Harold exited the lunch parlor and stepped onto the street, satisfied after his meal. He had eaten a type of oyster that these seas were famous for, cooked and served on its shell alongside boiled potatoes. He hadn’t expected to still be on Curvata Appa, but the Hare’s Breath had not returned to the island yesterday as expected, and so Harold thought he might as well take advantage by indulging in a meal that wasn’t spicy enough to bring him to tears.

A stroll was in order after such a meal, and Harold began walking toward the oceanfront.

The young mapper’s apprentice had declined to join him, opting to remain in the room they rented last night at a nearby inn. The boy was too skinny to be skipping meals, but Harold had not gone out of his way to convince him to come. He would have made a poor lunch companion anyhow—the boy said so little!

Then again, Doug had been the one to convince Deputy Director Streit of the impending threat to the island nation. Harold was still unsure how that had happened but was glad for it. The deputy director had allowed the two sailors to stay while she drafted a letter to the harbor master to close the docks. She would need to do more than that to prepare for the impending collision but required the support and input of other government officials before taking further action.

For the good of their people, Harold thought, passing by a young girl walking with her mother, they better act swiftly.

Away from the buildings, either on a hill or the beach, the incoming island could be seen on the horizon to the west, seemingly growing larger by the hour. He had asked a few townspeople about it, wondering how more of them were not alarmed by the looming danger ahead. They had apparently grown accustomed to their island passing the occasional rock over the last few years. Their complacency could wind up being deadly.

Harold tried pushing those thoughts from his mind for now. He had done his part, and the rest of the crew was out doing theirs.

Being midday, the streets were bustling while he strolled. Vendors were enticing passers-by to their shops and selling their wares. Messengers and parcel carriers were carrying out their respective tasks. A stone mason was busy repairing the wall of a building he passed, which had several notable cracks in it. Up ahead, a pair of grizzled men were loading crates into a carriage. He peeked into one that had not yet been sealed as he walked by and saw candles, bandages, and a bin of cereal. One of the men noticed his gaze and scowled at him. They must have been preparing for quite the expedition with all of those supplies.

Harold continued on. The road began descending slightly as it approached the sea. Before long, he was rounding the last corner of buildings before the harbor and was taken aback by what he saw there. When he last checked yesterday evening, the harbor was all but empty, save for a couple of remaining ships, which had confirmed for Harold that the deputy director’s letter had been taken seriously. But now, less than a day later, over a dozen ships were docked there, and it was as abuzz with as much activity as he had seen since arriving to Curvata Appa.

Harold’s cheeks grew red with anger, and he marched down some steps and onto the docks, determined to get to bottom of this reversal of course. He questioned a nearby sailor about what so many ships were doing on the docks, and the sailor gave him a puzzled look.

“What are docks for, if not ships?” the sailor asked before returning to the rope he was coiling.

Harold snorted in exasperation. There! To one end of the harbor was a modest, two-story building made of wood. It was in desperate need of repainting, as the original light-green exterior was badly weathered and in many spots chipped away completely, revealing the dark gray wood underneath. The harbor master’s office. If anyone could explain to Harold what had happened, he could.

Harold reached the unimpressive building and rapped on the door firmly. “Excuse me, but I have urgent business!” he announced.

No answer. Harold pounded on the door again, this time turning his ear to it afterward to detect any sounds from inside. The plump first mate couldn’t hear a thing and tried the knob. It was locked.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, are there any officials on this cursed island that report to their post!” Harold exclaimed to himself, thinking of his trip to the municipal building the previous morning. He circled the building, looking for another entrance. There was none. He tried peering into one of the windows, but the curtains were drawn on every single one of them. “Drat!”

Harold had circumnavigated the building and was back at the entrance. What now? He was breathing hard from his frantic search around.

“Excuse me, good sir. Is there something I can help you with?” came a friendly voice from behind.

Harold spun around to see a thin man whose face seemed at war with itself. His bulbous eyes appeared vaguely threatening, but his big grin felt inviting.

“That depends,” Harold wheezed. “Are you the harbor master”

“I’m afraid not.” The man’s eyes flickered with some sign of recognition.

“It is the middle of the day. He should be on duty now.”

“Ahh, yes, to that I agree. And yet, that does not make it so. Some men just aren’t as dedicated to their work as others, wouldn’t you say, friend?”

Harold straightened his back. “Yes, that appears to be all too true. Especially the younger generation. If you only knew how many times…” Harold trailed off. “Actually, while I agree with you, I have important matters that I must discuss with the harbor master. Do you know where he might be? And for that matter, who might you be?”

Harold took a better look at the man. His wrinkles suggested he was at least forty years old. He was too well dressed to be an ordinary sailor, but nothing on his clothing suggested a navy rank or other official position.

“Me?” the man asked playfully. “Why, I am but a humble merchant, here to unload his ship and widen his wallet.” He grinned again and motioned for Harold to follow him. The two walked slowly away from the locked office. “The name is Viktor. And you?”

“Harold Mannix, first mate on a survey ship in Tellapor’s navy.”

“Ah yes, I can see the patch on your coat, now that you mention it.” Viktor gestured to the survey corp’s compass rose on his left shoulder.

Harold nodded. They were passing the sailor from earlier, still coiling that rope. He must simply be trying to look busy.

“Well, I was looking for the man, myself,” Viktor said. “He needs to review my manifest, you see, before I can unload. Quite the bothersome process.”

“Respectfully, as you seem like an upstanding gentleman, your ship shouldn’t even be docked here. None of these ships should. This whole area needs to be evacuated. Its why I need to see the harbor master.”

Viktor guided them toward one of the larger ships docked there, a three-masted vessel with some mismatched planks on one side of the hull. “Oh my! Evacuated, you say? That’s the first I’ve heard of anything like that.”

“Yes, well, it shouldn’t have been,” Harold grumbled. “This whole harbor was meant to be cleared already.”

“I’ll tell you what. I just sent a few men to seek out our absent harbor master. As soon as they locate and retrieve him, I’ll let you have first crack at him. And in the meantime, you can join me on my ship for a drink. I can offer you a glass of rootvert. It’s a cordial made by monks from the Silent Peaks in Tellavar. It’s quite good, I must say. How does that sound?”

“I suppose your men would likely have better luck than I would...”

“Why yes, I think so, too. I’m fond of saying I trade in luck, in fact.” Viktor led Harold up the gangplank to his ship. “I even named my ship after it.” He held his arms out as if presenting the deck of the craft. “Welcome to the Lady Luck.”

It looked ordinary, like any other ship’s deck Harold had been on, aside from perhaps the darker shade of wood used. On the far side of the deck, he noticed the grizzled men he had seen earlier loading crates into a carriage. They were now hauling those same crates below decks. Strange, Harold thought they were here to empty their cargo hold, not fill it.

“Come Harold, to my quarters. There’s that drink I promised you. And I’m sure we have a lot of things to discuss.”