Wanker was already awake when the first rays of artificial sun shone through his window. Wiping a hand through his long, disheveled hair, he rolled out of bed and shuffled over to the bathroom while casually pulling up his trousers. The cabinet mirror was already broken, so he didn't even need to open it to reach for the comb that was inside. He tapped it against the sink a few times and looked in the mirror. From here, he had the perfect view of the pygmy who still lay unconscious on the bed.
 
“Only a pig could sleep through all that,” he said, hawking out a huge wad of spit in the sink. He dipped the comb in it and checked his hair again before passing the comb through it. As he did, the body on the bed began to stir.
 
Wanker lowered his eyes and pretended not to notice.
 
“... Ugh...” Zana mumbled. “My head...” She tried to open her eyes, but the light from the sun burned, even if the windows were mostly boarded up. Burying her head in the pillow, she opened one eye—no more than a slit—and waited for the room to come into focus. It was so cold and there was so much graffiti on the walls that she could have sworn she was outside, if not for the unsightly furnishing that adorned this rathole. The wooden beams that held the ceiling in place were obviously shirking their duties, for there were patches in the roof that had caved in, and nobody had bothered to clean up the debris. A steady mist of dust glistened in the morning sun.
 
“I think I like you better like this,” came a deep, raspy voice from over her shoulder. “You're finally quiet. Last night, you wouldn't shut up.”
 
The presence of another person made Zana jump—for she had thought she was alone—and she quickly rolled over in bed to see a shirtless man hunched over the sink, watching her through the mirror.
 
“I woulda been flattered if you were talkin' about me,” Wanker said calmly, returning his attention to his much needed grooming. “But all you wanted to talk about was 'Malkav this' and 'Fayrelin that.' Quite an odd fetish you have, pig.”
 
Zana's eyes widened. Now accustomed to the light—and hearing those names again—her thoughts became clear and she began to recall the events that had transpired the night before. She remembered rowing all the way to Little Penee to punish Malkav. That fish had given her the slip—and Fayrelin had helped him. That traitor. She would have to pay. They would both pay.
 
Nobody would make a fool out of Zana.
 
“You might wanna put some clothes on,” Wanker said as Zana squirmed out of the sheets.
 
The pygmy huffed, snatched the top sheet from the bed, and wrapped it around her body.
 
“I'm reporting you to the mermaids,” she snapped. “You stupid, ugly, good-for-nothing...fish!”
 
Chuckling, Wanker slipped the comb back in the cabinet and turned around.
 
“Are we back to this again? Last time we did this, you said you were going to gut me yourself.”
 
“...Shut up.”
 
“Oh, surely I didn't offend—”
 
“I said, 'Shut up!'” Zana's eyes flickered for a moment and then she slumped back against the wall and shuddered. “...I told you to never bring that up again.”
 
“Threatened me at knife-point, actually. While we were still in bed.” Wanker advanced towards her. “I never forgot that.”
 
“It was a mistake... I never meant to...”
 
He took her hand—the one she was using to keep the sheet pinned tightly against her chest—and gently pried her fingers apart, one by one.
 
“It certainly was a mistake,” he whispered into her ear. He nibbled at her skin, but once the last of her fingers had fallen away from the sheet, he stuffed his forearm into her neck and threw her against the wall. “Now, how many times do I have to remind you, pig? You can't touch me. You blow the whistle on me and I'll blow one on you.”
 
The fire in Zana's eyes appeared again and she scowled at the vile miscreant while he forced his arm deeper into her throat.
 
“You're lucky to still be alive,” she gasped.
 
“Me? Well, that's an odd thing to say. As I recall, you were the drunk who wandered into Kingsbridge and tried to pick a fight with Bruzzeli on his own turf.”
 
“I had my reasons to be here.”
 
“I'm sure you did, and I'm sure they weren't to see me.” He loosened his grip.
 
“Not exactly...”
 
“And yet, here you are. The pig and the wiener—just like old times.” He bit her ear again, drawing a little bit of blood this time, and then slapped her on the butt. “If it's any consolation, I'm glad Bruzzeli didn't fuck you up. That man needs to be taken down a notch. He needs to learn not to invade what's mine.”
 
“I don't give a shit about Bruzzeli,” Zana said, rubbing her neck. “I could have him knocked off at any time.”
 
“Then why don't you?” Wanker raised an eyebrow and smirked. “...I hope it's not for the same reason you won't call the mermaids on me.”
 
“No! No, of course not.” Zana gagged at the thought. “...I just have other things on my mind.”
 
“Like what?”
 
“None of your fuckin' business. You going to cook me breakfast now?”
 
The corner of Wanker's lip twitched for a moment and he held up a stiff chin before walking out of the room. When he came back, he held an apple in one hand and a rather large knife in the other.
 
“You owe me, you know,” he said. “Bruzzeli and his men woulda killed you.”
 
“I think I already gave you what you wanted.”
 
Wanker moved towards her and lifted the knife.
 
“Sorry, darling—but you're not that good.”
 
“What if I said it wouldn't interest you?”
 
“I would have to know what it is first.”
 
Zana nodded, her back against the wall, and looked out the window.
 
“It may be nothing,” she said. “But I suspect there's something going on between Fayrelin and one of those pirate fish. They're always disappearing into dark corners and whispering things to each other when they think nobody is around.”
 
“Uh-huh...”
 
“I finally caught them in the act and chased them here. I would've had them too if Bruzzeli and his goons hadn't shown up.”
 
“You think the pirates are on Bruzzeli's payroll?”
 
“I don't know what to think... But something big is going down. I'm sure of it.”
 
“I see...” Wanker took the knife and began peeling the apple. While he did so, he kept both of his eyes on Zana, studying her every movement, as if she'd spring for the window the moment she was given the chance. “...Do you want Bruzzeli dead?”
 
Zana was quiet.
 
“What about the pirates? Malkav, Jargon, that fat fuck...” He snapped off a chunk of apple and held the knife at arms-length, offering it to the pygmy. “No, wait... What about Fayrelin?”
 
“You lay a hand on Fayrelin and I'll kill you myself.” She reached for the apple chunk. A few beads of juice dribbled down the blade of the knife as she slid her thumb and index finger around it and pulled it towards her lips. “You know that.”
 
Wanker's eyes were fixated on the apple slice as it entered her mouth. He calmly tossed the rest of the apple on the end table next to the bed and raised the knife to Fayrelin's cheek, stroking it back and forth with the delicacy of a surgeon.
 
“Yes... I suppose the brutal assassination of a pig would send the rest of your kind in a man-killing frenzy.” He pressed his nose against Zana's nose and continued to caress her skin with the blade. “Just like the untimely death of a certain criminal kingpin would have his men putting a target on my head the size of Dai Celeata's teat.”
 
“We wouldn't want that...”
 
“Mm...” Wanker sucked on Zana's lips. “But the pirates... You kill one of them and nobody blinks an eye.”
 
“...Don't go making this a bloodbath,” she said, pushing the large man away. “Find out what they're up to first. I want to know who else is involved.”
 
 
-------------------------
          
 
When Duchess May rode into Oyster's Eye on the back of a monstrous-sized wolf, rats and men alike scurried under the woodwork. They would wait there in the darkness, silent and breathless, and poke their heads out only after she had passed and was some distance away, but they did not dare step foot out again. Too many of their friends had fallen victim to the belly of that beast.
 
The wolf was pretty bad too.
 
As they rounded the corner to the shipyard, May yawned and looked around. This city had certainly seen better days. Once a small village on the Tethys Sea, Oyster's Eye had become a bustling harbor for ships and traders, but it was still poor and rundown. Even the women who worked here looked gray and weathered and desolate, like the old stone buildings.
 
“Duchess!” one of the shipyard workers called out. “The duchess is here!”
 
May steered her mount over to the docks and stroked the wolf's fur as a burly woman in red garbs and a light blue bandana came over.
 
“Duchess May,” the woman said, extending her hand.
 
Sensing her master was in danger, the wolf snarled and snapped her fangs, and the woman quickly retreated her hand.
 
May ignored them both and slid off the back of the wolf.
 
“...We weren't expecting you today,” the woman said, cautiously stepping back. She had to move quickly to get away from the wolf and catch up to May, who was already walking down to the pier. “You usually don't make an appearance for shipments this small.”
 
“Do you not want me here?” the duchess inquired.
 
“N-no. Of course not. I mean, yes. Yes, we—”
 
May stepped onto the pier and began marching past the docked ships with her hands behind her back.
 
“These knots are terrible,” she said. “I'm surprised all your ships don't sink to the bottom of the sea.”
 
“I'm sorry, duchess.” The woman snapped her fingers at another worker and began waving her hand frantically. “We'll get it fixed right away.”
 
“And these sails are horrendous. Get those patches repaired and do something about the shoddy craftsmanship. These are the Queen's ships you represent.”
 
“Yes, ma'am.”
 
“And tell your workers to start lifting with their legs. I'll be damned before I let another smart-ass get away with six months of paid leave due to a sore back.”
 
“Of course.”
 
“You there!” May shouted to one of the workers who was unloading a ship. “Bring that crate over here.”
 
“It isn't really necessary to inspect a shipment this small,” the bandana woman tried to argue. “We can just send you a copy of the inventory tomorrow.”
 
May waited for the crate to be brought over and then grabbed a crowbar and knelt down.
 
“There's a bigger shipment coming in a few days,” the bandana woman said. “The biggest one this year, I'm told.”
 
The top of the crate broke off easily. Inside, there were hundreds of pearls of many sizes and colors, but May dug through them with her bare hands as if she was searching something.
 
“...Get me another one,” she said. When the worker didn't immediately move, she tightened her grip on the crowbar and raised it over her head. “Now.”
 
“...Do it,” the bandana woman commanded.
 
The worker nodded furiously and backpedaled towards the ship.
 
Sighing heavily, May slammed the top of the crate back down and took a seat on it.
 
“Dammit...” she muttered.
 
The bandana woman cocked her head.
 
“What exactly are you looking for...?” she asked.
 
Neither of them were looking down at the time, or they might have seen a sharply-dressed man climb up through a knothole in the pier, adjust his tie, and wave to his friends down below. Five more men—all in suits and expensive haircuts—clambered onto the dock and fixed their attire before zipping under the duchess' feet and taking shelter behind the crate.
 
“Almost too easy,” the first said. “Like stealing candy from a babe.”
 
“Isn't that 'candy from a baby?” the portly second man asked.
 
“Why would you steal candy from a baby?” the third man asked. “What kind of monster are you?”
 
“Would you all shut up?” the first man snapped. “Women might be stupid, but they have ears too.”
 
“Let's just get what we came for,” a fourth man said. “I don't like being out in the open like this. I feel exposed and...naked.”
 
A fifth man turned awkwardly towards him.
 
“...Yeah, none of us want to see you naked,” he said.
 
“Just help me out here, you imbeciles,” the first man interjected. He searched around the side of crate for a minute, rapping it on occasion with his knuckles, and then pointed to a nail that was marked with a small red 'X'. With their help, they were able to pry out the nail, and they laid it quietly on its side while the first man reached into the hole in the crate that had been left behind.
 
After a couple of grunts—because whatever was in there was buried deep—he managed to pull out an old beer bottle. He glanced up for a moment to make sure the duchess' back was still turned and then smashed the bottle against the side of the crate. A crumbled piece of paper fell to his feet.
 
Grinning, he tossed the rest of the bottle into the sea, and reached for the paper.
 
“Is it from Bruzzeli?” the second man asked.

“No, it's from the Princess of Kaligar,” he said. Then he slapped the portly man with the paper before he began to unfold it. “Of course it's from Bruzzeli, you dumb ass.”
 
“Oh...”
 
“That would be cool if the Princess of Kaligar wrote to us, though,” the third man said.
 
“...Well, boys, it looks like the boss man is finally getting out,” the first man said. “He says he'll be here with the next shipment.”
 
“It'll be good to have Bruzzeli back,” the fifth man said.
 
The first man chuckled and watched the duchess dig through another crate in futility. When she didn't find what she looking for, she threw her hands up and demanded another crate be brought forth.
 
“And nobody suspects anything,” he said, crumpling up the note and eating it. The rest of the man looked at each other and smirked, and then they leaned back on the crate and watched May.
 
The sixth man, however, did not seem to share in their enthusiasm.
 
“Let's just get out of here,” he said. “It's only a matter of time before she finds out what we're up to.”
 
“Somebody shut that kid up,” the first man said.
 
In actuality, the sixth man was probably closer to a boy. In both age and appearance, he was younger than the rest, with more hair and less wrinkles, and his suit was wrinkled and disheveled, as if it was tailored for somebody two sizes taller. Although he had firm features and a swagger in his step, his voice was meek and cracked when he talked, even though he was probably a decade or more past puberty.
 
“I just think we should be more careful,” the kid admitted. “She's already caught us snooping around the docks once, and she obviously knows we're up to something.”
 
“She won't find anything,” the portly second man said. “She doesn't even know where to look.”
 
“Yeah, so chill out,” the first man said. He grabbed the kid by the shoulder and threw him back against the crate. “Stick with us and you might live to be our age. Hell, you might even live to be the ripe old age of that father of yours. How old is he now?”
 
“...He's never told me.”
 
The first man rolled a cigar and lit it.
 
“You can ask him when he gets out,” he said, blowing out the match. “That's why you joined us, isn't it? To see your old man again.”
 
“Yeah...” The kid crossed his arms over his chest and looked out over the cursed sea. “Yeah.”
 
“You'll see him again, kid. Don't worry.” The man bit down on the cigar and blew a puff of smoke through the gaping hole in his teeth.