“I wish. Primarily, I’m a researcher, so they generally keep me chained to the archives.” She grimaced.
“I’ve heard you’re very good.”
“Yeah, I’m so good I’ve been pigeonholed. They only let me out of the cage if they need me to read some ancient spell.”
“Jerks.”
Neve turned to look at me. “Totally. It’s really frustrating. I do the groundwork for a lot of cases, but I’m never part of the bust.”
I gently bit my lip. “Damn. That sucks.”
“Yeah. I have a lot of repressed sleuthing.” She grinned at me. “So what do I do? Find a healthy outlet? Noooo. I sneak a mob boss into the Order archives, then I shuttle him into the territory of another gangster. I need new hobbies.”
“I’m sorry we’re putting you at risk.”
“Please, this is the most fun I’ve had all month.” She looked back. “Anyway, I’m intrigued now. I want to push the case forward. All we have to do is not get shot.”
“Is the Dockside Den that dangerous?”
“Only if you aren’t supposed to be there. I mean, it’s a free city. In theory, we should all be able to go where we want and talk to whomever we like. Normally, I would be fine going in. They might give me a hard time because I’m a known agent, but they wouldn’t mess with me too much.”
“So why are we trying to slip in under cover of night?” I asked.
Neve nodded back at Grey. “He makes this a lot harder. Bosses are supposed to stay out of each other’s territory. Professional courtesy and all. But since he’s the one with the curse…”
Neve looked at the dark shapes looming along the shoreline. The buildings here weren’t as tall, and few were lit. “Speaking of getting in the hard way, I think I’d better drive.”
I gave her the wheel, and she turned down the throttle. The engines reduced to a low murmur as we puttered along the shorefront.
“Just whispers now for this last part,” Neve said in a low voice. “Sound carries over water.”
I quit the chitchat and watched the structures of the dockyards slip by. Their enormous, looming piers had once been used for freighters and were backed by abandoned factories and unlit warehouses. The dockside area was expansive. There were a few harbors for small boats, and a motley assortment of vessels were tied off to bobbing orange buoys further along the shore. We came to an area of old wooden docks, which led to a cluster of warehouses and tall brick buildings that lined the waterfront.
“Here we go,” Neve whispered.
She cut the throttle, and we coasted silently in, sliding under the tall dock and navigating between the tall pilings. They were in bad shape, covered with crustaceans and tattered bits of old rope. Everything smelled of dead fish and something strange, like smoky tar.
Neve pointed to a piling with wooden slats nailed to it. “That’s how we get up.”
She secured the speedboat, tying off the bow and the stern, then turned off the engine and pocketed the keys.
By then, Grey was already at the ladder, scaling it swiftly and naturally despite his suit.
“I don’t know how that man makes a suit look so appropriate for everything,” she mused.
“He’s like James Bond.”
Neve nodded. “Yep.”
I followed Grey, and Neve brought up the rear. At the top of the makeshift ladder, a small wooden hatch was propped open. Grey was already on the dock, and I shimmied through the hatch to join him.
It had begun to sprinkle lightly, a faint rain that was cool against my skin. Shipping containers towered around us, blocking our view. We tucked ourselves into the shadows as Neve joined us.
“This way,” she whispered, leading us out of the maze and toward the glow of lamps.
We reached the edge of the crates, and I caught a glimpse of the dock. Gas lamps flickered gold in the darkness, their light gleaming on the puddles and glass windows of the crumbling factories along the waterfront. Wooden slats ran between us and the buildings.
Everything was brick and iron, a remnant of an industrial past that had been abandoned in this part of the city.