the closest rope and dropped beside Isla. His wiry body was humming with pent up energy, a feeling Isla knew well.

"Coat and sword," she said.

The boy darted away.

"Do you expect a fight?" Hawk asked.

"We're trying to relieve a nobleman of his money. I expect him to resist as they all have."

Orin and Sparrow returned at the same time. Isla pulled on her coat and strapped on her sword, feeling the comforting weight of it on her hip. The trio disembarked the ship and melded into the port chaos. Hiring a boatman, they climbed down into the shallow craft. The boat dipped heavily under Orin's bulk but no water was taken on. With a strong shove, the boat broke away from the land and slipped into the channel.

Soft pink, peaches, and copper danced over the water's surface and bathed the buildings in pastel hues. The city felt subdued by the setting sun, citizens ducking into homes, cafes, and taverns to find a good meal and a bit of conversation. Boats glided past each other like fallen leaves floating on the current.

Isla stood at the front of the craft, she parted her legs, adjusting with the sway of it. Though her eyes drifted over the surrounding city, she didn't take any of its beauty in, her mind laying out the next steps. The next plan that would give her freedom.

The boatman steered them down a wide avenue, where the houses butting up against the edge were more stately than the ones at the center of the city. Below the window seals were intricate carvings that spoke of an overabundance of money to waste. Through the windows were glimpses of richly beaded curtains, elaborate chandeliers, and fine paintings. It was the place where one expected to find wealth and scandal in excess. They docked along a crowded pier, the boats there echoing the lavishness of their owners.

Shadows cascaded into the streets as the trio made their way through the maze of houses, the tops turned golden in the fading light. At the gate to one of the largest manors, a guard halted them. After a terse exchange and many subtle motions to their weapons, they were allowed entry. The grounds were splashed with color, bushes and trees weighed down by blooming flowers. The scent of blossoms was almost strong enough to mask the smell of the sea that soaked into the land.

The splendor of the outside was matched by the interior of the manor. There was not a spot of the foyer that didn't gleam or sparkle.

As they waited for a servant, Isla inspected their surroundings. Marble statues with serene and angelic countenances were tucked into alcoves and ornate sconces lined the walls. A sweeping staircase rose before them, then at a landing split and diverted to opposite sides, the very bars of the banister were intricately carved.

Isla wasn't impressed with the opulence. No matter the finery, it was still a landlocked prison in her mind.

The clicking of shoes snatched Isla's attention. A steward with a trim beard stopped before them, scrutinizing the strange trio. Compared to the steward's own tailored garments - that spoke of status - they were wearing clothes that were fit for dish rags. Before the man could talk, Isla stepped forward, one hand resting on her sword hilt.

"Take us to Earl Kesler," she said.

The steward's obvious prejudice showed itself as his eyes flitted to Hawk and Orin as if expecting them to correct Isla for speaking out of place. When he didn't receive the response he was looking for, he swung his gaze back to her.

"Is he expecting you?" the steward asked.

"Yes."

Skepticism played across the man's face. With a bow of his head, he took a step back.

"Wait here and I shall notify his lordship of your presence."

When the man began to walk away, Isla followed, Hawk and Orin right alongside her. The steward turned back. As he opened his mouth, Isla uncurled her fingers and curled them again around her sword hilt. The man's mouth closed and he continued walking. They were led through hallways lined with generations of noblemen, each portrait wearing the same aristocratic smirk. At a set of double doors - flanked by two guards - they stopped.

"Visitors for his Lordship," the steward said.

Isla saw the uncertain thoughts crossing the guards' faces. But instead of voicing their doubts, they opened the door. The steward entered, hesitation tensing his narrow frame. Beyond the doors was a study that equaled the rest of the manor. Bookcases - filled with embossed books - climbed the walls, a pair of windows - set in a carved frame - behind a large handcrafted desk displayed the grounds and neighboring houses.

The man sitting in the high backed chair was in his early forties with curly black hair swept back, thick eyebrows, a broad face, and a neat goatee. His black eyes narrowed as Isla strode forward. At the sight their assortment of weapons, his gaze darted to the three guards that stood at opposite sides of the room. They were well armed and held the rigid posture of soldiers ready for action.

"What is this?" he asked, setting down his pen.

The steward bowed. "They said you were expecting them."

Before Kesler could deny this, Isla stepped in front of the steward.

"Earl Kesler," she said. "I am here to collect the money you owe Lord Sutherland."

Though nothing changed in Kesler's posture, Isla noticed the hard glint of understanding. He waved the steward away and the man slipped out, closing the door behind him. Kesler eased back in his chair, feeling the power his status and his manor gave him.

"I have already paid what I owed to Lord Sutherland."

"No," Isla said. "You paid and afterward sent a band of thieves to steal back your money before Lord Sutherland's messenger could leave Helix."

Though it had been a guess based on what Vance had told her, the subtle tic in the corner Kesler's mouth confirmed it. Feigning unconcern, Kesler spread his arms out to the side, showing off the red embroidery in the cuffs of his high collared coat.

"It is no fault of mine if Lord Sutherland's messenger cannot hold onto his money." He draped one elbow on the edge of his chair. "He should have sent someone more capable."

The smile he offered was confident and mocking.

"That is why he has sent us," Isla said. "We will not be stopped from getting his lordship what he is due. Not by..." She paused letting her eyes linger on the Earl. "Any sort of thief." Mimicking Kesler's nonchalance, she clasped her hands behind her back. "Give us what you owe and we will be on our way."

The Earl ran a hand over his well-combed goatee as if truly pondering her request.

"No," he said.

As the word left his lips, his eyes cut to the guard on the right. At the twitch of movement, Isla dived and rolled, a knife slashing the air over her head. Rising to a crouch, she flung a knife at the guard. The blade sank into his thigh and he let out a cry of pain. Before he even dropped to one knee, Isla threw her second dagger. The knife buried itself in the collar of Kesler's coat, pinning him into his chair. Behind her Hawk dispatched the guard on the other side of the room while Orin dealt with the one by the door. The altercation was over before it had even begun.

"For once I would like these collections to go well," Isla said, standing.

"That isn't likely," Hawk said, locking the door to the study.

As Isla made her way casually to the desk, Kesler struggled to free the dagger but the blade was lodged too deep into the wood. The side of his neck was slashed with a thin red line and a drop of blood was soaking into the white edge of his shirt. Hatred burned in his eyes when Isla stopped before him. Meeting his gaze with an indifferent mask, she yanked the knife out of the back of the chair, releasing him.

"Now, about that money."

**********************************************************************

A short drop and sudden stop.

Well that proves it, you should never get on the bad side of Isla. Not like you didn't already know it. Tell me what you do know, or don't, or simply what is on your mind. 🗯💭💬

Real quick: to my silent readers, thank you. You won't reply to this but I want you to know that I am aware of you and I love that you just read to enjoy! I appreciate your support!

So! My younger brother may or may not know this but to me his shoes are my slippers. Yes, all his shoes. They can be my slippers because his feet are so much bigger than mine that all I have to do is slid my feet into his shoes and I'm ready to go.

Honestly, I only use them when I have to go outside for a second, either to get the dog (that never listens) or take out the trash. Cause let's face it I'll do anything not to have to walk back up the stairs and get my own shoes, and heck no I'm not sacrificing my socks to the wet outdoors! So his shoes are my slippers.

It does mean that if I ever got chased I wouldn't make it far cause I can't run in them, but again I WILL NOT GO UP THE STAIRS! YOU CAN NOT MAKE ME!

So it's death or stairs, really there's not question. Death.

Cwestiwn y pennod (Welsh): Between the beach at sunset or a meadow with a sky crowded with funny shaped clouds which one would you choose? (The hidden meaning is are you romantic or whimsical)

Let's face it, I'm sunset on a beach all the way!

Vote for slippers, comment on the state of the lost slippers of time, follow where ever the slippers may lead you!

I'm changing my mind, I think this is Raif!

Or is he too intense? He does have the gray eyes is the thing. Also the cheek bones.