Through the end of his spyglass, Emerald spotted the Aten coastline nearing in the distance. His muscles relaxed, releasing some of the tension they’d acquired over the past couple of days. Emerald had grown fond of his new charge, but Vin and the others had reached their peak of restlessness. Hostility simmered beneath the surface, and their patience with the “freeloader” stretched thin as a sewing thread. The cracked crab shells from the force of them throwing the creatures down into the pit after the Son of Aten knocked over a stack of plates were proof enough.

The sooner Emerald dropped his little rescue off in his homeland, the better.

Until then, he’d continue teaching the boy to tie knots. Emerald hooked his spyglass back into place on the back of his belt and took a seat across from the young Son of Aten. He had originally given the boy the ropes to keep him busy and out of the way of Vin’s broom, but it was proving more fruitful than he’d imagined. The kid had a real knack for knots and despite the language barrier, the boy was deft with the twists and turns of the rope. Save for a beginner’s mistake every so often, the boy mimicked Emerald’s patterns fairly well.

When Emerald gave the Son of Aten a string of rope, he’d turned around to say something to Vin. But when he turned back, he’d found the Aten boy had started to tie knots on his own. Vin had scoffed that it meant ‘nothing’ and the kid was still an idiot, but Emerald disagreed. He even recognized a few of the knot forms to his surprise. Teaching the boy some more useful knots to use around the ship was just common sense. Emerald tied a knot, and boy did his best to copy it. Before long, he found himself having fun and proud. The Son of Aten had even proved skilled enough to attempt the more complex rigging knots, which was impressive for his age.

It was frustrating though, not being able to explain what the boy was doing wrong when he ran into a trouble-spot. Emerald crossed his hands over his lap, tapping the rope against his leg. The boy struggled with this latest knot, pulling the rope the wrong direction, endlessly starting over. Well, if Emerald couldn’t explain with Words, he’d just have to get a little more hands-on.

Emerald put his example rope down, and slid over closer to the distracted boy. He put his hands over the boy’s and counted to ten when the boy stiffened harshly from the contact. Emerald waited the full ten counts for the boy to relax. When the Son of Aten finally went limp, Emerald manipulated his fingers through the correct motions to tie it right. The Son of Aten studied the rope intently, not sparing Emerald so much as a glance. 

So, nervous, Emerald sighed to himself. What happened to you?

He scooted around to the front of the boy. Emerald helped the Aten boy pull the rope under the loop instead of over, blond hair tickling the bottom of Emerald’s nose.

Emerald let go when the boy said something in high-pitched gibberish, before finishing the knot correctly. No, that was wrong. It wasn’t gibberish, just a language Emerald didn’t recognize. The boy had to be speaking some minor local dialect, maybe from a secluded village. Even Set had one or two non-standard localities other nations never could seem to pick up. The boy fell silent as he started the knot over and got it right by himself.

As fun as teaching the Aten boy was, Emerald needed to get some of his own work done while the boy practiced. Emerald moved back to his own barrel, and dragged over a pile of netting. He pulled over his loose rope, and worked his way through the net, weaving in new patches to cover up the tears from the crab claws. They worked comfortably in silence; Emerald repaired the netting and the boy practiced knots. With a little time, Emerald wondered if the boy couldn’t learn how to work on the ship with or without the ability to speak to everyone.

The Aten boy was certainly proving to be bright enough for it.

Emerald rubbed the side of his cheek, and tugged on the rope. Or maybe if he had started teaching the boy such things sooner, Vin would have been less enraged the ‘Captain’ was sharing rations with someone not pulling their weight. Emerald still thought that was too harsh of an attitude for someone they rescued, and instead modified Vin’s list to start storing extra food on his boat for just such an emergency in the future. Needless to say, Vin had been rather tight-lipped for the remainder of the journey.

Dio called out from the crow’s nest, signaling the shift of the sail’s for a direct course to the shore. Emerald patted the boy on the back and directed his attention to the approaching coastline. White cities and warm tan sand sparkled under the sunlight. The boy’s eyes widened in acknowledgement, and Emerald grinned as he rubbed the boy’s arm. He’d miss the kid, but this was for the best.

---

Volker’s hands sweated under the sleeves of his borrowed shirt. The boy’s limbs had turned to rigid boards, and his eyes were drilled tight on the wooden dock twenty feet ahead of him. If he looked down, he’d see the water through the slats of the gangplank and start hyperventilating. At least the Captain had pity on him and took things slowly as they went from his savior death trap and across the rickety wooden plank connecting him to the safety of shore.

The Captain lead him by the arm to the pier, one step at a time as Volker’s limbs locked in place and his body turned to lead. The water crashed beneath him against the steep edge of the pier; each wave a horrible memory in his ears. His tongue tasted salt. Volker clutched a small bag containing his old clothes to his chest, unaware of how much time had past from when the bundle had been handed to him and when his feet hit the shore after the stride down the landing plank.

Solid ground under him, and a good two or three feet from the water’s edge, did wonders to sooth Volker’s agitated state. Breathing normally, Volker felt just how hard the Captain’s fingers dug into his arm and just how many people were around them. The hustle and bustle of the port’s fisherman, merchants, and people dressed in fine clothes burst into view all at once in sudden awareness now that the ringing water was behind him. The Captain pulled him forward with a hushed word he didn’t understand in his ear. The cobblestone streets did their best to trip him as Volker kept up with the Captain’s stride weaving in and out between people and small carts.

The buildings were industrial, sleek and metallic—a stark contrast to the uneven, stone roads. The sheer amount of grey and steel doorways would have been overwhelmingly unnerving, if not for the small patches of flowers and fines that occasionally graced a garden or roof. He spotted tiny squares of grass at each block end, cut and trimmed to a fine edge. Not a single blade was out of place and every flower had been planted in even numbers. It looked fake, like someone had planted astroturf everywhere.

Volker tumbled into the Captain’s side when someone knocked his shoulder. The hit directed his attention to the people surrounding him. Volker gaped as he looked around. How had he not noticed that sooner? Almost every person they had walked by since they left the dock area had some shade of blonde hair, from wheat to platinum, and some hue of blue eyes be they baby, cornflower, or somewhere between. The taller Captain, with his dark skin and hair, stood out like an orange in an apple basket.

They stopped their trek at a building with columns and walls made of white marble instead of the gunmetal grey the rest of the town favored. The doorway was a deep cherry wood that pushed open easily with a twist of the silver handle. Volker dug his fingers into his pack, and looked around in awe. The inside looked like any other lobby Volker had seen in major government buildings with tall ceilings, white plaster walls, and tiled floors. Volker saw what looked like electric lights hanging from a pendent in the center ceiling, which was more of a shock than the lack of diversity from the population. They’d used candles and hand-run things on the boat to the point that Volker figured they didn’t have electricity wherever the hell he was. 

A lady to his side flicked on an electric lamp on her desk with the flip of a small switch, proving he was mistaken about electricty.

People bustled about around the waiting areas and the filing cabinets in the back half. Everyone looked busy, whatever they were doing. A few people sat at desks, but they were still quite active with phones or sorting paperwork. They wore grey-green uniforms with low collars, showing off the tattoos around their necks. Volker bit the side of his lip, and looked around for someone else that matched his bare skin. If they existed, it certainly wasn’t there. 

The patterns varied person to person from circles to squares, thick and thin, but no one was without. Volker looked at The Captain’s pattern, and couldn’t find a match in the room. They had to mean something specific. Volker wracked his brain trying to think of what not having any would mean and hoped it was innocent enough. That wasn’t his luck, but he could hope. It was bad enough he couldn’t understand what everyone was saying, but he had to try and figure out some tattoo language, too?

Volker whined to himself, “It’s just not fair.”

The Captain’s hold on his upper arm drifted lower until he grabbed the boy’s hand, as if sensing his unease. Volker felt like a toddler crossing the street with his mother for the first time, but squeezed back anyway. Volker would take any comfort he could get, pride be damned. 

They stopped at the center desk, built out of a smooth marble that matched the outside of the structure and looked built into the floor. The Captain spoke to the woman behind the desk while he inspected the craftsmanship. Her bright blue eyes and blonde hair had a similar perkiness to them that matched the smile on her face. Her skirt was ankle-length and made of the stiff fabric as her shirt. She smiled at Volker while chatting to the Captain in another odd sounding language. The Captain’s face twisted once in a while, mouth working around a word here or there like they tasted bad on his tongue. The secretary—Volker took a shot in the dark at her occupation—laughed before pointing down a side hallway.

The Captain tugged Volker’s hand, shifting his grip until his hold was less comforting and more secure. The walk down the corridor was short, with only a few offices on either side. Their destination turned out to be the final door at the end of the hallway, standing alone like a pillar. It opened into a spacious office, with a redwood desk as the centerpiece. Volker held the Captain’s hand tighter after spotting the man behind the desk. He was covered in as many tattoos as the Captain, including two matching bands around his wrists peaking through the uniform sleeves. Though, instead of a delicate circular lace, it was a triangular pattern—all angles and straight lines to the Captain’s swirls and curves.

The conversation between the Captain and the man behind the desk started near immediately. They spoke with equal authority in their voices, stern and unflinching. Volker kept up with as much as he could as the words flew back and forth between the two men, but it all passed over his head. As the two men’s posture tensed, so did Volker’s. Every time one of them pointed at him, he flinched and clutched his tiny bag of belongings. Volker hadn’t been so under the gun since he had been caught by his mother sneaking into his room drunk from a party the year before. 

Their talk ended somewhat abruptly when the Captain slumped in his chair and tapped the table with the edge of his fingertip. The other man’s dirty blond hair, cropped short to the head, ruffled when he ran his hand through it. He looked worn, but well kept. The Captain rubbed Volker on the back with a comforting smile and said something kind to him, likely encouraging, even. It was ineffective, however, as Volker gaped when the man left without another word.

The door to the office slammed shut, leaving Volker and the blond man alone. Volker froze, clutching his bag and listening to his breath heave. The Captain was the only nice person he’d met so far after dropping into such a strange place and he was leaving. Why? On the boat Volker at least knew what was going on! He got picked up and they were taking him…somewhere.

Volker wanted back on the boat.

His new keeper said something harsh in a tone that was almost a shout. Volker flinched when he looked at the man behind the desk. He curled in on himself, a breath away from sprinting after the Captain. Glaring translated in any language.

---

Emerald meandered away from the police station with his hands in his pockets. Dropping off the boy with the Aten authorities was the right move, but a heaviness built in his chest with every step farther from the station. People passed by him as he went down the streets, eyes dull blue and hair a tacky yellow. Compared to the kid’s sapphire eyes and blond hair, it was an endless mob of dull attempts at comparison. Emerald rubbed his gold bracelet, concentrating on the feel of the smooth metal and inlaid stones. Ahead, his ship stood proud on the water, Emerald’s home away from home. He’d get back to work and forget about the Child of Aten he’d plucked from the ocean.

The crowd dispersed the closer to the docks he got. Emerald approached his first mate, ducked down and securing lines to the large wooden framing out in the water. “You’ve been busy.”

“How’d the drop off go?” Vin asked over his shoulder as he straightened out the ropes holding the boat to the dock. Emerald wished he’d made a bet at how fast Vin would re-do the Aten dock attendant’s work. He made it longer than Emerald would have figured if he was just now finishing up. Vin leaned one way and that, making a show of looking around and behind Emerald. “Since the little freeloader is no longer tagging behind like a mutt, I take it well?”

“I suppose,” Emerald said. He rubbed at an ache in his shoulder, his hand oddly cold. With his two crew members taking a bit of earned shore leave for the trouble with the Aten boy, the boat was quiet even with Vin chatting. “Chief Azure said he’d take him, in any case.”

“Good.” Vin wiped his hands on his pants. Emerald leant over the railing of the dock, staring out into the water. Vin sighed heavily, pushing his hair behind his ear. He opened his mouth, and then shut it again. Emerald covered the lower half of his face with his hand, hiding the sly smile. Vin was actually trying to cheer him up. “I mean, I’m sure you noticed how miserable he was on the water.”

“Yeah, I noticed he stayed far away from the boat’s railings.” The boy never looked over the railing’s edge at all if he could help it. When he was near the edge, he kept his back to the water and his face toward the deck so he would see the water across. “Poor kid was terrified walking down the gangplank.”

Vin placed a hand on Emerald’s back, rubbing his fingers back and forth over the dress shirt he donned to see the police chief. “See? You did your part bringing him to dry land.”

Emerald dropped his head onto his crossed arms. The wind licked at his hair and he grunted before turning away from the water and back at his boat. Then why did he miss him so much already? Emerald’s elbows hung over the railing as he stared at a few knots holding the rigging in place on his ship.

The boy had tied those.

No, Emerald said to himself. Don’t go there. The kid had been on a boat surrounded by strangers and something that scared him. He was better off on dry land. 

Emerald licked his lips to answer Vin’s earlier question. “True.”

“So, all done moping then?” Vin questioned shaking the man’s shoulder. He backed up and retrieved his ever faithful clipboard from the top of the barrel. “Happy with your role as the Good Son of Osiris?”

“Yes?” Emerald asked, unsure of his answer. It sounded good enough for now.

“Marvelous,” Vin said, flipping a page in his booklet. He got a wicked smile on his face that set goosebumps down Emerald’s back. “Then that means we have time for shopping. Which is just what we needed after the little whelp devastated your share of the food. Not to mention we’ll need new brushes, and of course a new mop and bucket, new replacement dishes, and a new supply of rope for the nets that he ruined…”

“Wonderful,” Emerald said, drowning out the rest of Vin’s shopping list. He wished the kid was back already.

---

Volker sat in the guest chair across from the Officer. His occupation was yet another guess on Volker’s part, but the guy had to be a cop or something. Volker sulked, holding his pack to his chest, glad he wasn’t handcuffed to the chair. The man felt like a cop. Twitchy, the Officer’s assistant who’d arrived shortly after Volker did, wrung his hands before the stern man in charge. He was a nervous wreck, and there was no question the Officer was the cause of the poor assistant’s constant stress. His stern looking mug seemed to have that effect without trying. In fact, the man reminded Volker of the police sergeant in his home town. He recalled a couple officers who had the same composition as Twitchy rushing about under barked orders.

Speaking of, Twitchy and Volker had been running around the town all morning. They’d go one place, Twitchy would make a call, Volker heard the Officer’s harsh voice through the speaker, and then they’d start all over again somewhere new. Twitchy showed Volker off like some sort of freak show or science experiment as he was picked and prodded by dozens of people in two or three different steel buildings.

And each and every one of them and been blond haired and blue eyed—it was still creepy.

The first stop had been a large rounded structure packed with people sitting behind desks with constant chatter filling the air. After figuring out it was a school, Volker had let himself appreciate the artwork decorating the building. The pictures carved into the steel surfaces resembled the pictures in Egyptian hieroglyphs. Before he could try and figure out if they were the same symbols from his own books, Volker had been tossed into the midst of a bunch of old folks.

They forced him to ‘speak’ in a back office before they moved him to another room. There they made him do it again, but this time speaking into a microphone. Volker was prodded and poked along until he flat out shouted at them to knock it off. That worked well enough and they sent him to another department to sit. And then another. And then another building with a new set of old people. They were gone for half the day and ended it all back where they started with Twitchy’s boss.

Volker drummed his fingers on his bag. The Officer glared at him and Twitchy kept looking back and forth between Volker and his boss. It was like Volker was in the Principal’s office awaiting a suspension, with his teacher standing in between entertaining second thoughts about reporting him.

Twitchy wasn’t all bad, though, as far as escorts went. He even had the sense to look away when he let Volker use the restroom after showing him how the toilets worked, embarrassingly enough. The idea was the same, but Volker was sure he never would have found the flush valve on his own. Who put that on the bottom side of the bowl? 

Volker rubbed the back of his neck, fingers tapping. Twitchy also had four rings of tattoos that stopped at his elbows, and since he only answered to the man behind the desk with as many tattoos as the captain, Volker was now fairly certain the tattoo thing was a status symbol of some sort. The more tattoos, the higher up in the food chain. He wasn’t sure what the symbols meant specifically, but Volker could understand that much at least.

The Officer took a sip from his tall cup made of frosted glass. Patterns that matched the ones around his neck ran around the top rim. He set it on the desk, precisely in its proper place on the coaster like even a drop of water hitting the wooden desk surface would kill them all. Twitchy shuffled in place before his desk, picking up on the same tension as Volker. His fingers tightened and crinkled the paper he held. Volker sniffed, waiting for the final verdict as the Officer twisted his glass on its small square bed just so until the groves in the glass bottom matched up on the pattern of the coaster. 

Volker sat up in his seat to pay attention when the Officer began talking. Whatever he was saying, Twitchy wasn’t on board at all. He shouted back at the Officer in Volker’s defense. Twitchy was downright angry until he was rebuked with a tone from the Officer that made Volker’s skin crawl. Volker winced when the argument continued immediately afterwards with Twitchy still speaking up, soft and pleading, while the Officer managed to shout without any emotion in his voice. Volker glanced between the two, knowing he was the center of their conversation.

The Officer slammed his hand on the table. He pointed at Volker, and shouted, the monotone authority gone. Twitchy bowed his head and turned to the boy, his eyes wide and wet. That’s not good. Was Twitchy in trouble because of Volker? He really hadn’t meant to knock over those stacks of paper in that one office! Or was Volker the one in trouble? He was never complaining about learning foreign languages in schools ever again!

The Officer nodded once at Twitchy and swiveled in his chair to face the back wall. Twitchy grabbed Volker’s hand and bowed one more time to the man behind the desk, even though he couldn’t see it. Volker almost dropped his bag when Twitchy yanked him from his seat. The Officer gripped the arm rests of his chair hard enough that Volker could see a dent forming. He felt like someone had dumped a stack of rocks in his stomach.

Twitchy dragged Volker from the stuffy room, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds. The man was wound up tight with tension and he bit his lip hard enough to bleed. His grip on Volker’s hand was death tight. Like he was afraid the kid was going to bolt any moment if he let go.

Really not good.

Volker kept his eyes moving, looking for a chance to get away. If Twitchy was scared he was going to bolt, Volker probably had good reason to do just that. He clutched his bag in his hand as they left through the wooden front door. The fresh air and busy streets greeted them as they left, but Twitchy’s grip kept Volker from running into the crowd. Their last expedition took at least a half hour to get to the school with the professors. Twitchy turned down a different street and they were at the destination in two minutes.

Volker had no time.

They were definitely not at another school. It was a small building attached to the back end of the Officer’s station. It was made of the same marble but the door was painted black. Twitchy pulled a key from his pocket and opened the door, pushing Volker through a moment later. His escort left him standing alone in the center of the room while he left through a door in the back.

The building, so far, consisted of one large room with the single exit on the back wall. What looked like a tattoo machine hung on an arm from the ceiling on one side. Volker hiked his bundle of clothes higher to his chest as he looked the machine over, curiosity winning over running back out the front door. The needle and cases of colored ink stood at the ready, and he could hear the humming of the motor of the machine the small hand-held device was attached to. It was surreal seeing something that looked like it was plucked from home. Everything else had seemed so backwater with pens, papers, and hand delivered documents.

The bulb above his head flickered.

Right, Volker thought, they’ve got electricity. 

Someone shoved Volker into the chair that rested under the needle. He had to grab his—still too large—pants from getting caught on the side armrest and pulled down. One would think after all their running around someone would give him a set of clothes that fit, or at least let him clean his old set. Twitchy grabbed his bag before Volker could protest and threw it down a shoot on the side. Volker shouted out, but his voice cut off when he saw the flash of smoke. The smell of burning salt filled the room, and Volker was relieved he had moved his wallet and important items into his borrowed clothes back on the boat.

He’d still miss that jacket though.

Twitchy closed the chute door in a single motion. The clang definite as a warning siren. Twitchy said something over his head and it took a second for Volker to realize there was someone else behind him. Volker shrunk back from muscular man with a double ring of tattoos around his neck and shoulders. He wore a long black apron and a matching pair of skin tight black gloves. His cream shirt and brown slacks were dirty and caked in something rust-colored that Volker refused to linger on. The beastly man grimaced, stretching the scar that cut through his lip and cheek, before taking a strap hooked to the metal chair. His pudgy hand went for Volker’s arm.

Volker leapt from the chair. He hit the ground, running straight for the front door as fast as he could move. He had no idea if that needle was clean, or what they were going to do, but besides all that: His mom would kill him if he got a tattoo.

All that stupid gang stuff? Petty theft, underage drinking, and fights? Those just broke her heart. A tattoo? It’d be the straw to break the camel’s back and the youngest of the Frost family had no intention of testing those murky waters in his lifetime.

Volker’s feet slipped on the concrete floor, and his hand scraped on the ground as he fell, still in motion. Volker pushed up and smacked into the door, hands fumbling on the handle.

Two seconds too late, meaty arms yanked him back. They crushed Volker to the larger man’s fat gut. Volker couldn’t breathe. His lungs struggled against the compression against his ribs. Twitchy jabbered in the background, wiping sweat off his brow during the whole ordeal. Volker could feel the huff from the other man’s chest against his back. The giant walked back across the room with heavy stomps, and threw Volker back down into the chair. He held down his chest with an elbow as he secured the straps on Volker’s arms and legs.

Volker pulled like his life depended on it, rubbing the skin raw and red as the leather cut into his wrists. The man shoved Volker’s head back, and used a third strap over his forehead to keep his head still. He tried to pull up, but another strap was strung across the top of his shoulders. The bindings were secure, preventing even the slightest movement of his upper body, save for his heart beating staccato against his ribcage. Volker was a lab specimen ready for a vivisection. Helpless. Volker’s eyes burned with tears he didn’t want to come.

He shifted and squirmed—Volker stopped moving. There was a large empty space between the headrest and the remainder of the chair. 

Tattoo gun. Neck. Open Space. Tattoo gun.

The large man’s hand settled itself on the side of Volker’s face, pushing his chin up with a thick thumb. Gunk on the man’s gloves felt like grime rubbing into his pores; a disgusting, noxious presence that smelled of cheap ink. He heard a whirl from the side; a small mechanical noise that reminded him of his mother’s sewing machine. Volker saw the needle headed toward his neck from the corner of his eye.

He screamed when the flurry of pinpricks hit his skin.