Chương 197: 27. Running Errands 1

"Right. In that case, we start by cleaning up what's immediately around us." Ignicia stood on the stone steps of the Governor's residence, collapsing fire at her back, roiling black smoke and scrambling figures ahead. She glanced once at the building that was beyond saving—then cut it from her mind with a decisiveness that made my skin crawl. She turned to Lei Lian and the harbor commander.

"Whose office is closer?" The commander answered immediately.

"Mine, Your Highness."

"We'll use yours first." Ignicia nodded, then looked at Lei Lian.

"General Lei, seal the entire port. No entry, no exit. Anyone who asks why—tell them it's my direct order." Lei Lian pressed a fist to her chest and bowed.

"Yes, Your Highness." Ignicia didn't pause. Her mind had clearly mapped out the next ten moves.

"Dragon tower maintains aerial lockdown. All harbor towers increase patrol density. West district water gates, outer breakwaters, warehouse alleys, every spot that could slip a small boat—lock them down. Starting tonight, Iskaaprubla Port accepts nothing in and lets nothing out."

"Understood." Lei Lian turned and immediately began organizing. Ignicia's gaze swung back to me. The familiar premonition settled in my chest like lead. I'd gotten so good at reading this warning sign I could probably draft a survival manual. Predictably, her next words targeted me directly.

"Cedric."

"…Here."

"Go to the execution ground," she said.

"If Marro's still there, tell him we have work. There's money in it." She narrowed her eyes slightly.

"With the port sealed, he's bleeding coin anyway. Might as well earn some working for us." …She really understood motivation. Not through requests. Through pressure points. She continued without pause.

"Have Haerdin's body moved to the harbor commander's office. Don't leave him rotting on the scaffold, and don't let anyone tamper with him during the chaos." I started to nod when she raised a hand.

"Also."

"I knew there was an also." Ignicia ignored my complaint entirely.

"Run by the dragon tower. Use my seal to dispatch messages to the capital. And while you're there—" She paused, gaze sliding naturally to my face.

"Send one to your delegation as well." I blinked.

"My delegation?"

"Otherwise," she said, tone matter-of-fact as discussing weather, "your country will assume we've trafficked you." My mouth moved before my brain could intervene.

"…Isn't this more of an elopement situation?" The moment it left my tongue, I knew I was dead. I swear it was pure reflex. Some thoughts are safer kept internal—especially when facing someone who measures temperature in volcanic units. Ignicia's head snapped toward me. Her face, already firelit, somehow absorbed additional heat.

"Say that again and I'll burn you alive." Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. I bowed with perfect courtesy.

"To perish in Your Highness's flames would be an honor." Her eye twitched.

"Keep pushing—""Understood. Leaving immediately to execute assignments." I turned and walked away with brisk efficiency before she could test my flammability. Those first few steps away were fueled by pure survival instinct. Dragonfire is considerably more poetic at a distance. By the time I reached the execution ground, Iskaaprubla Port had transformed completely. The moment the closure order dropped, the whole city went from live fish to fish caught in a net.

Everyone was still moving—but that motion had changed character. The productive chaos of a working port had become something else: involuntary thrashing of something held by the throat. Garrison squads sealed streets in waves. Dragon shadows swept overhead, wingbeats cutting air with mechanical precision. Anyone pretending nothing was wrong found themselves ducking instinctively. From the piers came continuous shouting—ship owners and merchants discovering their impoundment, processing this in traditional fashion.

Understandable. Ship locked in port, cargo rotting, money bleeding—I'd probably cycle through several rounds of profanity too. But nobody had time for them. I pushed along stone roads toward the execution ground. The crowd had thinned from the earlier mob, leaving behind the category of harbor regular who was either too stubborn, too curious, or too entertained by death to leave. Marro was, predictably, the most visible among them.

The man was technically involved in today's disasters, yet somehow projected the energy of a paying spectator with premium seating. He leaned against a scaffold post, hands in his coat, eye half-lidded, studying Haerdin's finally motionless corpse. Beside him crouched a man so thin a strong wind might solve him—grey-brown coat, belt loaded with knife, hooks, pouches, and slender metal instruments. Not any normal sailor. Someone whose professional relationships were exclusively with the recently deceased.

This man held what appeared to be a small silver probe, moving it with surgical precision along the dark blood at Haerdin's mouth—the expression of someone removing fishbones. Marro looked up as I approached.

"Well," he drawled.

"Thought the dragon princess might've taken you as a snack."

"Disappointing, I know." I stopped and caught my breath.

"She sent me to find you." His eye brightened immediately.

"Oh?"

"There's money in it," I reported faithfully. His mouth curved upward.

"Now that's language I appreciate."

"She also said the port's sealed and you're hemorrhaging coin sitting idle, so you might as well work for it." Marro was quiet for half a beat. Then he laughed. Not offended—the laugh of someone thinking damn, she's got my number.

"Blunt way to put it," he clicked his tongue.

"Accurate, though." I glanced at the body.

"Also—Haerdin goes to the harbor commander's office. She doesn't want him decomposing publicly, and she doesn't want anyone getting a second attempt." Marro looked at me, then the corpse, then nudged the thin man's boot.

"You catch that, Undertaker?" The man didn't look up, still focused on the mouth.

"I'm not an undertaker," he said, voice dry as old paper.

"I'm a forensic examiner."

"From where I stand, you both talk to corpses."

"And talking to the living isn't noticeably more dignified." I nearly laughed. Right. Port regular. Marro introduced him with minimal effort.

"This skinny creature is Du," he said.

"Sharp tongue, precise hands, specializes in noticing when dead people died wrong. Someone in this port expires suspiciously, they usually call him." Du finally stood, brushed his knees, and looked at me with needle-sharp eyes.

"Dragon princess wants me at command?"

"Yes. Now."

"Then let's move." Du's directness brooked no delay.

"Leave this body much longer, temperature drops at sunset, compounds shift. Complicates analysis." …This profession had zero consideration for other people's appetites. Marro whistled. Several crew members pushed through the crowd.

"Blake, Nico—bring His Former Excellency down. Gently. Man just died—let's look professional."

"That sentence from you is itself unprofessional," I said. Marro grinned.

"Kid, with dead people, respect isn't the point. The point is not losing pieces." …Annoyingly logical. The sailors produced a rough stretcher and old sailcloth, wrapping Haerdin—placard still attached—into a bundle. The image was surreal: a port Governor reduced to questionable cargo. Du watched with professional attention, then spoke without warning.

"Leave the placard."

"Why?"

"Evidence." He pointed at the sign, then Haerdin's hands.

"Still gripping it at death. Cognitive function may not have fully dispersed. Combined with oral residue and tongue discoloration rate—I want closer examination." Professional question, professional answer. Marro finished arrangements and looked back.

"So—command office, me and the skinny examiner together?"

"Yes," I said.

"Ignicia wants you for the port sweep after. Official channels handle official people. But alleys, docks, odd characters, new faces, ones conspicuously trying to look innocent—" I held his gaze.

"She wants your people to smell them out." Marro went quiet for two seconds. The light in his eye shifted—focused, sharpened. Not excitement. Recognition. The look of an old dock hound catching scent of something genuinely worth tracking.

"Now we're talking," he said quietly. He understood. No explanation needed. He was exactly the type who could distinguish between someone here to trade, someone here to work, and someone here to disappear someone else. He clapped my shoulder once.

"Command office—handled," he said.

"Former Governor, skinny examiner, package deal." Du corrected without looking up.

"Forensic examiner."

"Right. The gentleman who argues with corpses."

"Keep talking and pray I never determine your cause of death."

"One more reason to live longer." My head began its familiar ache. Every person in this port had something wrong with them. Unfortunately, I had no time to catalog their issues. One more stop. The dragon tower. I looked up at the silhouette through evening haze, dragon cavalry still sweeping overhead, the entire port drawn tight beneath an invisible net.

"This is yours," I told Marro. He nodded.

"Go on, kid." He glanced toward the tower, mouth carrying something knowing.

"Don't get lost. And don't actually elope with the princess. Port's sealed—you wouldn't get far." My eye twitched.

"Keep talking and you become my first suspect."

"Abuse of authority."

"Learned from you." Marro laughed, waved me off. I took one last look at Haerdin's wrapped body, at Du already scanning the crowd like a bloodhound, then ran toward the dragon tower.