The Passport Guy
Chapter nine
Raised voices outside his room roused Antonio from sleep, exhaustion clinging to his bones.
Perhaps it’d been a mistake booking the inn by the port—but it had been the only one open at the hour they’d arrived.
And they’d obligingly prepared two rooms and hot baths—after Antonio had all but emptied his pockets.
But the privacy of separate accommodations and the blessing of a hot bath had been worth it. The sand from the river and the sweat that had accumulated were not things he wanted on his skin for much longer, and the fresh change of clothes had been something like heaven.
“The tide is lowering,” said one rough voice, speaking from somewhere outside his window. “We need to leave now or we’re stuck in the bay until the afternoon.”
“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.
He went up to the guard.
“If you’re bringing more inventory, you can put it there.” The guard, not looking up, waved with a quill in the direction of the warehouse where two sailors were exiting.
“I’m not with the ship,” said Antonio, lowering his voice.
“I’m one of the king’s guards. Capitán Fuentes.
” He produced his badge, and the guard’s eyes widened.
He moved as if to salute, but Antonio waved it away.
“I’m investigating business important to the king,” he said, “and I require discretion.”
The guard introduced himself as Enrique. “How can I aid our king, Capitán?”
“I’m looking for suspicious activity,” Antonio said, as another sailor deposited a box in the warehouse. Glass clinked as the crate was set down. Could it be bottles of wine from the Empire, or flammable gas to set the town ablaze?
“Suspicious activity?” Enrique echoed, eyes wide. He turned to his notes, flicking through the pages as if he might find answers in the hundreds of lines of careful text.
“Tell me about these men first,” Antonio said. “Why have you chosen to inspect them again if they already were inspected?”
“They didn’t turn in the required paperwork,” Enrique answered simply.
“That’s it?”
The guard blinked in the face of Antonio’s incredulous tone. “That’s against protocol,” he said, as if that was all the explanation that was required.
“Nothing suspicious?” Antonio ran a hand down his face. “An extra box out of place? Goods that aren’t being declared?”
“That’s what we’ll be checking today,” Enrique explained. He paused, then looked at Antonio carefully. “Is this why you were going down the river before? To catch contraband?”
“Something like that,” he answered. “I can’t share details of the mission.”
Enrique nodded, face solemn. “Understood, Capitán. Would you like to inspect the cargo yourself?”
Antonio fought the grimace that wanted to take over his features.
He didn’t have the time to look in each one of the dozens of boxes.
Nor could he risk moving the boxes himself.
He’d worked hard to regain his strength after his injury and long recovery period, but his balance with his prosthetic leg was not enough to lift and move a box with cargo that could shatter—or worse, explode.
In his arms, Peluche let out a whimper to be let down. Enrique’s gaze fell to the creature. His eyebrows arched up, his face reddening. “Capitán Fuentes . . .”
Antonio’s frustration flickered. Was he about to ask for his passport again? “I have my passport, Enrique,” he said. “I’ll show it to you later—”
“No, sir—I mean, sí, show me, but—” He swallowed, glancing at the pup. “Where did you get the wolf?”
Antonio froze. “Wolf?” He glanced at the pup’s wide golden eyes, light gray fur, and dark muzzle. He was a weird pup indeed, but could it really be a wolf Lorelle had rescued from the river?
“It’s just, the pup looks like the mountain wolves from Elevsk.” He swallowed. “I’d heard some had been smuggled in over the years, but I didn’t believe it.”
Antonio met the lad’s gaze, expecting suspicion but only finding shame. Could it be that Enrique blamed himself for the wolves being on the island? He was just one guard, and a young one at that; he wasn’t at fault for the corruption all around him. Antonio, on the other hand . . .
He shook the thought away. He couldn’t focus on himself right now.
He put a hand on the young lad’s shoulder.
“No es tu culpa,” he said quietly, as another sailor passed close by with a box.
“You’re not to blame for the world being the way it is.
You can just do your part to make it better, and let God handle the rest.”
Even as he spoke, his conscience prickled with something all too similar to conviction. Was he even taking his own words to heart?
Enrique nodded solemnly. He glanced at his papers.
He looked like he was about to offer an idea for inspecting the crates, but his eyes caught on something over Antonio’s shoulder. An imperial sailor was raising his voice at another Monte Rican guard. Enrique brushed past Antonio, probably to defuse the situation.
Antonio would have gone to help, if it hadn’t meant having to explain the puppy in his arms. Instead, he kept a hand on the revolver at his side, in case Enrique and the other guard had any greater issues to contend with.
The imperial soldier and Enrique went inside. The minutes ticked by. The pup squirmed in his arms, and he let the creature down on the sandy grass by the docks.
Now he really had to change the pup’s name, or Lorelle would never let him, once she learned the cute dog was going to grow up to be a large, monstrous wolf from the Elevski mountains.
Peluche, indeed.
He scoffed.
“What’s so funny?” A voice caught him by surprise, but the pup yipped happily and ran to Lorelle’s feet, which were . . . barefoot?
He tensed, guilt washing over him. “Do you have shoes?” he asked. Had he not paid enough attention to get her a pair in Rio Celeste? Had she been walking barefoot all this time? No doubt that wasn’t good for her—
“Of course,” she said with a laugh, holding her sandals by the straps.
“I had to take them off to move unseen, which is a lot easier for me to do than you with your creaking knee.” She pulled fruits from her satchel and tossed them to him.
Two bananas. “Can you peel mine? I can tell you what I saw in the boxes while we go on to the next town.”
He had broken the top of the banana peel before his brain caught up to what she was saying. His eyes widened. “You went in?”
She nodded from where she now sat on the grass, slipping her feet into her sandals.
Now she worked the buckles with the quick fingers of her hand and stood, putting Antonio to shame with her quiet efficiency.
“I got what we needed,” she said, “and then I heard the sailors talk about hiding the bottles at the bottom of the stack of boxes. That the inspector doesn’t tend to look at the last boxes so neatly as the first”—though Antonio doubted that would be the case here—“but I guess they’re just trying to avoid the taxes on the olive oil from the Empire.
” She shot him a grin as she stood. “All this protocol for that?”
Antonio let out a breath as relief swept over him.
Olive oil. Tax evasion. That was not at all what he had expected.
He turned back to the warehouse, but Enrique didn’t emerge .
. . and in any case, he would figure out what Lorelle had just discovered eventually.
As soon as he ran through the protocols.
She scooped Peluche up from the grass. “Ready to go, Peluche?” The pup yipped in response. Then she looked to Antonio for direction.
“Yes, let’s move. The sun is just overhead. If we keep walking, we can make it to the capital by evening.” He shot a look over his shoulder, enough to meet her gaze with what he hoped was a stern expression. “And his name is Goliat.”
Lorelle laughed.