The port smelled of fish, damp wood, and salt; ship masts swayed rhythmically, rigging creaked, people bustled about, sailors cursed somewhere, and waves crashed against the stone pier.
Anastas examined everything around him: dozens of ships and hundreds of people. Finding a person here seemed like looking for a needle in a haystack.
They spent more than two hours searching. They walked around the docks and peeked into several port taverns. Anastas tried to question the sailors and workers, even offered money, but encountered only suspicious glances and silence. The locals didn't like strangers, and they especially didn't like those looking for missing people — they were either part of this system themselves, or they were afraid.
With every passing moment, the anxiety inside him grew. He tried his best to stay calm, even though it was extremely difficult.
"There are dozens of ships here," Anastas said, stopping by yet another warehouse. "How will we find him?"
Eist, unlike him, didn't fuss. All this time, he had been silently and attentively looking at his feet and scanning the people around them with his gaze.
"Calm down," he replied. "Things like this don't happen without leaving a trace. If they dragged someone like our Tommy here, someone definitely saw something."
He dropped to one knee, carefully studying the trampled ground near the loading cranes, then walked over to a group of ragamuffins hanging around the port. Tossing them a coin, Eist exchanged a few words with them.
"We need to head to the far warehouses," he said. "They say a gang caught someone this morning, but they never made it to a ship. Besides, someone bruised up their faces."
They moved along a row of brick buildings. Suddenly, Eist raised his hand, stopping.
By a stack of empty rum barrels stood a man. He was cursing under his breath, examining his battered face in a shard of mirror.
Anastas understood everything immediately. In a few strides, he crossed the distance separating them.
The bandit didn't even have time to turn around before the man grabbed him by the hair and forcefully smashed his face into a wooden barrel, completely forgetting about his injured shoulder. In the next second, the blade of a sword rested right against the guy's throat, cutting the thin skin until a drop of blood appeared.
"A fair-haired youth with amber eyes," Anastas spoke quietly, but his tone made one's blood run cold. "Where did you put him? Answer me."
"I... I didn't..." the guy started.
Anastas pressed the blade without hesitation, and a faint red trickle ran down the bandit's neck.
"I'm counting to three. One."
"Wait! Wait, goddammit!" he squealed frantically, trying to pull as far away from the blade as possible.
Eist stepped closer and leaned his shoulder against a neighboring barrel, silently observing the interrogation.
"We didn't load him onto a ship! I swear to God! We didn't load him!" the bandit blabbered.
"You're lying."
"We wanted to!" he wheezed, gasping for air. "But the boss... he saw the kid wasn't ordinary! Said the captains wouldn't pay decent money for him, and it'd be too much trouble!"
"Where is he?" Anastas violently spun the recruiter toward himself, pressing the sword to his chest. "Where did you put him?"
"On St. James's Street! At the Madam's. I swear, I'm telling the truth!"
Anastas hurled the whimpering bandit into the mud with disgust, giving him a hard kick for good measure, and the man groaned. The name of the street meant nothing to him. He turned and looked at Eist.
Eist's expression changed; his usual lightness and carelessness evaporated in an instant, replaced by seriousness. He stepped toward the lying bandit and, with a strike of his leather boot to the temple, sent him into unconsciousness.
"What is that place?" Anastas asked demandingly.
"A brothel," Eist replied shortly and grimly.
The ground slipped out from under Anastas's feet. Everything inside him turned to ice.
"Lead the way," he said, gripping the hilt of his sword.
Eist nodded silently and headed for the exit of the port; Anastas followed him.