Turn 6 of 9

Ask Vasek what happens to the ship if the tin delivery goes wrong

Vasek's smile does not waver, but it changes — the warmth drains out of it the way heat leaves a cup set on a stone railing. He regards you for a moment, hands still in his pockets, and then he takes one hand out and adjusts the cuff of his coat. It is a small, deliberate motion, the kind a card player makes when they want you to know they are considering their next move.

"If delivery is not completed by the end of the month," he says, "the freight contract defaults. The advance is recalled in full, the debt is reinstated, and my client retains a lien on the *Mourning Light* until such time as the sum is paid." He lets that sit.

"In practical terms, the ship would not leave Aelver's Reach until the debt is cleared. My client has agents there."

"So we'd be flying under your flag," Ferran says. She does not phrase it as a question.

Vasek spreads his hands — a gesture of reasonable accommodation, of hands tied by paperwork and not by malice.

"You would be flying under your own flag, Captain, with a contractual obligation that is, I assure you, quite standard. Many vessels operate under similar arrangements. The alternative is seizure today, which I think we can agree is less agreeable for everyone."

You look at Ferran. Her face is unreadable, but her hands are clenched at her sides. She knew about the debt — she must have — and she came up here to negotiate, which means she was prepared to take the deal before you arrived. The question is whether she was prepared to take it because it is the best option or because Vasek left her no other.

"What's in the warehouse on the second level?" you ask.

"And who does the tin belong to?"

Vasek's eyebrows rise a fraction. "The tin belongs to my client. It is legitimate cargo, properly manifested, and it has been sitting in bonded storage for two weeks awaiting transport. I can show you the manifest if you wish." Two weeks. The debt bond was purchased three days ago. You do the arithmetic: the tin was already in the warehouse before Vasek's client bought the debt. Either they planned this from the start — buy the debt, offer the cargo, trap the ship — or the tin is real and the opportunity is genuine. Ferran is watching you, waiting. The wind on the sixth level quay is cold, and somewhere below a crane chain rattles against its housing. You have roughly three hours. The wardens are still measuring your mooring lines.

"Let me see the manifest," you say. Vasek nods, reaches into his coat, and produces a folded document. He holds it out, but does not release it when you take the edge.

"Time is short, quartermaster," he says quietly. "I am not your enemy. But I am not your friend, and the bell will not wait."