Guard Captain Gideon Ecbal huddled in a doorway, clutching his cloak tight around his neck. He shivered against the biting cold. Patrolling in deep winter was never a task to be relished. Winds off the Eastern Sea tore over Westpool with malicious intent. A flurry of snow had blanketed the docks, driving him and his fellow guard into the yawning doorway of a warehouse to keep the worst of the chill from their bones. From there, they still had a clear vantage over the docks, where ships waited for the weather to calm enough to continue their trade.
“Soup, sir?” asked Bryn, the youngest of the guard team. She offered a tankard, and he took it in both hands, soaking in the warmth through the metal.
“You’re a star, Bryn,” he said, blowing on the hot contents before taking a sip—and promptly burning his mouth. At least it would be numb from the cold.
“Quiet night,” she said amiably. “Who’d want to come out in this?” She looked up at the slurry of winter weather.
“Them,” Gideon said, nodding toward a couple of figures down on the docks.
He’d noticed them earlier and assumed they were dockworkers, but their behaviour had turned suspicious. They’d been poking around equipment, ships, and their covered containers—none of it making sense from a worker’s point of view. It reeked of trouble.
Bryn followed Gideon’s gaze. The two miscreants loitered near a pair of tarpaulin-covered crates belonging to the Radiant Horizon, a trading vessel stuck in Westpool’s dry dock for repairs. Gideon didn’t know what was in the crates, but if thieves were interested, it had to be worth something—worth enough to brave this weather.
“See them, Captain Ecbal?” came the voice of his second, Sabine. She stood in the middle of the street, four arms folded across her chest.
Gideon sipped his soup, relishing the warmth against his bearded face. “Aye,” he replied to the four-armed Vipir, glancing her way with an eye roll. She wore her usual attire—nothing more. How she didn’t freeze, he’d never know. Nothing seemed to faze her: heat, cold, or chaos.
Gideon set the tankard on an outcropping and moved to the dock’s barrier for a clearer view. Just then, one of the men slipped under the tarpaulin and wriggled between the boxes.
“Oi!” Gideon’s voice boomed. “Leave that shite alone!” He jerked his head toward the two women and hissed, “Get down there.”
Sabine led the way, Bryn close behind. Gideon kept his eyes on the two men as he picked his way along the slick dock edge. The slush underfoot was treacherous, and—not for the first time—he admired how easily the Vipir moved, fearless and sure. Pushing off from the rusted barrier, he followed.
One thief bolted at Gideon’s shout. The other thrashed beneath the tarpaulin, his outline shifting into strange shapes through the heavy cloth. Sabine signalled Bryn to stay back and sprinted after the fleeing man.
Gideon made his way down the steps, gripping the handrail and doing his level best not to slip. He almost reached the bottom when his foot hit a slick patch, and—despite his grip—he went arse over face, landing hard at the bottom.
Bryn lowered her halberd as the man crawled from his hiding place—freezing when the blade met his face. That did the trick. She turned at the clatter of her boss slipping down the uneven steps, but snapped back to her prisoner when he started to move again, clearly intent on bolting.
“Don’t even think about it,” she warned, voice firm. He sneered—started to argue—then thought better of it when Gideon limped over.
“You all right, boss?” Bryn asked as his heavy hand landed on her shoulder.
“Twisted my ankle,” he muttered, eyeing the man getting to his feet. The broad-shouldered captain grabbed him by the collar, yanked him upright, and tore back his hood. “Should’ve bloody known it was you,” Gideon snarled—his anger toward the familiar criminal burning hotter than the pain in his leg. He spun the man around, shoved him against the crates, and bound his wrists with practised ease.
Sabine returned, her own captive in tow—shouting bloody murder, claiming innocence. His protests died the moment he saw his sibling bound and in Gideon’s grip.
“You two’ll never learn,” Gideon growled. “At least you’ll have a warm cell tonight, eh?” He shoved his prisoner forward and, still limping, herded them both toward the guard post.
Sabine came up beside her captain, giving him a quick once-over. “What happened to you?” One of her hands brushed snow from his shaggy hair.
“Fell down the bloody stairs,” he muttered, masking embarrassment. Their working relationship was serious, though they bickered like an old married couple. His expression soured, ready to parry whatever scolding came next—but instead, Sabine laughed.
“Don’t you dare laugh!” he barked—but the sound of it made him grin despite himself. “Or I’ll toss you straight in that pool!” he warned, motioning to the water. Her laughter only grew louder.
The three guards, prisoners in tow, made their way back to the treacherous stairs. Gideon let Sabine go first and handed his captive off to Bryn. He leaned heavily on the handrail with every step. Near the top, Sabine waited, one hand outstretched. “Let me help you, Captain,” she teased. “Wouldn’t want you to slip again.”
Gideon swatted her hand aside and limped the last few steps, triumphant despite the sting in his pride—and his ankle. It’d be a while before he lived this one down.
