Reaching the harbor, we cross a broad plaza bustling with vendors hawking fish, spices, and trinkets. Sailors haul crates off moored vessels, the tang of salt and seaweed thick in the air. A large warehouse stands at the far side of the docks, near a row of anchored ships. Above its doors, the minotaur crest is carved into the lintel. This is where cargo is processed, the domain of the city’s dockmaster.
We push through the open double doors. Inside, the air is cooler, shafts of light spilling through high windows. Stacks of crates crowd the space, and a handful of workers sort goods with practiced efficiency. The dockmaster, a short but stocky minotaur with chipped horns, notices me and snaps to attention.
“Champion,” he greets, voice gruff. “Here on official business?”
I glance around, noticing a few curious glances from the workers. “I need to know about a crate that arrived last night, addressed to me, containing contraband orc blades.”
He blinks. “Contraband? That’s serious. Let me see the manifests.”
We follow him to a side desk littered with ledgers. He flips through pages, scanning entries for the relevant arrivals. Mira stands next to me, keeping a watchful eye. I sense her tension—she’s acutely aware that if the Senate twists this, both our lives get more complicated.
The dockmaster jabs a thick finger at a line. “Here. Four crates off a barge calledThe Ivory Current.Marked for RemanosIronhide. No mention of weapons. The ledger says ‘ceramic tiles for courtyard renovation.’ That’s what we were told.”
I grit my teeth. “Ceramic tiles, indeed.”
Mira leans in. “Who arranged the shipping?”
He flips another page. “Says it was paid in advance by—” He hesitates, brows furrowing. “There’s no name, just a sigil. A boar’s head. Someone paid a clerk to expedite the shipment. The clerk who handled that transaction is on break right now.”
I share a look with Mira. A boar’s head forging mark was on those swords. Now it’s on the shipping ledger, too. This points to a single source, likely connected with orcs. “We need to speak to that clerk,” I tell the dockmaster.
He nods, pushing up from the desk. “I’ll fetch them. They were taking a meal out back.”
As he leaves, the workers continue their business, though some cast suspicious eyes our way. I move to a quiet corner of the warehouse, beckoning Mira to follow. The guards remain at a slight distance, scanning for threats.
“This boar’s head symbol keeps appearing,” Mira murmurs, voice low. “And it’s the same orc clan mark you recognized on the swords. Could be a smear campaign, or a direct infiltration to discredit you.”
I cross my arms, ignoring the pain blooming in my torso. “If they want me discredited, they’re playing a dangerous game. Unless they have allies in the Senate who’ll push the story further.”
Her eyes spark with intensity. “You suspect Vaelen?”
I let out a shaky breath. “I don’t trust him. Doesn’t mean he’s behind it. But if he’s not, someone else in the Senate might be. They gain power by removing me or tarnishing my image.”
Before she can respond, the dockmaster returns with a jittery young minotaur clerk in tow, a battered ledger tucked under hisarm. His eyes flick between me and Mira as though he’s stepped into a minefield.
“Tell us about the crate labeled for me,” I say, voice stern but calm. “You processed the shipping, correct?”
He swallows, fiddling with the ledger. “Y-yes, champion. A masked courier arrived before dawn, paid with a heavy pouch of coin, asked me to ensure the crates got priority loading onto a cart for your estate. I didn’t ask questions, the pay was generous.”
A masked courier. My tail lashes behind me. “Did you catch a name? A voice, accent, anything?”
He trembles slightly under my scrutiny. “They spoke in Common with a harsh rasp, but I couldn’t place an orc accent. They might’ve been disguised. The only other thing I recall is a symbol on their belt—a boar’s head pin.”
I flick a look at Mira and our gazes lock. The same boar’s head emerges yet again. She speaks up, voice firm. “This courier. Did they mention the Senate or any official references?”
He shakes his head. “No, only said it was urgent that the champion receive the goods. I assumed it was something to do with your renovations, champion.” A nervous chuckle escapes him. “Didn’t realize it was contraband.”
My jaw tightens. “Next time, question suspicious shipments. You could’ve landed us both in a sea of trouble.”
He lowers his gaze, nodding weakly. “Understood.”
I dismiss him with a gesture, turning to Mira. “So we have a boar’s head symbol, a masked courier, a suspicious payment, and crates disguised as tiles. This is more than random sabotage.”
Her gaze flicks to the open warehouse doorway, where gulls wheel over the harbor. “Some group is orchestrating an attempt to undermine your standing. If they can pin orc collusion on you,the Senate might remove you from the champion’s seat. That leaves Milthar vulnerable to further infiltration.”
I grunt in agreement. “We have to share these findings with someone who’ll listen. But if we pick the wrong senator, the conspirators might catch wind and hush this up.”
She runs a hand over the battered ledger’s cover. “What about Ortem? He seemed less conniving than Vaelen, even if he’s fixated on tradition.”
