text: That night we sat aboard the refugee’s ship discussing what we should do. The temperature had dropped quickly and a cold sea air blew across the deck. Most of the islanders stayed in the hull to keep away from the breeze. However, a few of us braved the elements and decided to set up a small fire up top. Xander had decided to take it upon himself to build the fire on top of an old metal drum. He spent a good twenty minutes tenderly placing various twigs in a small pyramid before setting them alight. With the kindling letting off a gentle but steady yellow flame, he sat down triumphant. The rest of us pulled up crates and huddled around, with blanket wrapped over our shoulders, and held our hands out to the warmth. “That’ll keep us warm for a couple of hours,” Xander beamed. “Good work,” I replied. “Have you decided where you’ll go yet?” Xander shook his head. “We’re still deciding. We’ll stay until you’ve found out what you can. Besides, people are oddly happy on this boat. I don’t think I’m ever going to get a line out of Mirai’s hands.” I laughed. “I will admit I didn’t have her marked down to become a passionate fisher.” “She’s put you out of work,” Alessia smirked. “Gladly,” I said, raising my hands. “She’s better at it than me.” “Yeah. Sirad’s become obsessed with nautical charts. Eir loves the feel of the helm. And Laachlan, well he’s mostly trying to get us all to join in with his singing.” “That nightingale song’s been getting in my head,” Kurbani said, her wide smile caught in the yellow light of the fire. She paused briefly. “Are you going to take that prisoner to Ruthogrey Landfall?” The conversation fell quiet briefly. I turned to Alessia. She looked out to sea, eyeing up the distant lights of the island. “We do it,” she said. She turned to face me, but my eyes couldn’t meet hers. I sat tense, my jaw clamped shut. “We need that information,” she added. I grimaced, shaking my head. “Clandestine prison transport. Doesn’t feel right.” “It isn’t, but, what choice do we have?” “If you don’t do it, someone else will,” Kurbani added. “Sometimes, if bad things are inevitable, it’s better that they are done by good people.” “What?” I replied, turning my head. “Whoever they are, you will treat them with kindness and dignity. The next person, may not,” she spoke to the fire as if she was retelling visions. “Besides. That prisoner’s no worse off on Ruthogrey Landfall than Tima Voreef.” I paused, my tongue waiting on the roof of my mouth for my words to be conjured. “It feels like a large price to pay for that information.” “We can’t live our whole lives clean of compromise,” Alessia said. “It’s like when you're sailing. You can set a course to exactly where you want to go, but you have to play within the winds around you. Sometimes you have to tack or get shifted about by the breeze. You aren’t always making a direct line for where you want to go, but getting beaten around is fine as long as the direction is broadly right.” “I know. Let’s just make sure we don’t get blown too off course?” “Agreed,” Alessia smiled. “I’ve seen people become moralless on the oceans, Ferdinand. I promise we won’t become them.” \ The next day we sailed back to Tima Voreef. I stayed on the boat while Alessia tracked down Runar and informed him that we agreed to his deal. She returned an hour later. “What now,” I asked as she climbed down onto the deck. “He said head to the other side of the island. Bay number three. They’ll meet us there.” We left the quay and rounded the western tip of Tima Voreef. I could see the outline of Ruthogrey Landfall poking above the horizon. The small strait of water between the two islands was flat, only thin licks of waves rose from the sea. Yet the water was not calm, but tense, like a tightly pulled piece of string. Even from here, I could make out the cannons pointed out from Ruthogrey Landfall, and the flotilla patrolling the coastline. Any basic logic tells you that when a gun is raised towards you in threat, you don’t calmly walk towards it. Yet, here we were, preparing to sail towards an arsenal. I looked down the southern shoreline of Tima Voreef to a similar site. Men and women stood with rigid backs and binoculars held up, watching the enemy. Between each outpost, a large gun, the size of a person, stood anchored to the ground, pointed out across the ocean. While on the northside of Tima Voreef the quay was long and flat, here instead a series of concrete jetties jutted out into the water, each with a large number painted on its end. The boats were made of metal; steel, painted grey, and clasped together with large rivets hammered into the ship’s hull. The first few boats we passed were huge constructions: an excess of masts pointing upwards, reaching for the sky. But as we continued, the boats grew shorter and more nimble, the number and height of the masts dwindling. Then, we began passing boats with no masts at all. I scrunched my face, staring at them. Instead of sails they had long, thick metal funnels that rose from the back of the boat. “You...” I paused, blinking, rechecking my eyes. “What powers them?” I asked. “Steam and coal,” Alessia replied, glancing briefly before turning her eyes back to the waters. “They probably get some of it from Kadear,” she said with a knowing nod. When I look back at that black rock that powered so much of the industry on Kadear, it seems impossible that it could be used to create movement. I knew it was used in furnaces, to keep buildings warm, and occasionally to power machines. But the idea that it could power a boat through the water even now seemed illogical. I had never seen a mastless boat before, and I found it hard to shift my eyes from the site, my brain refusing to let it go until it could fully comprehend what I was seeing. I was jolted back to the moment by Alessia turning the boat sharply towards the quay. “Bay number three.” “You ever seen a coal-powered boat before?” I asked, staring at her disinterested expression. “No. I knew they existed. But not seen one.” “Aren’t you... intrigued?” I flicked back and forth between the impossible boat and Alessia’s eyes that remained fixed on lining up the landing. “The first time I went anywhere with you, I saw moving paintings on a wall. Honestly, since then, I kind of gave up being surprised.” She turned to me and grinned. “Guess I’m just less easily impressed.” As we entered the bay I could see four people walk towards us. Runar led the way, followed by a man and woman in black waistcoats, and lastly by the prisoner. The captive shuffled along behind them, their wrists chained and with a sack over their head, hiding their face. They wore dark blue overalls that were several sizes too big, masking any form or shape underneath. Alessia threw out a rope and one of the guards caught it, tying it around the mooring and reeling us in until we were flush against the harbour. Runar walked alongside so that he was level with the helm. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a small red envelope. “Someone will probably ask for documentation out there. If anyone does, show them this.” I took the envelope and opened it. Inside there was a folded piece of paper. Unfurling it I could read a letter. *Diplomatic Immunity.* Next to the title there was a large seal stamped onto the page, the faint whiff of wick still clinging to the wax. The paper itself was smooth and silky, not rough like you would expect. Interwoven across the sheet were brief flickers of gold, seemingly part of the paper itself. There was a brief paragraph of text, before two signatures. *Joan Moreno, President of Tima Voreef* *Philomena Rubio, President of Ruthogrey Landfall* Somehow both islands had signed the document. I tried to work out the logistics of such a process as Runar continued speaking. “You’ll be accompanied by one guard. Deliver them to Ruthogrey. When you come back, I’ll get that information for you.” “I hope we can trust you on this,” I said, putting away the paper. “With all due respect, that document you want doesn’t mean a great deal to me. I’m coming out on top with this transaction,” he replied, looking to his right, as one of the guards led the prisoner down onto the boat. Runar walked over. He picked up a black box, its lid held in place with a leather clasp, and handed it over to the guard on the boat. “What’s in the box?” I asked. The guard turned to me, unsure of what to say. “I don’t think that’s something you need to be concerned with,” Runar replied, as he signalled to the other guard who started untying the ropes. “Processing paperwork for the prisoner. I would advise you to concentrate on your job, and in return, I’ll get you that sales report.” With the ropes untied, the boat gently pushed off from the harbour and we drifted out into the sea. A stiff westerly wind blew across the strait. Alessia made use of the right-angle winds and smooth seas to cut through the water like scissors through paper. I stood by the helm with Alessia looking down on our passengers sitting on crates. The guard sat in the middle, the prisoner to one side, and the black box to the other. Both of them sat perfectly still facing the starboard side. The prisoner made no pleas. They didn’t wrestle the chains for greater freedom. They just sat, waiting. The only part of the prisoner I could see were their arms that extended past the short sleeved of the ill-fitting overalls. However, the smooth, hairless skin and the smaller frame, was enough for me to deduce the prisoner was a woman. I noticed too that her arms didn’t look dirty. There were no scratches or bruises. It was clear, for whatever reason, Tima Voreef had been certain to take good care of her. “What do you make of this?” I said, leaning over and whispering to Alessia, the westerly winds carrying my words out to the sea. “Something’s not quite right. Whoever she is, she ain’t no ordinary prisoner.” Alessia tensed her jaw in thought. “The guard’s too relaxed. Prisoner too. It’s just, something’s missing.” “Agreed,” I said, my eyes locked on the passengers. “What do you make of that box?” “I’ll bet my boat that old man was lying about what’s in it.” Alessia mumbled. “‘Processing papers’. Fishshit.” “What do we do?” Alessia slowly shook her head. “Right now? Nothing. Just, see what pans out I guess.” The boat continued cutting across the channel. Behind us I could still see the guns, the soldiers, and the canons; their focus primed in our direction. Ahead of us sat the forces of Ruthogrey Landfall, poised, and ready. We were like an ant scurrying across a busy street. A small spec caught between lines of enemy fire. We made it about two-thirds of the way to Ruthogrey before one of the island’s boats approached us and signalled for us to stop. It was a small boat, maybe a quarter the size of Alessia’s, yet there were half a dozen soldiers on board. One threw over a rope, while the others watched on with wide, ready eyes. Their hands were raised at the hip, ready to draw their weapons should the moment require it. “Do you know you are currently in restricted waters?” a woman at the front of the ship barked. She wore a similar uniform to those on Tima Voreef, a black waistcoat with a white shirt. The only distinct difference was a dominant red trim to the waistcoat and her trousers. “Yes. We have a permit.” I took out the envelope, the hands of the soldiers twitching by their holsters as I moved. I showed them the letter. The woman read it and nodded as her body softened. She turned to the rest of the crew and gave a gentle downward wave as she finished reading. Their gaze shifted, and hands dropped from guns, swinging loosely by their side. “Another prisoner run I see,” she said, nodding at the woman in the jumpsuit. “Another?” I replied. “You can be on your way. You’ll likely be stopped again though.” Her prediction was correct. Another two boats came out to meet us as we sailed in. Both followed the same pattern: confused and stern looks turning to indifference as soon as we showed them the document. Despite the good winds, the stoppages slowed us down, and it was nighttime as we approached Ruthogrey Landfall. We were probably less than half an hour away from arriving when - for the first time - the prisoner stirred. They leaned over and whispered to the guard. The guard furrowed their eyebrow. They whispered back before the prisoner cut them off. The guard’s shoulders jolted back and they stood, before walking towards us at the back of the boat. “Does your ship have toilet facilities?” the guard asked. “In the cabin,” Alessia pointed to the small room behind her. “The prisoner requests to use them,” the guard said in a monotone voice. Alessia shrugged. “Be my guest.” The guard walked back down the boat and spoke to the prisoner. She helped the prisoner up and guided her along the deck, up the two steps to the helm, and to the cabin at the back of the boat. I watched them walk past, but Alessia’s eyes remained fixed forward, stuck to where they had been sitting. As soon as the door closed behind us, Alessia turned to me. “Keep an eye out. Let me know if they’re coming back.” “What?” “Here, hold this.” She grabbed my hand and placed it on the wheel. “Hold the course.” The boat lurched slightly in the crosswinds as my reactions caught up to the responsibility. Meanwhile, Alessia walked down the deck to the crates. “What are you doing?” I whispered as loud as I dare. “The box,” Alessia said. I looked at the crates. They had left it behind. Alessia bounded down to the black box, carefully undid the clasp and opened the lid. She pulled out a handful of papers as the sheets rustled in the wind. Alessia held a tight grip on them, as she leafed through the pages one by one. She stopped on a page, and walked over to a nearby lantern on the ship, leaning in to read the words more closely. Her eyes scanned the page. Then she flipped over and scanned the next. Slowly I could see her eyes widen as her head slowly drew back. “Shit,” she mumbled. “What?” I said, leaning over the wheel. “This is not what I expected.” I was about to demand an explanation when I began to hear footsteps climbing back up to the deck behind me. “They’re coming back.” Alessia scampered back to the box, opened it, and slid the pages back inside. She turned and bounded up the steps just as the door opened and the guard and prisoner emerged. “All good?” Alessia asked. The guard nodded. The prisoner said nothing. “We should be in port in about twenty minutes,” Alessia said as they walked back down towards the crate. Alessia took the wheel from my hands as they sat down again. The guard’s eyes turned to the box. She stared at it, unsure for a second, before gently retightening the clasp, and returning her gaze to the black sea in front. “You’re not going to tell me what you saw are you?” I whispered in almost silence. “Not until they’re off my boat.” The docks on the northside of Ruthogrey were similar to the southside of Tima Voreef. Large, white, concrete jetties jutted out into the sea, each with a numbered bay. Along the harbour wall, men and women stood, staring out across the channel as guns stood ready. Ruthogrey had more greenery though. While on Tima Voreef the buildings pressed up against the coast, here there seemed to be a buffer of trees between the shoreline and the town. But if it weren’t for that, and the red trim to the guards’ uniforms, you could be forgiven for thinking you had never left. We found an empty bay and gently sailed in. As soon as we arrived around eight guards trekked down to meet us. One of them threw out a rope. The others took out their guns, pointing them at the boat. Once more, I handed them the piece of paper. They read it and handed it back. For the first time, the guard escorting the prisoner spoke on our behalf. “I’m escorting this prisoner to the parliamentary cells.” The man on the quay looked back with a mirrored pose: stiff, rigid joints, posture stretched out in a line. “Very well. We’ll accompany you there.” It was strange to see this simple conversation between bitter enemies. I had expected immediate animosity. But their professionalism and sense of greater purpose took over, both sets of soldiers understanding their mission. The guard brought the prisoner to their feet before turning and picking up the box of papers. Our passengers stepped off onto the quay. Alessia and I watched them walk away, waiting till they were just far enough to be out of earshot. “There weren’t processing papers in that box were there?” “Anything but,” Alessia scoffed. She turned to face me. “It was reports. On everything. Production numbers, sales, productivity reports. A total breakdown of everything Tima Voreef has done for the past year.” “Runar is smuggling information to the enemy with the prisoner?” “Or the guard?” Alessia shrugged. “You reckon?” Alessia twitched her nose. “Maybe. I don’t know.” I took a deep breath in, the cold salt air tickling the back of my throat. “What do you want to do?” Alessia looked up to the island and the lights of the buildings that flickered between the swaying trees. “That piece of paper have a date on it?” “The date it’s signed, but otherwise, no. Why?” “No need to head back right now then. Wanna follow them?” I grinned. “Oh, definitely.