The evening grew darker, and the noise of the pleasure quarter slowly faded behind us. Karem caught up to me, fixing his belt and grinning.
"Well," he said, "that was more enjoyable than half the campaigns I've been on. And she gave us something real."
I nodded. "The man with the scar. He's our lead."
We waited until the streets grew quieter. The lamps in the governor's quarter still burned, but the rest of the town was settling for the night. Dogs barked in the distance, and the river carried the sound of creaking wood.
"That's our way," I said, pointing toward the docks. "If the grain leaves the city, it won't be on wagons. It'll be on boats."
We kept to the shadows, moving along narrow alleys. Karem was quiet now, focused. His earlier grin was gone, replaced by the look of a soldier ready for action.
At the docks, we crouched behind a low wall. From there, we had a clear view. Lanterns flickered, revealing groups of men hauling heavy sacks toward moored ships.
And then I saw him. Broad shoulders, shaved head, and a long scar running from his temple down across his cheek. He barked orders, and the men obeyed without hesitation.
"That's him," Karem whispered.
I nodded. "Watch."
We stayed in cover, watching the sacks being carried aboard. I leaned closer, my eyes narrowing. Those weren't ordinary sacks of grain for the market. Each was marked with the governor's seal—but no records, no open trade. All done under the cloak of night.
"They're smuggling the Pharaoh's grain," I muttered. "Selling it for gold. That's why the people starve, while the governor grows richer."
Karem clenched his jaw. "Bastards. My sword hand itches."
"Not yet," I said. "If we strike now, they'll silence us before we ever reach the Pharaoh with proof. We need more than eyes. We need something that speaks louder than our words."
As we waited, one of the men dropped a sack. Grain spilled across the wooden planks, and beneath it glimmered something else—small ingots of bronze and silver. Payment, hidden inside the cargo.
Karem's eyes widened. "So it's not just grain."
"It's worse," I said. "They trade with outsiders. Taking gold and weapons, giving away Egypt's lifeblood. This is treason."
The scarred man shouted at the worker, kicked him, and had the sack quickly reloaded. The moment was brief, but enough.
Karem leaned closer. "We have them. Let's take him."
"No," I said sharply. "If we fail, we die here in the dirt, and the Pharaoh never knows. We need to follow, find where the shipments go. Then we'll have the whole truth."
Karem gritted his teeth but nodded. "Fine. But the moment you say the word, I'll cut him down."
We moved further along the docks, hidden in the shadows, until we reached a spot where one of the smaller boats was nearly finished loading. I watched carefully as the scarred man handed a scroll to the captain and pointed downstream.
"That's our trail," I whispered.
Karem looked at me, eyes burning. "Then let's follow it."
I nodded. It wouldn't be easy. The ships tied along the riverbank were the old Egyptian vessels — wooden hulls bound with rope, some made of bundled papyrus reeds. They weren't large, but they were enough to carry goods. Men moved quickly, loading sacks and pushing them into the holds of the boats.
"We'll follow them on the water," I said. "We need to reach one before it sails too far."
Karem nodded, but his expression was skeptical. "We don't have a boat."
I pointed to the side of the harbor. A small papyrus skiff, big enough for two men, was tied to a post. It wasn't stable, but it was our only option.
We moved quickly. Karem untied the rope, and I shoved the little boat into the water. We grabbed the paddles and pushed off. Silence was everything now, but I could hear my own heartbeat pounding too loudly.
We kept our eyes on one of the larger ships, led by the scar-faced man. It was slowly pulling away from the bank. We stayed in its shadow, hoping no one would notice us.
The water carried us along with the current. Every stroke of the oar echoed, and I tried to keep as quiet as possible.
Then I slipped. The paddle knocked against the side of our skiff with a dull thump. The men on the larger ship turned immediately.
"Damn it," Karem hissed.
Shouts came from the ship. A whistle sounded. They knew someone was too close.
"Move!" Karem urged. He rowed faster, trying to close the distance before they could attack. But it was too late — the first spears were already flying.
One slammed into the side of our boat, inches from my leg. Another whipped past Karem's head. A third I couldn't avoid — it grazed my shoulder and splashed into the water behind us.
Blood ran down my arm. It wasn't a killing blow, but it burned. Karem turned to me, fury and concern in his eyes. "Great plan!"
I didn't answer. I pressed the wound and tried to keep the boat steady.
The ship loomed closer. More spears ready. It looked like the end.
But Karem didn't hesitate. He leapt, grabbed a dangling rope, and hauled himself onto their deck. His sword flashed in the torchlight. With one strike he cut down the man readying a spear, and with a kick he sent another tumbling overboard.
"Get up here!" he shouted.
I obeyed. I grabbed the rope, hauled myself up, blood dripping from my hand. By the time I climbed onto the deck, Karem was already fighting — his movements quick, precise. One man fell, another staggered back.
The scar-faced leader bellowed orders, waving his blade.
"They must not leave alive!" he roared.
The fight was short but brutal. Karem took a blow to his ribs but knocked his attacker flat. One man rushed at me with a dagger; I swung an oar still in my grip and smashed it against his skull. He collapsed, unmoving.
At last the deck fell silent. Some men had fled into the river, the rest lay sprawled. The ship was ours — for now.
Karem leaned against the mast, breathing hard, sweat running down his face, blood on his tunic. "That was close," he muttered. Then he turned to me, his gaze sharp. "And all because you banged your damn paddle."
I lowered my head. He was right. My mistake could have gotten us both killed. "It's my fault," I admitted. "No excuses. I'll be more careful next time."
Karem shook his head, spat, then let out a heavy breath. "At least we're alive. But if you ever make noise like that again, I swear I won't drag you out of the river. I'm not planning to die because you can't keep quiet."
His words cut deep. I didn't tell him the truth — that even if a spear pierced me through, I would survive. That the gods had made me something different, something that wouldn't die like other men. But Karem had no such gift. He was only human. And I had put his life at risk because of my clumsiness.
I swore silently it would never happen again. That I would be more careful — not for myself, but for him.
"So what now?" Karem asked, wiping blood from his arm.
"Now," I said, "we find out where this ship was headed. And who's really behind all of this."