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People stepped aside for her now, shying away from the face, even without her mask. Pumps gave an excited little whistle every time someone looked at them, then a disappointed one when they passed by or turned away. Then without pause the sweetheart would see someone else and the cycle would repeat. It might be annoying, to have such a noisy pet tucked in an open leather rucksack, but, like much else, Tauga found she didn't care.

The only ones who did not inch back a little or avert their gaze were those already far enough to feel safe, those confident souls who whistled or raised a fist or cried [i]'Xerxes lives!'[/i] from rooftops. Those, and the wealthy.

Captains of large ships or small fleets, mostly, or traders dealing in river imports. Most had cronies, well-dressed servants or keen-eyed quartermasters, private bodyguards with hidden knives. They hailed her and Sen, calling wholesome greetings to the small troop of militiamen. Some approached her outright, intending to offer grateful donations or plans for reform, and were promptly ignored. Full-bellied oligarchs, all, who had never in their lives had to eat dirt. Tauga didn't trust a single one.

As they strode briskly through the City's extensive docks, Tauga flicked her head constantly fore and back, birdlike, looking for prey. Her tentacles sprawled through the surrounding streets, counting the bustling workers by touch. Many of them were hers. Several skippers had died in the fire, as had hundreds of oarsmen. Idle boats had drifted untouched. Fish dwindled the markets. Now, as the slave crews learned, they started to come back.

Tauga recognised the dingy she'd stolen to row to the Siren's Isles. Ears covered and wearing a double blindfold, she'd navigated by tendril-touch and stolen hairs from the sirens themselves as they sang and plucked their violin-like stringed song. Several slave murals had been painted with brushes made from that hair before it faded, though the rumour alone that Tauga had survived setting foot among the sirens without drowning wove perhaps an even stronger aura of mystery.

Towards the end of the docks Tauga saw what she was looking for and made a quick gesture. The troop followed her slowly as she broke into a half-run.

The docker was human, and didn't see Tauga approach until too late. Barking rough and ragged orders to a work-gang as he hauled a barrel with one hand and a stump with a hook, he turned at the sound of footsteps. Shock grew quickly as he saw the unmasked face with a sword at its shoulder. Tauga pointed to the barrel then to the ground. [color=antiquewhite]"Down. You're not in trouble."[/color]

Immediately the barrel was set down, and the docker bowed, though Tauga had no official office. [colour=antiquewhite]"Your workers. Which one do you trust most?"[/colour] The request was quickly processed and the answer didn't stammer.

"My wife, sir." 

So he was used to thinking fast. Good. [colour=antiquewhite]"Call her."[/colour]

A huge, anchor-tattooed woman who was already watching over a stack of amphorae stepped up at her husband's call. Tauga noted her name, Mako. [colour=antiquewhite]"And yours?"[/colour]

"Ruthar. Sir."

[colour=antiquewhite]"Mm. Mako? You're in charge of the gang. If you need more muscle, see-"[/colour] Tauga jabbed the air behind her with a thumb as the troop approached- [color=antiquewhite]"Sen or his officers for slaves. Ruthar?"[/color]

"Yes, s-"

[colour=antiquewhite]"No 'sirs'. Ruthar, I'm leaving. For four days. The Bludgeons are coming with me. I've been getting ready as fast as I can, but even taken by surprise, that's still plenty of time for the Council to make plans. The longer I exist, the weaker they get. Do you understand?"[/colour]

"...Yes. Tauga."

[colour=antiquewhite]"Good. So. For the next four days, and maybe longer, you, Ruthar, and your gang, are going to be me, Tauga, on the docks. What that means is, if anything falls apart, you're going to find out why and who, then help the blowflies move in to hold it together. That's it. That's all. And Sen here is going to make sure [i]you[/i] don't flake on me. Here."[/colour] Two coins and a copper-verdigris badge changed hands, the same wirework blowfly the soldiers wore. The last one in her pocket.

[colour=antiquewhite]"These-"[/colour] Tauga gestured to the two pairs of militiamen behind Sen- [colour=antiquewhite]"Will be patrolling wherever you need them. They know how to break up a rabble. They'll be watching you too. Understand?"[/colour]

"I understand," rasped Ruthar cautiously.

[colour=antiquewhite]"No, you don't. Spit it out."[/colour]

"...Ruthar don't lead no men, don't want no trouble. I just haul. Find a cap'n, maybe they could, uh, take over. I don't know where to even start. Ruthar's just some salty dockrat with a missin' paw."

[colour=antiquewhite]"How long have you been a docker?"[/colour]

"Since 'fore I had a beard."

[colour=antiquewhite]"Then figure it out. Keep your eyes open. I see you shout at the executions, so don't disappoint me if you don't want to end up there yourself. Impress me instead. You have four days. Clear?"[/colour]

A nod. Tauga motioned Sen forwards. [colour=antiquewhite]"Embrace."[/colour] The men butted into each other shoulder-first, gripped, then stepped back. [colour=antiquewhite]"Sen, make sure he gets what he earns. This was the last one."[/colour] A curt nod.

Tauga reached into the air, felt her tendrils wrap around the cords of the waiting Bludgeon, and lifted herself into the sky. As she disappeared, she saw Ruthar's thick brows knit together as he began to discuss a simple plan with her lieutenant. Already adapting, as he had to the missing hand.

The flexibility of desperation was one of the few things Tauga could trust. She'd been poor too, once.

As she left the city behind, the patchwork of rice paddies opened up before her. Those that had been abandoned now shone with water as her slaves began a late sowing season. 

[color=antiquewhite][i]Once.[/i][/color]