On July 17th, Elyon arrived at the police station punctually, ready for the act he and Garrick had planned at the black market.
"Good, stash your clothes in the office; we'll pick them up after work. Remember to pack your gun. Things have been a bit unsettled lately," Garrick advised.
The patrol officer assigned to accompany Elyon today was a young man, about the same age as his sister, sporting brown hair and a forehead dotted with the marks of youth.
"I forgot to introduce you. This is our new clerk, Elyon, and this young man is Bell, my distant nephew," Garrick said as he climbed into the carriage.
"Nice to meet you, Bell. I look forward to working with you," Elyon said, managing a smile.
"You... hello, sir, I'm Bell. Just let me know if you need anything," the young patrolman stammered, obviously a bit on edge.
"Appreciated, and thanks for driving today," Elyon said as he settled into the seat next to Garrick.
"Of course, sir. Are we still heading to the port for patrol today?"
"Just follow the usual route."
Bell spurred the horse, directing the carriage toward the docks.
"Mr. Garrick, are you planning to take your nephew to the black market with us?" Elyon whispered in the carriage.
"No, just the two of us; the fewer people, the easier to keep a secret. Councillor Carter only offered a reward for one assistant," Garrick responded.
So it's all about the reward, Elyon mused silently, even family ties are secondary to money.
After finishing their routine patrol of the docks and market, they headed for a familiar coffee shop.
They ordered a pot of subpar coffee. With the prospect of a 30-pound reward, Garrick was in high spirits, not only paying for the coffee but also treating them to steak.
"Why so well done?" Elyon struggled to cut through the steak, which felt akin to slicing through a sole of a shoe.
"Where else can you find a steak for six pence?" Garrick replied.
"True, it's suspiciously cheap, almost at cost."
"That's why we don't inquire too deeply about the origin or quality of the meat. Well-done ensures it's safe to eat," Garrick said, taking a bite.
After finishing their steaks with the coffee, they returned to the station for lunch, where Elyon only asked for a half portion from the cantina run by the robust Mrs. Lisa.
In the afternoon, after completing their usual patrols, Elyon and Garrick changed into their plain clothes. Garrick's outfit resembled that of a dock foreman; to complete the look, he even wrapped a graying towel around his neck.
At the front of the police station, they hopped onto a public carriage and arrived at the docks after about fifteen minutes.
"Did you bring it?" Garrick asked as they alighted from the carriage.
"I did," Elyon confirmed, feeling the heavy metal object at his waist, fully loaded.
"Then let's go, stick close to me," Garrick said and began to navigate the labyrinthine warehouse district by the dock until they stood before a building topped with a metal shed and constructed of brick.
The main iron gate was firmly shut, but next to a smaller side door stood two burly men armed with iron rods. Beside the door, a rickety wooden desk and chair were placed, where a balding middle-aged man in ill-fitting formal wear was hunched over what appeared to be a ledger. Garrick approached and knocked on the desk.
"One penny for the entry fee. Just drop it there," the middle-aged man said without lifting his gaze.
"Cough," Garrick cleared his throat, and the man finally looked up, then quickly plastered a smile across his face.
"Well, if it isn't Mr. Garrick! Long time no see. What brings you here today?"
"Just showing the new guy around, to avoid future misunderstandings. Once I retire, he'll take over the Sunday to Monday port duty. Make sure your people recognize him, so there are no mix-ups. We'll head in now, what about the fee?" Garrick inquired.
"Oh, we can't possibly charge you gentlemen. Shall I accompany you around?"
"No need, everything alright here?" Garrick waved him off.
"Fine, fine. Just some missionaries last week riled up the patrons a bit, but it's been calm otherwise. The Black Gang and the Blood Eagles both do business here, one on the left, the other on the right, without interfering with each other."
"Alright then, I'll leave you to it," Garrick concluded, leading Elyon through the side door as the two guards quickly retracted their iron rods, clearing the way.
"Sir, who are those two? You're so courteous to them," one of the guards asked the middle-aged man.
"Who are they? Didn't they tell you they're in charge of the port? You think the real power in the port is the Black Gang and Blood Eagle bosses?"
"Isn't it?"
"Of course not. It's the cops from the port precinct. Sure, the two gangs could easily swamp the less than twenty officers there, but if Chief Orion from the Gonya Police Headquarters just whispers a word, those gangs will obediently cease fire and make peace."
The middle-aged man returned to his ledger after his explanation.
The black market was set up inside an old warehouse, reminiscent of a market on Earth, with two rows of stalls made of concrete and bricks, where various merchants hawked their wares.
"Fine silks from the Eastern Continent! Wear a silk top hat and you'll shine like a Council Lord!"
"Fresh tobacco from the Southern Continent just last week! One puff and you're in heaven!"
"Discounted rum from the Windward Isles! Small bottles for only four pence, they'll soon be gone!"
"Tough, hundred-fold steel knives!"
Garrick paid no attention to the hawking vendors, instead leading Elyon towards a room that seemed to be repurposed from an office.
From a distance, Elyon could already hear the raucous noise and smell the pungent odor of cheap alcohol emanating from behind an iron door. It appeared to be a small bar.
Garrick pushed the door open, and they were greeted by clusters of patrons seated haphazardly at wooden tables. Behind the long counter of the bar, a rotund bartender continuously filled wooden mugs from a huge barrel's tap and passed them over to the thirsty customers at the front. The rugged dock workers accepted their drinks and slapped copper coins on the counter.
A few portly middle-aged waitresses collected the empty mugs and fended off the occasional wandering hands.
Garrick squeezed through the crowd to reach the counter and called out to the bartender.
"Two beers and a dish for snacking."
"Three pence. For meat, you'll need to add five."
"We'll go without meat," Garrick decided, producing three copper pence and laying them on the counter. The bartender glanced at the coins before sweeping them into the drawer below.
He then filled two wooden mugs with cloudy liquid and handed them to Garrick, before grabbing a small ceramic dish, scooping up a handful of peanuts from a nearby jar, and sliding it onto the counter.
Garrick passed one beer to Elyon and kept the small dish for himself. They found a semi-empty spot and sat down. The bitter taste of low-quality beer burned down Elyon's throat.
"Once we're done, we head back," Garrick said, cracking open a peanut. "By this time, the others should be gone, and only the night shift should be left at the precinct. You'll handle the letter, and I'll write up the report." He continued to sip his beer and peel peanuts, blending into the scene.