Chapter 406 The Guard Fish Had Picked a Bad Career

The hammerjaw fish looked at me like I had arrived wearing a bread roll, which was offensive because I had spent my entire second life becoming this difficult to eat.

I stayed between the creature and Lukas’s service wall, keeping the open court in front of me. The sealed storehouse stood to my left, the gate to my rear, and the broken loading bay gave the fish room to build speed on my right.

I hated how little room it left for a dignified retreat. Worse, it seemed to think I had brought Lukas along as a second course.

[System: Let the stupid bastard charge first. You try headbutting that thing and I’m telling Lyra you picked a fight with a loaded wheelbarrow.]

Tell Lyra I won before you mention the wheelbarrow, because I want her impressed for at least five seconds.

I extended into my twelve-foot swimming shape, then began humming as I moved into the court. The extra reach would help me get behind that armored head.

It charged with its mouth shut, aiming that huge forehead at my middle. I jetted behind a loading post with my wings tucked, and the impact shook the water hard enough to make me reconsider insulting its intelligence.

It turned immediately, smashing the post with its tail and forcing me to move again.

I tried to goad it around the broken post, then saw its tail hit the wall. The brute needed room to turn, and I suddenly had very strong opinions about where it should be allowed to swim.

I drew it toward the service gate, then slipped sideways into a gap beside the wall. Lukas watched the tail clear the bars before releasing the brake.

The gate crashed down behind it. I pointed at the bars, then at the fish, delivering a private lecture it couldn’t hear about treating guests with respect.

[System: Stop giving it the property tour and move, you smug prick. It’s already trying to redecorate with your spine.]

The fish lunged again. I braced my packed middle against the sound base of the wall, keeping my head clear of its crushing jaws, and caught the side of its neck with two tendrils.

Its weight shoved me sideways. I pulled across the rush from my brace, dragging its shoulder into the stone divider while its jaws snapped close enough to count the teeth.

Pain shot through my middle, and I decided I had counted quite enough of them. My packed body held, but every angry twist reminded me that holding together and enjoying myself were separate jobs.

Old Mate shouted something about keeping the wing clear. I wanted to shout back that I had noticed the bloody wall, but I needed my mouth for a more useful reply.

Now I kept the advantage, slid up behind its jaw, and tightened my lower length where its gill plates met softer tissue.

The fish thrashed hard enough to knock loose stones from the arch. I kept my wing folded away from the wall, adjusted my grip when its tail struck, and drove my fangs into the exposed seam behind its armored head.

Lukas held the brake while checking the cracked arch above me. A stone dropped near his shoulder, and he ducked without letting the gate rise.

I held until the movements weakened, then kept holding until they stopped completely. When I released it, the heavy body settled into the silt and remained there.

I gave the dead fish a final, deeply petty shove with my tail. It hadn’t appreciated the work I put into becoming expensive-looking, and I resented that even after winning.

[System: Leave the bloody buffet alone. He’s too big for Devour, and your mate’s got a bottle of air, not a restaurant booking.]

One tooth would make a lovely souvenir, but apparently remembering my holiday is a crime against sensible time management.

I checked his gauge signal, received a firm thumbs-up, and approached the storehouse door. The access sequence matched our diagram: balance the outer valve, release the two catches, then rotate the brass fitting until its mark faced down.

The door opened onto racks secured inside a flooded chamber. We photographed their arrangement with Lukas’s waterproof camera housing before moving anything, then checked the small cases rather than trying to drag whole shelves outside.

Three compact cases held sealed pearls, another contained old shipping records protected behind clear covers, and a narrow padded box held a metal pressure key with a crowned seal.

The cases went into our salvage bags while Lukas checked their weight. I suggested taking a shelf as well, and he pointed firmly at the air gauge before I could explain its resale value.

We hauled the bags back along our line, easing them past the valves while I kept imagining dropping a fortune down the wrong passage. In the dry maintenance room, Lukas removed his mask and breathed like a man considering a holiday without me.

"I’d like it recorded that I didn’t flirt with anything down there," he said. "That proves I can focus when the available options are terrible."

"You looked at the crowned statue twice, so your standards remain under review."

Old Mate clapped with his drink still in one paw, showering imaginary liquid across the real treasure.

[System: Storehouse recovered, both idiots returned alive, and the fish hasn’t filed an appeal. Twenty-five thousand experience and forty-five points paid once. You’re at one hundred eight thousand five hundred out of three hundred thousand, with twelve hundred and thirty-five IP.]

The numbers settled while Lukas laid out the records. A shipping route ran from Saltsink toward old Ami freight stations, with one vault marked in heavier ink.

I brought the pressure key near the diagram, and its outer ring clicked into the pictured position. The center remained empty, exposing teeth shaped for a second piece.

Beside the missing part, the record carried Gullet’s crest stamped over the old royal seal.

Someone had already split the way into that vault, and the pirate captain apparently knew where the other half had gone.