The clouds cracked open and a shard of moonlight fell over the quiet docks. The night was an hour away from tipping into dawn. The taverns were closing up, drunken sailors sent on their staggering ways. A balmy breeze drifted off the ocean and stirred up the smell of fish and salt, swirling it in the air around Isla.

She held up a scrap of parchment, using the slice of moonlight to study the sketch on it one more time. What was depicted on it was a drawing of a chest not much bigger than a loaf of bread with the carving of an oak tree on the top. A chest that they were hired to retrieve.

As the moon ducked behind a bank of clouds once more, Isla folded the paper and tucked it away. Beside her, Hawk peered through an eyeglass, surveying their target. Lanterns from neighboring buildings gave off a flickering orange light, casting orbs of illumination on their surroundings.

"Berth thirty-two," Hawk said, handing over the glass.

Resting her elbows on the stack of crates, Isla looked through the scope. A ship made from a black stained wood leaped into focus. In the darkness it looked barely more than a shadow, hovering above the water. A single sailor, leaned against the railing, a trail of gray smoke from a pipe giving his position away. Slowly, Isla scanned the rest of the ship, looking for signs of life. The man at the railing remained the only one in sight.

She lowered the glass, still gazing at the distant ship. The night's work before her didn't seem impossible only like an unwanted distraction. Two days had already passed since Raif had given up the emerald's supposed location. Two days spent with the information needling her, while they remained anchored in the same harbor. Two days of spying on this particular ship in order to steal its cargo. It had been two days too many.

"I only spotted one sentry," she said.

Hawk nodded. "I sense they will have a second, if not a third as well." He pointed to the rear of the ship where the railing rose too high to be able to make out a human if one was there. "On the stern, you're likely to encounter at least one more lookout."

Isla lifted the glass again, brushing over the ship one more time. When she handed the glass to Hawk, he accepted it. A breath of silence passed between them. To their right the gentle lapping of water against stone continued, beating out odd, uneven rhythms. The creaking of wood was added to the night's ocean lullaby as masts swayed in the wind. Isla removed a pocket watch and studied the worn, scratched face.  She brushed her thumb over it, wiping away the flecks of water that clung there.

"Orin and the others should be here in a minute," she said.

Hawk hummed in reply, his keen eyes still locked on the ship.

"I would start with the cargo hold." He looked at her, his dark brown eyes glowing with the reflection of lantern light. "But if it's of the value we suspect it may be in the captain's quarters."

"Understood."

She handed him the watch, then pulled off her coat, draping it over the splintering crates. Though warm, the coat would be necessary later. Crouching, she tugged off her boots and settled them beside Hawk. Beneath her bare feet, the stone was slick with water and chilled her toes.

As she prepared, Hawk watched with wary eyes. Despite all he knew and had seen her do, there was still an instinctual parental feeling he held for her. The feelings Hawk displayed weren't unknown to Isla, but she ignored him, not wanting his worry.

"It's time," he said, glancing at the watch.

From beside her coat, she grabbed a length of thin rope attached to a three-pronged hook not much bigger than two fists. The metal had been wrapped in cloth to mute the sound. Isla secured it around her waist, the cushioned hook resting against her thigh.

"We'll be waiting for your signal if things go wrong," Hawk said.

Nodding, Isla checked the daggers attached to her wrist. With one final glance at Hawk, she rose and dashed to the edge of the dock. Soaring in the graceful arch, she dove into the water, angling it just right so her body barely made a splash. The ocean's chilling blackness wrapped her into its folds. Pressure built around her ears and pull of the current tugged her out. Breaking through the surface, she fought the natural sway of the sea.

As she cut through the water, the weight of everything she wore doubled. Her black shirt and trousers, though close-fitting to avoid drag, still fought her. The knives on her arms weighted every stroke but going without them wasn't an option.

With the cover of the night sky and the shadows of nearby ships working for her, Isla swam towards berth thirty-two. Waves broke against her, tangling her hair and salting her lips. As she got closer, she slowed her pace, edging her way to the bow. The ship loomed over her and she reached out, brushing her fingers along the smoothed wood, searching. When she found an imperfection, a knot jutting out from the side, she stopped.

Over the constant beat of water against wood, she heard the loud rumble of voices. They grew closer, acting as a useful distraction for the bored guards. Isla unwound the hook from her waist. She lifted it above the surface, squeezing the water out of the cloth.

Gripping the knot in the side of the ship, she hoisted the upper half of her body out. Already trembling with the strain of holding herself up by her fingers, she lobbed the hook over the railing. The cloth dampened the contact with the wood.

For a breath, Isla waited to hear approaching footsteps. When none came, she shimmied up the rope, water dripping off her and plopping back into the sea. The voices were louder and it was clear that the volume was connected to the level of intoxication that the men held.

Isla gripped the railing and peered over the edge. Across the way, a sailor leaned against the edge, observing the clumsy group of men. He was three times Isla's size with muscular shoulders and arms that pushed against the boundaries of his shirt sleeves. It seemed the scene on the docks had turned entertaining as the sailor let out a low chuckle.

Taking advantage of the momentary diversion, Isla hauled herself over the side. Underfoot, the wood was worn down and gave away no sound of her presence. On the lower part of the deck, the sailor Hawk and Isla had observed was still at his post at the railing, equally entertained at the commotion below. He was the only other sailor holding watch on deck.

When Isla was certain he wasn't going to call to his companion, she snuck up behind the second sailor, tugging out one of her knives. Before the sailor had time to register her, she had one hand covering his mouth. She rammed the blade's handle against his skull. He collapsed into her and she eased his body down.

She crossed back to the other side of the ship and darted down the steps, a trail of water following after her. From where she was, she could see Orin had started brawling with Brockton while the rest of the crew watched and let out guffaws when either man landed a convincing blow.

The guard's pipe had been forgotten and lay beside him, the gray smoke curling up lazily. Isla crept forward and disarmed the sailor with the same speed and efficiency as the other.

Taking out a strip of white cloth, she gave it a single wave. The fighting on the docks ceased immediately and the men dispersed. They hid behind towers of crates, keeping watch for any sailors that might be returning to the ship.

Isla left the railing and headed for the stairway. A single lamp gave visibility to the corridor. The night was muted down below, sounds of snores and heavy breathing replacing the song of the sleeping sea.

At the first door, Isla cracked it open. The hinges gave off a weak whine and she froze. Someone inside gave a grunt and fell back into dreams. Having her answer to what lay inside, she closed the door and moved to the next. She edged down the corridor checking each door, all yielded the wrong scene she was looking for. As she cut right a pair of heavy footsteps echoed around her.

Adrenaline shot through her, charging every muscle and making her nerves hum. Knowing that taking on anyone in the open corridor would be disastrous, she slipped through the closest door. A pathetic squeak was released and she gritted her teeth, pressing herself against the wall of the room. Luckily, the room was silent, she would only have one problem to deal with for the time being. 

At the traitorous sound from the door, the footsteps had paused then continued, nearing. Isla left the door open a crack, knowing her hide out would be found and that it was better to have a clue as to the form of her opponent. The man's approach seemed to vibrate through the whole ship and under Isla's bare feet. She took in a slow breath, trying to calm her rioting heartbeat. When the lumbering sailor came into view and she bent her knees.

The sailor was almost as tall as the corridor, his shaven dome of a head brushing the wooden beams. He paused outside the room, his bulk blocking the light and plunging Isla into darkness. Isla curled her fist, body humming with pent up energy.

When the man opened the door, she sprung. She slammed her fist into his windpipe, cutting off all sound. Shock and pain conquered his face. As he staggered forward, Isla latched herself onto his back, wrapping her arm around his neck. His meaty hands reached for her, but she yanked out one of her daggers and smashed it against the side of his head. The fight left him.

With all her weight and still gripping his neck, Isla leaned away from him, forcing his body to fall backward. Before he could crush her, she planted her feet and took the brunt of his weight. His arms hit the floor, but she managed to lay his body down without making more sound.

When she straightened, she took in a deep breath, banishing her nerves. Pushing aside the altercation, she registered where she was. With a sliver of the light from the hallway peeking in, Isla found herself in the cargo hold. Boxes were stacked on top of each other, cords of rope anchoring them to the floor. In the large space, the scent of foreign spices and rich coffee beans permeated the air. Using what little light there was, she searched the place.

In the end, she was left with nothing but wasted time.

Knowing that it would be in the Captain's cabin, Isla snuck back into the hallway. She eased the door shut behind her, hiding the unconscious sailor. The Captain's quarters lay on the other end of the hallway. The coast was clear and she made quick time, her ears straining to hear signs of attack.

The door was locked, but Isla wormed the edge of her knife into the crack and jimmied the lock. It popped open and swung inward without a sound. As if she were nothing more than a shadow, Isla entered the room and closed herself inside.

The moon had come out of hiding and washed the door in pale blue light. In a large bed slept a heavyset man on his back, with a thick black beard. The fluttering of his breath expanded around the space. Isla crept about, searching, always keeping an eye on her sleeping companion. Despite the scrapping of drawers and the rustling of papers, the man slept on.

When again Isla was left empty-handed, she swore under her breath and balled her hands fighting the surge of irritation.

The Captain gave a whistled snore, drawing Isla's gaze. Her eyes hardened and she unsheathed one of her knives once more. She patted over to the bed and stared down at the man, trying to work out an alternative route, but there was none. Every second spent in a fruitless search meant every second she could be caught.

Biting down her annoyance, she made her move. Take the edge of one of his shirt sleeves she drove the blade through it, nailing it to the headboard of the bed. Then in a blink of an eye, she was crouched on top of the man, her knees pinning down his legs, while one hand was clamped over his mouth and the other held a dagger to his throat.

The Captain jerked awake, terror filling his eyes when they saw her, a blonde-haired demon perched on him. The fear vanished as rage filled him. Realizing one arm was free, he made to grab her but she dug the blade into his skin, stilling his movement.

"Don't," she said.

A trickle of blood beaded on his neck and rolled down. He stared up at her, his eyes saying all the horrible things that his tongue couldn't at that moment.

"The chest with the carving of an oak tree in the lid," she said. "Where is it?"

The man's eyes widened in surprise, then his eyebrows snapped down in refusal. Isla leaned her body forward and he winced at the shift even though no more pressure was applied.

"You do not need your tongue to show me where it is hidden," she said. "But you do need it to command a ship. Tell me, what man would employ a captain who cannot give orders?"

Isla dragged the edge of the dagger up his neck to his chin and just below where her hand rested on her mouth.

"Trust me, it is not worth your life. Where is it?"

The man lifted his hand and Isla tensed, ready to counter any attack he could devise. When he merely showed his open palm, she eased off. He put his hand into his shirt and removed a single metal key on a chain.

"Where does it go to?"

His eyes darted to the floor. Isla followed the direction. There was nothing there but a thinning rug.

"Understood," she said.

Twisting the blade around, she hit him, knocking him unconscious. She pulled the rug away and spotted the small hole that could have passed for a flaw in the wood. Kneeling, she slid the key into the slot and turned. A faint click and a section of the wood lifted.

Removing the piece, Isla reached into the floor and pulled out the small chest. It was heavier than she imagined. She replaced the section and flipped the rug back. After she tossed the key down beside the Captain, she yanked her knife out of the headboard and headed for the door.

The corridor was empty and she darted towards the deck, the contents of the box clinking. She paused at the base of the stairs, listening. When she heard nothing, she climbed up. The fresh salty tang of the sea welcomed her.

The sailor by the gangway was stirring. She crossed the deck and climbed to the stern, locating her hook. Not willing to be seen walking off the ship with stolen goods, she secured the chest to her waist with the hook's rope and leaped over the side.

The chest nearly drowned her but she fought against its weight, struggling to the surface. When she broke through she sucked in air and swam away. The chest acted as an anchor slowing her and taking away the ease in which she moved.

By the time she made it to Hawk, she was weak and shaking. He hauled her up to the dock and cut the chest away. She coughed, spitting out the bit of ocean the had been forced down. Hawk gave a low whistle and the crew left their hideouts and sauntered away. When Orin arrived, Hawk handed him the chest. He lifted Isla to her feet and draped her coat over her shoulders and held out her boots.

"I can manage," she said, pulling them on.

"Of course," he replied, but he wasn't convinced.

Under the dawning sky, they made their way back to their ship. The streets were silent, only the bakers moving about their business. From a doorway, Isla could smell the warm scent of rosemary and cinnamon. With each step, she found her shaking limbs steadying.

When they reached their ship, the sun was cresting and turning the droplets on the stones into diamonds. The crew was gathered on the deck, their eyes red from the long night, the energy of their youth no longer with them.

"Sleep," Isla commanded. "We have what we needed."

They headed below decks and Isla turned to Orin, the chest looking like a tinder box in his mammoth hands.

"I'll take that," she said.

He handed it over and she nodded to the two men, trying not to show her own weariness. In her cabin, she locked the chest away and exchanged her damp clothes for dry ones. Though the sight of her bed was inviting, she ignored it and sank into the chair behind her desk. Papers with sketches and notes crowded the top. All of it was for Earl Kesler's estate and the routine of his guards.

As she forced her tired mind to analyze each aspect of his holding, her door opened. Hawk stepped inside but she didn't look at him, studying a page that held the wall and guard towers.

"You need to sleep," he said.

"I need to prepare. We go to Earl Kesler's today."

"Do you expect a trap?"

Isla still refused to look at him, shoving information on the Holding's layout into her head.

"I expect nothing," she said. She looked at him. "But you walk into a trap when you have not planned for one."

The words were an echo. An echo of a voice that was deeper and not her own. Hawk held her eyes.

"Your father also knew when it was prudent to care for oneself."

Isla felt exhaustion sinking into her bones and dulling her mind. Though she wanted to fight it, she also knew the futility of arguing with fact and with Hawk. He had been a father to her almost as much as Zev had. Despite her position, a part of her was still that little kid he scolded and trained.

"He did," she admitted.

After a moment, Isla rose and let the paper fall back among its companions.

"Wake me at noon," she said. "I want this collection dealt with. I can not sit on Duke Sayer's information any longer."

Hawk nodded. "Rest well, Captain."

When Hawk closed the door, Isla dropped onto her bed, but she had the feeling she wouldn't rest well, not until the anchor was lifted and she was moving again.

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

That's got to be the best pirate I've ever seen!

What wonders of the mind have you brought for me! 🗯💬💭

I'm just going to say it, if I ever needed to be rescued from a tower I'm pretty sure Isla is the one to call. 🤔 I'm not sure I would be able to afford to pay her is the thing...this is a problem.

Now! *sets down soap box and stands on top of it*

Okay! I'm here to discuss a topic that I believe is plaguing our world and needs to be addressed. Don't groan at me *slams fist into palm* these issues needed to be talked about! And I'm not going to back down!

Here's goes, why is it called a soap box? And why must one have to be standing on it to make a speech? Would it not be as powerful a speech of you were standing on a shoe box? Or an Amazon box? (Cause I got a lot of those) And since we are on the topic, why was the cat ever in a bag to have to be let out? Also why would a cat have my tongue? Why would curiosity kill the cat? Why must it be a cat nap? And frankly why are cats involved in so much! They don't do anything but sleep all day!

Thank you for coming to my soap box Ted talk. *steps down from soap box*

Vraag van het hoofdstuk (Dutch): I want to know what is one topic you are really passionate about?

Also! Do you want a double update next week?

If so, then go write something wacky, wonderful, weird, or witty on my wall! 😄

Vote for cats every where, comment about cats, follow the cat. (I'm not sure you'll ever go anywhere but you will get a good nap)

On my Instagram (Joymoment) it was put to a vote and decided that this is our Isla!

What do you think? 😄