Page 14 of Of Might and Mettle

“Well, you should have planned for proper protocol,” answered a familiar reedy voice.

Antonio sat upright, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He would never forget that voice. It was the guard from the river port. And now his throwing-down-the-rulebook attitude was fixed on some unsuspecting ship captain.

Or . . . maybe a captain that was trying to hide something.

Antonio needed to get outside and see what was going on. This could be the lead he needed to learn more about the loyalists . . . and maybe even find Sir Thomas.

He threw off the bedsheets, turned, and planted his foot on the ground for balance. He had to get downstairs, but he’d learned the hard way that rushing this part of his morning routine could only bring disaster.

Grabbing his brass leg that leaned against the wall, he first dressed it with pants, then laid it against the foot of the bed. He inspected his thigh, a few angry blisters glaring up at him from where his skin had rubbed raw from his journey so far. Without the privacy a room afforded, he’d been forced to stay with his prosthetic the entire time he’d been with Lorelle, and he would pay the consequences until he returned to the palace. At least he’d been able to get a thorough cleaning last night.

He slipped the other pant leg onto his good leg, fitted the leather cupping of his brass leg, and finished dressing. His knee creaked loudly as he walked the length of the room, but he could still hear the reedy voice of the guard arguing with the captain outside, so he had time to get closer.

In the hallway, the door beside his cracked open. Lorelle poked her head out, blinking sleepily. “Are we leaving already?”

“No,” he said, then winced at his tone. “I just have to check something out real quick.”

She started to say something else, but he lengthened his stride down the hall, his brass knee squeaking as he went down the steps.

He crossed out of the inn into the sunlight. Already the day was hot, even though the sun was just barely turning the eastern horizon pink. Seagulls cawed above the heads of sailors unloading goods from large cargo ships. A cool breeze ruffled large white sails and sent the deep-purple flag of the Empire blazing above the docks. A few ships boasted the red and silver Monte Rican flag.

Antonio spotted the guard from the river port at the closest of the docks, holding a clipboard while he spoke with the captain. Amid the dozen ships abuzz with movement, this ship was still, and the captain seemed to bristle with impatience.

“I gave the documents to the harbormaster yesterday,” the captain all but snarled.

“Well, he didn’t pass them to me.” The guard sniffed, tapping his quill to his clipboard. “Do you have your copy?”

“My copy?” The captain huffed. “One of your men took the originals. That’s what your protocol demands, isn’t it?”

“You should have come prepared.” The guard tsked. “If you’ll allow me to inspect your cargo, I can sign off on your paperwork myself.”

The captain waved for the guard to step forward onto the ship, but the guard lifted a hand. “I must inspect your cargo in the warehouse, take inventory, and ensure that what you are claiming is what you have brought. If your men begin the process, perhaps I may find the time to get to it today.”

The captain’s face turned a shade of purple to rival the Empire’s flag.

A gasp sounded behind Antonio and he jumped. “Lorelle!” Anger flushed through him. Not at her, but at how he’d been oblivious to her approach. “What are you—”

“It’s the passport guy!” she said, narrowing her eyes at the guard. “What’s he doing here?”

“Driving a captain mad,” Antonio whispered back, “but maybe he’s on to something this time.” He shot her a sideways glance. She had dressed far more quickly than he, her long brown hair braided over one shoulder as she stood in the shade of the warehouse beside him. He formulated a plan. “I’m going to speak with him,” he said. “Can you secure the supplies we need?”

“Fine,” she said, “but you’re in charge of Peluche.” And she thrust the sleepy pup into his arms.

“I can’t hold on to him,” he protested. “I need to speak with the guard.”

“Well, if you want me to carry anything back, you’re going to have to hold him.” She waved her tin hand, disguised by his glove, but the way she shot him a grin made him think she was perfectly capable of both holding the pup and getting supplies. “Be nice to Peluche,” she said, sending him a stern look, though a glint of humor sparked in her green eyes.

“I’ll be nice to Maximiliano,” he emphasized, handing her some of his dwindling funds.

She went away laughing, which didn’t make him feel any more optimistic that his new name for the pup would stick. He turned his attention back to the warehouse and his mission.

It should be fine. He wasn’t going to be fighting anyone. Just talking to the guard. He could do that with the pup tucked under his arm.

As long as he didn’t let anyone else sneak up on him. How had Lorelle been so silent?

Antonio refocused his attention on the imperial sailors hauling boxes up to the warehouse. The guard stood a few paces away, counting each box that came up, while the captain had stomped off to the ship, probably to make whatever preparations he could so he would be ready to sail out as soon as the inspection was over.

As much as Antonio wanted to look in the boxes himself, they were being carted into the warehouse, and he would need to pass the guard in order to get inside. He doubted the guard would let him through without the “proper documentation.” But he could show his badge and maybe get some answers.