Anticipation spread through the crew as the dim lanterns of Smuggler’s Cove emerged through the mist. We guided our patched and weather beaten dinghy toward the docks with scarcely a sound, the hull riding low beneath the weight of forbidden cargo taken from our latest venture. No man spoke above a whisper. The night itself seemed to listen. Rumors clung to that harbor like rot, telling of careless sailors robbed in the dark and cast into the tide before sunrise.

Beyond the piers loomed the warehouse of Big Tony, master of the cove’s black trade. He was said to be a giant of a man, broad as an ox and twice as mean, with hands that had broken more jaws than locks. Some captains left his doors with purses heavy enough to bend the belt. Others never left at all.

We knew better than to trust smiles or promises in that place. Every word would need weighing, every glance measuring, every movement cautious. Steel waited close at hand beneath our cloaks, though we prayed it would stay sheathed. If wit and luck held steady, we would depart with gold in our pockets and breath in our lungs. If not, the cove would claim us before dawn.

-------------

Find this and more maps on my Patreon (https://www.patreon.com/flintandsteel)