Chapter 417: We Advertised Our Own Whereabouts

By late afternoon, half the harbor knew that two idiots were transferring Captain Gullet’s stolen prizes through the east service dock, which was exactly the sort of news I wanted reaching him.

Lukas helped by asking a porter, loud enough to wake the harbor, whether stolen ammunition needed special storage. We had hired the dock until midnight and paid its crew to leave early. The porter took his money and wisely decided our conversation belonged to somebody else.

I watched their carts leave through the shore gate while Old Mate inspected our plan from an imaginary chair on my head.

[System: Look at you, mate, creating jobs and then paying everyone to fuck off. That’s proper management.]

Happiest workforce I ever managed. They get to leave, and I keep every stupid decision for myself.

The dock hire and workers’ early finish came from our repair and rest allowance. Lukas also rigged a weighted cargo net above the gangway, ready to drop from the dock arm.

We placed empty cargo crates near the outer platform and kept the valuable haul locked in the guarded store two streets uphill. The repaired launch waited inside the sheltered berth, its engine ready and its bow pointed toward the open return lane. Wet Regret stayed farther inland under the marina’s existing watch.

Our spare engine sat on a freight trolley because we had planned to install it later. Lukas wanted it moved behind the seawall, but the lifting crew had already left, so we pushed the trolley beneath the thick service shelter instead. That left its metal casing visible through the supports.

I wanted the spare engine farther back too, but it was heavy and we had already sent away the people good at moving it. Old Mate watched me discover that flaw with disgusting pleasure.

Lukas demonstrated the gangway’s sliding barrier and made me work its handle with a tendril. I asked if he wanted me to practice opening a door as well, and he said he’d seen what I did to tables.

"One table," I protested. "You destroy one piece of furniture and suddenly nobody respects your education."

"I’m standing beside the spare engine you won’t help me move, so forgive me for preparing a second example."

[System: He’s got you there, mate. Put it on the lessons board beside don’t adopt pressure cylinders and stop buying hats for invisible officers.]

You demanded that hat, and you are still wearing an imaginary version. At least have the decency to support your own uniform.

The port office took Lukas’s warning and closed the civilian approaches. Its watch could hold the shore, but Gullet outmatched its boats in deep water. I thanked them for keeping the neighbors away from what I hoped would become an excellent investment.

We checked the weather notice as well, because a rising tide could turn an exposed platform into a much wetter plan. The water would remain below the main deck until late evening, while the inner service wall sat higher. Lukas marked the safe return lane on our chart and left a paper copy beside the controls, making our exit something we could follow even if the expensive screen broke.

Before dusk, I reviewed Lukas’s phone recording of the captain’s earlier display on the captured boat’s screen. His broad pressure strike had bent the dock supports, but the water had gathered around his body for several seconds before he released it. Between the two full bursts, the disturbed water settled while he held our attention on the screen.

I replayed the clip with Galaxy Brain following the movement. Lukas counted ten seconds between the biggest blasts. I counted too, because betting my body on his arithmetic deserved a little more attention than a restaurant bill.

"That doesn’t mean he’s harmless for ten seconds, because he’s still a large bastard with teeth."

"It means he can’t keep throwing the big one without rebuilding it," Lukas said. "We watch the water, and we don’t stand in a straight flooded channel."

[System: Ten seconds between the big ones, mate. If you spend nine making a joke, I’m letting your girls know exactly why the funeral’s closed-casket.]

I checked Return to Sender again: two seconds, forty physical projectiles, six meters of reach and one point within thirty meters. The two-minute cooldown glared back like the shop had deliberately left the fun part unfinished.

Couldn’t you count angry water as ammunition? I asked. Old Mate told me to stop trying to refund the ocean.

I told Lukas the cooldown lasted two minutes, and he set an ordinary kitchen timer beside the launch controls so he could help track it without relying on my private System. Then he placed two bright lamps on the dock, one aimed across the water and the other down our escape lane.

We ate while waiting, because I refused to face an important enemy while hungry just to look serious. Lukas caught me moving the best fried fish into my own container and threatened to tell Lyra. I moved one piece back and called it a diplomatic settlement.

The first boat appeared shortly after sunset, low and fast beyond the marker buoys. Another followed on its left, with a third keeping farther back. Their deck lamps stayed off, but our dock lights picked out gun barrels and men crouching behind shields.

[System: Here come the customers, mate. Remember to smile; we want them upset about the robbery, not the service.]

A rough voice carried from the lead boat, ordering us to surrender the captured property and kneel. I looked down at my long red body and considered how much of that request had been physically ambitious.

"Kneeling costs extra, and your captain still owes me an apology. Send him over if he’s finished hiding behind the hired help."

The boats stopped outside the clear gangway lane. I had wanted them closer, and their refusal annoyed me more than it should have. Old Mate told me I couldn’t leave a trap out like a welcome mat and complain when people noticed.

A heavier shape moved behind the rear boat, briefly rising into the light. Gullet’s upper body cleared the water, his long barracuda lower half holding him steady beside the hull. He looked at the lit dock, then at the channel running beneath it.

He didn’t order his boats into our guns.

He smiled, slipped below the surface, and disappeared underneath the place where we were standing.