By the time the squad got to the end of the fisheries external dock, the ship was half way to the horizon line. So far away that Clay couldn't see any of the crew on its deck except the occasional vague movement. 

"I didn't bring Daniel with us on this one, did I?"

"You couldn't find him before we left. Only a note." Prim reminded of the piece of paper left on Clay's desk that only said something about going out east to hunt bears. 

Clay leaned heavily on the railing of the dock, staring hard after the ship like it was going to suddenly shout its intended destination. He lamented his lack of sharpshooter and said sharpshooter's tendency to disappear without warning.

Glowing motes of ash trailed from the cigarette still held in his teeth, dancing in the ruby smoke he exhaled. He spoke, still clenching the cigarette in his teeth, to the squad that had fanned out around him. 

"Any of you hiding a sharp streak?"

"No, sir." responded a chorus. 

"Didn't think so. Anyone happen to catch its name?"

This time a single voice came back excitedly. 

"Oh, I did sir!" Clay turned away from the shrinking vessel to look at the woman who had been going to leap into the water lock after Prim. She stuck her hand straight up in the air when she spoke, giving Clay the impression of an over enthusiastic student. "The Kempral!"

"That sounds...Rilvanian?" Clay inquired towards Prim. A few of the squad members nodded in agreement, with various levels of hesitation. 

"Agreed, though they're a landlocked nation. Safe to say it might just be owned by a Rilvanian, not the country itself."

"True. Jack should be able to put out a net and see if it's made port within the country any time soon." Behind Clay, the sun started to come up. It's bright white light quickly crawling across the dock, up his back, and over his shoulders. "I'm sure he knows someone who knows. Whatever the case, excellent work Private....?"

"Beitean, sir! Barala Beitean..."

"Comendable work, all of you. Private Beitean, I'll buy you a drink on my tab when we-"

The sun continued to rise, faster and faster. Even with his back turned, he winced at the intensity.

"By the Stars!" That first young woman, Prendergast, shouted. Pointing off in the direction of the ship. Clay turned around but almost immediately flinched away from the bright light pouring off of the main deck.

Most of the squad already had hands up to protect their eyes. Prim angled herself away and put a hand up. Clay grabbed his hat from his head and used it as a shield.

Now it was lighting the coast and the face of the fishery up like it was midday. It was even starting to shine around the brim of Clay's hat and was showing no signs of stopping.

The whole world become a solid wall of white, blocking all vision with it's brilliance.

"Prim?"

"Clay?" He heard her off to his left. The light made no noise besides a distant hum, but it's glare obscured thought and made it hard to hear nonetheless. He swung his hand out wide and called out to again.

"Take my hand!" There was the sensation of movement as Clay and Prim groped blindly for each other. On the fourth pass around they brushed each other and firmly grasped the other's fingers. "Come here!"

Clay yanked her close, wrapping an arm around her and holding her tight against his chest. She buried her face into his uniform, but judging by her continually strengthening pull, it wasn't helping. He threw out his other arm, but couldn't find purchase on anyone. 

"What in the world is happening?" He yelled, more to distract from the painful light than to get an actual answer.

"It's got to be a god of some kind!" Prim answered anyways, muffled as she was by Clay's chest.

Something thudded to the dock next to him and he reached out an arm, seizing fabric between his fingers. It was no effort at all to hoist whoever it was under his arm and start to back away from the light, though he didn't know where he was going, just trying to get away. 

And then it was gone. Clay didn't actually know how long it had been since it vanished, blinded as he was, but he realized that his eyes weren't actively becoming more damaged. He tapped Prim on the shoulder as he rubbed his eyes, and she released her grip.

"What's going on there, Prim?"

"Well. They're gone." 

"Seems rather theatrical for a smoke screen, though I suppose it worked..." He balled up his fists to rub at his eyes harder and felt a warm liquid run down his wrists. Blood, he assumed.

Despite the blood, Clay's eyes started to clear, his divinity speeding up the healing process. He looked at the mortal squad, most of whom looked no worse for wear overall, but one of them was clutching his eyes and remained laying on his back, slowly rolling side to side.  

"No, they're gone, Clay. Nowhere to be seen from here to the horizon." It only took a glance to confirm what she had said. It was like some great hand had plucked the ship from the sea while they weren't looking. The pair looked at each other with creased brows.

"What do you think the odds are of  some monster having swallowed them whole and saving us the trouble?" She only persed her lips in response. Clay shrugged. "A god can hope, can't he?"

"The amount of energy that it would take to transport a ship of that size... I feel like we're dealing with more than just smugglers here, Clay."

"Who do you think?" 

"I haven't the slightest. Anarchists, maybe? Like the ones Praulta has been dealing with lately."

"Possible. Though the anarchists were pretty disorganized last I heard." 

"Whoever it is, I think we need to find them sooner rather than later. Not even the big crime families have someone with abilities like that on retainer." Clay nodded. "Maybe the other smuggler crews will have some insights as to their business partners."

"Let's hope."

He wasn't that hopeful, all things considered. The whole situation was off by a country mile. Sending the squad to get their blinded comrade to the Field Surgeons, Clay and Prim fell into lockstep with each other, their steps crunching up the gravel path towards the Fishery.

"Anyone? No one has a thing to say about them that sailed off into the moonlight?" Clay knew he had a harsh glint in his eyes as he spoke, his frustration simmering in the back of his mind. The 30-some non-injured smugglers kneeling in front of him shifted uncomfortably, like schoolchildren being berated by a teacher. "Hell, I will unchain anyone who give me a kernel of information and let you walk off into the night." A few hands rose slowly into the air.

"Sir, I-"

"But so help me, if you lie to me or give me something I can't use, I will throw you into the ocean with your hands and feet chained to your hips."

The smattering of hands immediately went down. Prim walked up behind Clay a moment later. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, and could feel the dry flakes of blood at the corners of his eyes. 

"Any luck on your end?" 

"None at all. I'll hand our mysterious crew one thing, they're thorough. Everyone who might have known who they were seems to have a bullet in the back or knife in the heart. Two captains, and more than a dozen senior crew dead, and I'm pretty sure we didn't get them. One of the captain's hair was on fire surrounding the bullet wound to his temple."

Clay made a thoughtful noise as they both approached the water-lock and peered down into it. A few casualties of the fight had fallen in, bobbing alongside the cracked wrecks of the two ships that Clay's battle with the water god had destroyed. He was happy to see no charcoal uniforms among their number. 

"Why don't we get someone to drain the lock?" Clay said as he looked down. The cigarette he had started outside had gone out during his interrogation, and now dribbled cold ash off it's end. Rummaging around in his coat, Clay pulled out an ornate matchbox.

Much to his surprise, the water started to lower.

"I already had someone looking for the valves."

"I should have known. You're too good for this job, Prim."

Unfortunately, it seemed the last intact match was the one he used to start his cigarette. Instead he summoned up a small sphere, swirling with gold-silver light, and pressed it to the end. 

"Oh, I know. Someone has to make sure you get to staff meetings on time, and as such my career will remain on hold." 

"I overslept once twelve years ago. How long are you going to harp about that-''

The groaning sound of stressed wood interrupted the lighthearted squabble, indicating the water had been lowered all the way. One of the ships finished breaking into two pieces. It's front half rolling onto it's side and leaving the back standing upright in the mud as if it was going to sail off at any moment.

The bodies that had been bobbing in the water had settled into the bed of silt that had gathered at the bottom of the lock, slowly sinking into it. 

Prim stepped towards a ladder built into the stone wall of the lock's basin. Clay puffed the cigarette a few time to make sure it was going. 

"Shall we?"

Clay simply nodded and snuffed out the star.

Descending into the lock was made all the more difficult by the coating of slime on the stone's surface. Clay gripping it so hard at one point that almost a whole rung turned to powder between his fingers and nearly sent him tumbling down. 

"You okay there, Clay?" The tawny-blonde woman inquired from above, looking down at Clay between her boots. 

"I'm fine, but do be careful here. I'd hate to see you end up two stories down." 

"Stop pulling the ladder apart and I might have a chance." 

He threw the chunk of stone over his shoulder with a chuckle. A moment later, he heard it hit the floor below, squelching into the mud. Stepping off the ladder Clay found the silt to be almost knee-high. Moving out of the way so Prim could dismount, he read the gold gilt words printed on its prow. 

"The Red Hawk... Rather generic, don't you think?"

"Perfect for a smuggler's ship." 

"True enough, though you'd think you'd still want something more striking."

"That is why you would not make a good smuggler, Clay." 

The section of hull bearing the ship's name was cracked off from the rest of the ship and laying more on its side, creating a cross-section straight into the lower decks of the Red Hawk. The splintered planks and pitch-black interior gave the impression of some great maw looking to swallow up the pair of gods.

"You seem to be struggling, Prim," Clay said as they trudged closer to the ship. Even though he was taller than the average Laidrian, Clay was struggling too, however not as bad as the slight framed Prim. 

"How astute of you. I'm trying desperately to keep mud from filling my boots, as that would just be a cherry on top of this evening, and yet it's already at the lip and I think it's getting deeper."

"Do you want some help?" 

"That would be much appreciated." 

Clay bent over and held out a riding glove-clad hand, palm up, just above the mud. She stepped into it like a saddles' stirrup and stood fully on it. Clay straightened his back, lifted her, letting her sit on his shoulder as he continued to trudge along. 

"Thank you, oh noble steed."

"But of course, my lady. Just don't get mud on my coat, alright?"

"I can't promise anything-" she stuck her legs straight out in front, shaking drops from her boots. "-but I'll do my best. " 

Clay could feel her start to rummage around in a satchel to her side as he slogged forward before she pulled something out. 

"I pulled this off of one of the dead officers," She said, holding a small leather folio down in front so he could see. The words Red Hawk were burned into the surface in a sort of cursive script. "I'm guessing it's most of his ship's vital paperwork." 

The leather creaked above Clay's head, followed by the shuffling of papers.

"Crew roster, about 30 crew members with no recognizable names. Expenditures, mostly into the black until six months ago, where they sink into the red for two, then positively leap back into the black. A letter from the port master of Kouridnaelos, soaked in what has to be wine." She inhaled. "And not good wine, either." 

"What's the letter say?"

"It's a bit smeared, but it appears to be a formal dismissal of the captain from Theostenic services from 'behavior unbecoming'." 

"Could the cheap wine be the reason?"

"I don't think so, something about the way this is phrased makes me think it's something else, though I'm not sure what..." 

As Prim mused, Clay finally reached the broken form of the Red Hawk and peeked into its splintering maw. With the same hand he had lifted Prim onto his shoulder, Clay hoisted her farther, letting her step into the hold of the ship. She offered a hand in return, helping him climb into the hold. 

"Got a light?" She asked though Clay knew she knew the answer.

He formed a fist with his other hand, clenching tight, which emitted a flash bright enough to leave spots in the vision of anyone looking directly at it. When he opened it, amber gold light shone from what looked like two small marbles rolled in his palm, clacking each time they touched. 

"I have to say, I don't think I'll ever get tired of holding a star in the palm of my hand." 

"'He who would aspire to the stars must simply learn from me, and reach out and take them'." Clay intoned, dramatically bowing at the waist and offering his hand. 

"Which ancient king are you quoting?" she asked as she took one of the marbles. "Or is it a general this time?" 

Clay felt a bit of color touch his cheek. 

"Ha! I thought you'd know King Lorcan, at the very least."

"My tutors must have forgotten to include that one in the lesson plan." 

The light of the star-marbles lit the way, as they made their way deeper into the ship. Crates were scattered everywhere, making traversal difficult. Prim pulled a folded packet of papers from the folio. 

"Looking at this inventory list, I'm not seeing anything worth note, other than something called a 'singing cube'."

"Strange way to say a music box?"

"Not quite, they've got a dozen of those separately marked. Lucky for us, it seems like this crew was surprisingly organized. Each lot on this list has a location in the hold listed. Our singing cube is in the rear-most compartment."

They started walking towards the aft, Clay shoving boxes that had escaped their pens out of the way as they went, with each god occasionally yawning as the only break in the silence that filled the hold like early morning fog. Yet, halfway through the hold (by Clay's estimation), Prim tilted her ear towards the wall of shadow in front of them.

"Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"It's like a windchime, but just ringing once and holding the same note..."

Clay closed his eyes and focused. 

"It's very faint, but now that you mention it..." He drew his short blade and his revolver, Prim did the same. "I think we found our 'singing cube'."

The sound only grew as they continued through the hold. It never grew unbearable, but it could never be ignored either. Always occupying a section of Clay's mind.

Finally, they reached the end of the hold. The sound was enough to make the both of them raise their voices to be heard.

"The invoice says it should be in that crate there!" Prim called, pointing to one solitary crate that sat lashed against the back wall. It was medium-sized, standing up to Clay's waist. Perhaps the only crate on the whole ship that hadn't been tossed about.

"Then let's crack it open!" In a smooth motion, he slammed his short blade under the crate's lid with a high creak that fought with the sound of metal on stone, then a high-pitched tinkling noise from the bottom of the crate. 

"Clay, be careful, please!" Prim said as she put a hand on his shoulder. "Let's try not to break this thing before we've even seen it."

"I'm... not so sure that we need to worry about breaking it..."

"What do you- oh." 

A small, obsidian-like pyramid was rising from the middle of the crate's lid. At first, Clay thought it was simply punching through the w00d somehow, but the rippling purple light emanating from where the glass met wood said that wasn't the case. 

Even as they watched, that pyramid shape continued to grow in size; slowly rising through the lid as if it wasn't even there. Gripping his short blade again, Clay attempted to pull it from under the lid but froze when he heard more of that tinkling noise. Without warning, the purple light of the object flashed brighter, and the speed of its rising shot up with it. It only took it a moment longer to completely free itself from the crate, revealing the pyramid to be the corner of a cube, each face covered in unintelligible shapes and patterns carved into its surface.

Even though it had no eyes Clay could feel a predatory glare emanate from it. Both gods gripped their weapons a little tighter. Prim pulled her long blade and slowly stepped into a blade-dancers stance. Clay eased the hammer of his revolver back as he casually leveled the barrel at the cube, until it clicked. Distractingly loud in the quiet hold.

All at once, the carvings on each face of the cube burst into that same purple light. It started to shutter and shift, splitting into two cubes. Identical, as far as Clay could tell, complete with glowing purple markings. Then those two split again, leaving four floating in a perfect line. Four cubes and two gods stared at each other, unmoving. Clay glanced at Prim, who just shrugged back with a knit brow.

"I don't think we want them to finish this dance," he said, placing a bit of his will into the chamber of his gun, causing starlight to pour out of the weapons seams. 

"Agreed." 

"Hit the outside ones first."

Their next movements were mirrored. Prim whipped her godcrafted shortblade so fast that the eye couldn't track it, at the same moment that Clay pulled his trigger. Even with the light of the projectile-star filling the hold, Clay could see the cubes move impossibly fast. No, movement wasn't the right word. They were in one spot, then another without transition. Simply appearing out of the way of the god's attacks. 

Clay and Prim didn't get a second chance.

The cubes collapsed back into each other, overlapping in the same space with their corners sticking out at every angle and creating a scintillating ball of the same black glass points. Their markings grew brighter, overtaking every bit of surface with purple light.

Clay aimed again, but before he could pull the trigger the cubes emitted an otherworldly screech and violently shattered.

In their place, surrounded by floating shards, a skeletal form sat with its arms around it's knees. It looked like the model skeleton Clay had seen in a university lecture hall, but made from the same material as the cubes, and the proportions were all wrong. Arms and legs that seemed stretched and uneven. A torso that would have crushed organs, had it's cavity not been an empty void.

"Sweet Stars, what is that?" Clay said, exasperated more than anything. 

Slowly it's long, knife-like, fingers released it's elbows. Each movement loosing a screech like an iron nail on glass. Next, it's head rose, empty sockets on a melted skull looking straight into Clay. 

"Shit."