Sci strolled alongside the endless, deserted boulevard of sand hardened and wetted by the constant rhythm of waves spraying up on the rocks. Sooty gulls squawked shrilly, announcing the sky colouring red on the horizon. 

She straightened her bag on her shoulder and quickened her pace. She hadn't drunk her own weight in carob juice last night to still arrive late. The pulpy sweetness still lingered in her mouth. Her home, her family—it had been two hours since she had left her hammock and started walking all the miles up to the other side of the city. Another world. Another life.

The excitement flowed back as Kayani's arch rose in the distance. There, beyond the ornate stone remnant of the King who had brought international trade to Scoria, her adventure would begin. Old King Kayani had slaughtered thousands of Sarisians and Makurdyians too, but hardly anyone remembered that gruesome part of history. And frankly, at this moment, she cared very little for it too.

Two royal guards were on duty to keep any pryers or other nuisances out. Their halberds crossed to block the entrance. These were the only two that she could see anyway. When the royal family was involved, one never knew how many extra pairs of eyes were watching.

"Scirocco Bint Harun Bin Tayo," she announced herself to the guards. Slightly out of breath, but in time. The yellow circle of light barely peeked above the horizon.

A synchronised nod, the halberds parted.

She went in.

There was no doubt which ship she had to go to. There was only one: a three-master with bright red sails. 

It was small. Ordinary even, with the way it was connected to the dock by a few ropes and a narrow gangplank. Something that resembled more a merchant ship than something the army would take out on a secret mission. 

Definitely not the revolutionary steamship Indra and Abah had raved about the last time Abah had been home.

She counted eight... no... ten people on deck. Among them a very familiar boy with tousled black hair and a distinctive hearty laugh that he couldn't produce without throwing his head back. 

Esen.

Why was he here? The Queen had asked her. Not him.

"Scirocco Bint Harun Bin Tayo," she said to the first person she saw. A woman with such long hair, she mistook the long tail hanging over her shoulder for a shawl. Though that could also be because she couldn't keep her eyes off of Esen.

"One." The woman turned her head—and her hair flicked with it. "Five's here. We're complete."

"Good," answered the stern-looking man wearing a long black thobe. 

Sci didn't pay him much attention. Too focused on mouthing, "What are you doing here?" at Esen.

Esen grinned broadly. 

Then, the stern man stepped in between them, crossing his arms. "I see you know each other. That's unfortunate."

Sci looked at the man."Unfortunate, Sayid?" 

"Forget what you know about each other—it's not important. I'm One. You're Five. He..." He pointed at Esen, "Your boyfriend's new name is Two. You'll learn the rest soon enough."

"He's not my boyfriend, Sayid," Sci said.

His dark eyes peered into her skull. "One... the name's One, Five!"

Sci swallowed. Numbers instead of names—she had read about this technique in one of Indra's books. During her time as jondi—albeit cut short by that terrible desert storm—she had never been a number. 

Only spies used numbers. Royal guards. And... those on a secret mission. To hide their identity, to protect their family and friends.

"And my job on this ship, One?" Sci asked, fishing after the instructions she would receive once she was on board.

"You fish. You train. You keep your reflexes up," he said.

"For what?"

"To respect the teachings of the God of Patience," he said. His face stoic, but his voice betrayed a hint of a smile.

Sci felt like a fool. Frankly, it didn't even matter what the mission was. Even if all she had to do was sit on a ship for weeks on end and fetch a rare monkey in Socota, she would gladly accept it. For one, there was no denying the Queen. And secondly, she was so important her identity had been reduced to a number.

She was special.

One turned around, shouting, "All right, Seven, Eight, Nine. Hoist those sails! Bring this magnificent beastie to open water!"

Three identical men with only the colour of their shawl to set them apart dashed to each of the three masts. She wasn't sure if these were royal guards or triplets who had been recruited for this mission. There were more curious things to wonder about.

She stepped up to Esen and whispered, "What in the names of the Gods are you doing here?"

Esen put an arm around her. "I told you never to leave me, Sci. Ummi managed to pull a few strings, and here I am."

"That's disturbing." She sneaked from under his embrace. "Do you have wool in your ears? The name's Five now."

"Right..." he said with a slight shake of his head. 

Good. That left Esen dumbfounded long enough to see who else was with her on the ship.

She slipped from underneath his embrace.

While the muscular seven-eight-nine triplets loosened the sails and guided them to face the wind, she approached a woman who seemed closer to Nana's age than Ummi's. She was thin, practically a cactus. Thick discoloured scars graced her arms—battle scars.

Esen removed the gangplank. The woman with the long hair loosened the ropes tied to the dock rings.

"All clear," shouted the man with the yellow shawl who stood by the mainsail.

"All clear," echoed Blue Shawl. He manned the sail at the front.

"Wait... wait..." came from the back. There was a clasping noise, then Red Shawl said, "All good."

One raised his hand.

The woman looked up. "I love this part," she said under breath.

Sci stared in awe as the trips synchronously pulled at the ropes, and the sails opened like a butterfly spreading its black and red wings. Be it a rowdy, boisterous butterfly craving attention. It was beautiful.

Rak-rak-rak followed the sound of the voyage. A boy with a mop of curly black hair winded up the anchor chain until the metal arrow freed them from the bottom of the sea.

The ship moved away from its state of inertia and floated along with the salty sea breeze towards the orange sky turning bluer as the sun climbed visibly higher with every passing breath. 

There was another smell. Creamy... spicy... wood-like. 

Sci sniffed. Her nose led her to the upper deck where a dark-skinned man with bright, colourful clothes stood next to One. He reminded her of the Parrots frequenting the brewery. Sandalwood-based perfume was the latest trend—Ummi had said a few nights ago. Sandalwood—that was what she smelling.

The woman with the scarred arms tapped Sci on the shoulders. She stretched out her hand. "I'm Six. Pleased to meet you."

Sci shook it. "Likewise, I'm Five."

Six smiled heartily. Her fingers brushed over Sci's shawl, almost touching her cheek. "You like you've seen the world. Or rather—the world has seen you."

"Likewise." Sci bit her lip. Now she felt like a parrot.

A light chuckle. Then Six turned towards the large wooden chest with slightly rusted metal corners and hinges. "Go put your bag down below, Five. On your way back, tell your boyfriend training starts when I snap my fingers."

"He's not my boyfriend," Sci muttered. Her worry for what Esen had told these people faded as Six opened the chest.

Her mouth dropped open. There were scimitars—not blunted but with edges glistening like they were recently sharpened. There were arrows too with twisted barbed heads and fletchings that hadn't been discoloured or seen too many shots. 

"Are you sure he knows he's not your boyfriend?" the woman with the long hair tested. "I'm Three, by the way. Nice to meet you."

"I'm Five, and nothing to do with two—whatever he says." She tore her eyes away from the weaponry. There were several more of these chests, all placed in the middle. Traces of hidden gunports on all sides of the ship.

Who were they going to kill?