Chapter 218: Prowlers On The Loose (II)

Shit! Fuck! Fuck!” Jon cursed in quick succession, his face going pale. “See what you’ve caused? Who knows how much he heard?!”

But Finn was unbothered. Not even surprised. He walked into the bathhouse while Jon stood there, visibly unsettled.

Jon continued that way for the rest of the morning until dawn properly broke. The unease clung to him like the smell of the dormitory had, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that the man had listened to their entire conversation, and now something was going to happen.

The only reason he was able to stay calm to an extent was because of how casual Finn was with the whole thing. Though he didn’t know whether mirroring the calmness of someone who didn’t know the situation of things in Hoshin Bay like he did was sensible at all.

When it was time to head to work, they split up and headed to their various sections of the docks.

Finn was one of the first to arrive at the oakum shed. He took a seat next to the old man from the previous day, who greeted him cordially.

But the old man’s eyes immediately snapped to Finn’s hands.

They were fully clean. Devoid of any tar stains at all.

“How’d you get the black off?” the old man asked, genuinely curious. “That stuff doesn’t wash out. Ever.”

Finn simply chuckled. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because of how soft my hands are?”

The old man laughed at the sarcasm, shaking his head as Finn settled into his rhythm.

Today, Finn moved at a more consistent pace. Still fast, still impressively skilled, but not with the frantic intensity of yesterday. It was a pace that would get the work done while being sustainable over the full five days.

By afternoon, he’d nearly finished a full sack. All through the day, he joked cordially with the other workers, who had become much more open with him since yesterday. The atmosphere in the shed was almost jovial compared to the tense watchfulness of the previous day.

At the time for the midday break, Finn excused himself and disappeared. He was gone for what seemed like less than a minute, then returned and continued his work.

By evening, he’d finished his quota, same as yesterday.

But unlike yesterday, when the pay was being distributed, when the workers were eager to tell the story of what had happened in the shed to the carriers, this time it wasn’t the workers who had a story to tell.

It was the carriers.

They came in retelling a tale that rippled through the shed like a shockwave, bringing all conversations to a halt.

“You all haven’t heard—?”

“The docks has been going crazy the whole day—”

“A body was found strung up on a crane pole today… Dead. In broad daylight too… Right under everyone’s eyes and no one noticed until it was already done.”

Murmurs rippled through the oakum shed. Questions about more details. Who it was. What had caused it.

“T’was the Scythe of Judgment Mike,” another carrier added.

That sent the shed into a frenzy of exclamations.

“Wait— the same Scythe of Judgment Mike who went around killing so called ’heretics’ of the Shadow God?”

“The very same.”

“Shadows be praised! That bastard finally got what he deserved!”

The workers were clearly pleased. Scythe of Judgment Mike had been a menace for months, a self-proclaimed enforcer of religious purity who murdered anyone he decided had strayed from proper worship. His victims were mostly small merchants, people who by nature of their work dealt with followers of other Gods and adopted more cosmopolitan attitudes.

“I heard a merchant is offering a hundred gold coins to whoever did it,” one of the carriers said, beginning to load the sacks into their carts.

A hundred gold. The number made several workers whistle.

As Old Dog Mendoza began distributing pay, the carriers continued talking, their voices fighting over each other through the shed.

“Course, there’s also talk that it’s just a show. That the merchants ordered the kill themselves and staged it to look like some kind of vigilante justice.”

“What’s been the Shadow Temple’s response?” Someone asked.

The carrier shrugged. “They were silent all day. But just tonight, several people said they saw a team of priests come out of the temple and disappear into the city…”

He paused for effect.

“…And not just any priests. Named priests.”

Those words shocked everyone into silence. Even Old Dog Mendoza, who’d been listening with only half his attention while handing out pay, looked up sharply.

Named priests were different from regular clergy. They were the temple’s enforcers, investigators, and occasionally executioners. Each had earned their name through significant service to the Shadow God. When named priests moved, it meant the temple was taking something seriously.

Very seriously.

Old Dog Mendoza’s voice cut through the murmurs. “Alright, everyone who’s collected their pay should get out and head home. Now.”

He began distributing the remaining coins faster, and even the workers didn’t argue. They took their money and left quickly, the earlier jovial atmosphere replaced by something more anxious.

Old Dog Mendoza gave Finn his pay last. He counted out the coins, then looked at Finn directly.

“You should head out of the city early tonight. You move with that Jon fellow from the haulers, right?”

Finn raised an eyebrow, more in surprise that Old Dog Mendoza knew Jon at all rather than finding out the connection between them.

Old Dog Mendoza waved a hand dismissively. “I know practically everyone in these docks. That’s not the point.” His expression grew more serious. “Don’t sleep at the dormitories tonight. Head out of the city normally instead. It won’t be safe for new blood like you who doesn’t know how to navigate this city’s… complications.”

He paused, choosing his words carefully. “Prowlers have been let loose. And you might get caught in the stray.”

Finn pocketed his coins slowly, his expression thoughtful. “Prowlers?”

“Temple enforcers who don’t wear robes,” Old Dog Mendoza said quietly. “They’ll be looking for anyone connected to the merchant families, anyone who might have information about the killing. And in times like these, they’re not particularly careful about who gets hurt in their investigations.”

He gestured toward the door. “Get your friend and get out. Before the gates close for the night patrols.”

Finn nodded, standing. But before he left, he asked one more question. “Why are you warning me?”

Old Dog Mendoza leveled his gaze at Finn for a silent beat, then his scarred face pulled into something that might have been a smile.

“Because you’re going to be on the Tidebreaker’s crew someday. And I’d rather not have to explain to Mistress Vara why I let one of her future sailors get caught up in some petty temple politics on his second day at the docks.”

Finn studied the man for a moment, then nodded and headed for the door.

Behind him, Old Dog Mendoza watched him go, then turned to begin closing down the shed for the night.

Outside, the evening air had taken on a different quality. Still salty, still carrying the sounds of the harbor, but with an underlying tension that hadn’t been there before.

Finn found Jon waiting near the haulers’ station, looking anxious.

“We need to leave,” Jon said immediately. “Now. The whole city’s on edge.”

“I heard,” Finn replied. “Let’s go.”

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