The ship slowed.
The sails adjusted, the ropes were drawn, and the wood creaked as it changed from traveling to approaching.
The shoreline grew clearer with each passing moment, details sharpening where before they were only suggestions.
There were people on the docks. As many as one would expect for an island that seemingly wasn't visited often.
They deal with their business. Some were watching the incoming ship with habitual interest.
Nothing about them seemed wrong.
A smaller boat was lowered before they reached the pier fully. Two sailors climbed down into it, followed by the captain.
He said nothing except a few quiet words to the crew nearest him.
"Keep steady."
Then he descended.
Up close, the island did not lose its ordinary appearance. The dock was worn but functional, the wood darkened by years of salt and use. Ropes hung where they should. Barrels were stacked where they should be.
Everything was where it should be.
A man stepped forward to meet them.
He looked unremarkable.
Middle-aged, dark hair. He looked like what he should have looked like, if that was an apt description.
"You've come a long way," he said as the boat approached the dock.
The captain said nothing as he stepped onto it.
Up close, he studied the man more carefully.
His skin, eyes, and teeth when he opened his mouth to speak.
"So we have," the captain replied. "We're here t' resupply. Food and water. Standard business."
"Of course," the man said easily. "You'll find we're well accustomed to that."
The man on the dock looked briefly past the captain, toward the ship. Not long and then back again.
"You'll need clearance before docking fully," he continued. "Port records. Cargo declaration. Crew count."
The words were routine.
"Aye," the captain said. "Fine."
"You seem… tense," the man said, not accusing, not curious. Simply stating it. "Was your journey difficult?"
The captain held his gaze.
Behind him, one of the sailors shifted in the boat.
"The sea's ne'er kind," the captain replied.
"No," the man agreed softly. "It isn't."
"Still," the man went on, "most who arrive are relieved. You don't seem relieved."
The captain let out a short breath through his nose.
"We'll be relieved when we leave," he said. "I ran a tight schedule. Oversold. I gotta get back to the mainland and resupply there again, and then have another voyage to make. If I don't make it in time, I'll run into trouble with me investors."
"Uh-huh. Then you'll understand," the man continued, "that I don't run this. I just follow protocol. Not just anyone is allowed to dock freely."
"Fair 'nough. You'll have your records."
"I'm sure we will," the man replied.
The man stepped back, gesturing loosely toward a structure further up the dock.
"You can bring your documents there," he said. "We'll review them before granting full docking."
The captain gave a short nod.
"Aye."
No more was said.
He turned, stepping back into the small boat.
The captain climbed back aboard his own ship.
A few of the crew looked at him immediately, searching his face for signs of turmoil.
He didn't give it.
"Quartermaster," he called.
The man hurried over.
"Get everythin' together. Cargo lists, manifests, crew count. I want it clean. Proper."
"Aye, captain."
"An' listen," he added, lowering his voice just slightly, though not enough to seem secretive. "Why don't you leave… her off it?"
"Aye," the quartermaster nodded conspiratorially.
"Make it look right," the captain said. "Not rushed."