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It was the morning she, Specht, Cara and Rotty were to check the Fifth harbour. Specht was a specialist at this and she respected his opinion above all else. They walked the shore, checked papers of boarded ships and chatted with some sailors. All they spoke of was the sudden change in weather, the vile smell of Ketterdam's ports. Why did it all seem to turn for the worse? Even the weather wasn't in her favour.
"I wouldn't be travelling these seas, if I was you," one of them said, "There is something stinkin' going on in Ketterdam. It stinks worse than it has before."
Perhaps it was the mice that seemed to circle around Mayra. Or the big rats that wanted her head. With Kaz's parting, the Barrel had become a vile nest of stinking corpses and she was the only one remaining to fall. There was no denying it.
They moved along. Inspecting the rest of the ships. There were tourists storming off ships, giving them an odd eye. She couldn't blame them. She wouldn't feel exactly safe if three Barrel scoundrels crossed her path as a tourist. She tossed an eye to the merchant ships, especially the one carrying Jurda. She still couldn't shrug off the job Kaz sent her weeks before leaving. The sailor was right. Something smelt horrible in the city and she could bet it had something to do with merchants.
"Theoretically speaking," began Rotty, "could you beat the Black General?"
"The what?" blurted Specht.
"The Black General?" repeated Rotty, "You've never heard of the Black General?"
"Not that I recall, no. Is he Shu?" guessed Specht.
"He's obviously Fjerdan if you ask me," noted Mayra, "They've got a thing for funny names. The Svart General." Swiftly she threw her hood on, bringing her shaking fingers in Rotty's face imitating a ghost. "Buuuh-huuuuh. Jag ska äta dig levande."
