It was a bitterly cold night that slithered through the streets of Wildhearth. The streets were filled with the steam of hot breath, smoke from open-air grills, and the clamouring citykin voices. Music crashed from windows in great rolling waves in the entertainment districts, with drinks flowing thick and fast to warm the bellies and hides of the patrons.

In the Silk, high-climbing buildings glittered, patterns of light garnishing their exteriors with exotic designs. Elegantly dressed kin walked those inner streets, dripping with jewels, fine fabrics, and expensive musks.

In the dark spaces between this revelry, Jett padded, following Bronco through the damp streets of the Thacktail district. Here in these narrow crevices, the light and life of the city night was a dim and distant dream. Sunken deep into the city foundations at a crossroads between the intricate canal network, Thacktail was a maze of warehouses and loading docks overwhelmingly populated by otterkin workers.

Even at this late hour, the place had a bustle about it. Lanterns hung high above the forest of jetties, docks and loading areas, illuminating otterkin barge crews who bawled orders to one another. Pairs of dock workers periodically dove into the water, using long metal-tipped punt poles to ease vessels away from the shore before their engines grumbled into life, sending them and their cargo chugging away through the watery labyrinth.

Despite the dingy, half-lit atmosphere of the place, the otterkin seemed jovial enough, many of them exchanging barbs and witticisms as they plunged in and out of the canals, garrulous males being rebuffed by good-natured females as they went about their work. Crates rolled past on heavy metal rails to be snatched up by the jaws of loading cranes. The whole place seemed to mash two worlds together.

For her part, Jett didn't like it. She didn't like water, and her impromptu swim in the city canals had not improved her disposition towards it. The buzzing of the busy districts was what Wildhearth meant to her, not this cold undercity and its denizens.

Nothing for it now, though, she thought grimly, tugging her brown barkhide jacket more tightly around her frame. In her backpack, the block drive from the enforcer headquarters lay swaddled in padding amongst a host of other gizmos that she'd thrown in. Unsure what to expect when they reached whatever awaited them in Belforra, she'd packed the bag with hack modules, shunts, an ID cloner, an overdrive module, and a trio of snooper drives. It seemed prudent to be prepared for the worst.

Bronco trudged along through the shadows with the others strung out behind him in loose single file, and they turned away from the busier sections of dockside through a narrow gully between two barge-repair docks that was lit by a dim line of lamps. A fishy tang swirled in Jett's nostrils, strong enough to make her scrunch her snout up in discomfort.

They rounded a bend onto a dilapidated jetty, its wooden surface chipped, scratched, and damp. The lights here flickered eerily, casting unhealthy shadows in the night. At the end of the dock, Jett's sharp eyes picked out a silhouette in the gloom.

"That's our contact," Bronco said quietly. "Just follow me and stay quiet."

The contact turned out to be a female otterkin worker, a sleek-bodied individual with a glossy coat of waterproof fur that was more than enough to protect her from the worst of the chills. Some otterkin in the inner city conformed to the styles and mannerisms of the city, but these dock workers seemed to have retained a more primal connection to their evolutionary ancestors.

She wore a minimum of clothing: a simple, tight-fitting leather wrap over the top half of her torso and a short, wispy skirt that left her powerful, plank-like tail free to move when she plunged in and out of the water. Her long dark headfur was swept back over her skull and clasped there to hold her aerodynamic shape, and glittering dark eyes like polished pebbles appraised the ragtag band dubiously. In one paw, she clasped a long punting pole, one end resting on the dockside with the other pointing skywards like a spear.

"This is everyone?" she asked. Her voice drawled pleasantly, with elongated vowels and a kind of thick, syrupy quality.

Bronco nodded. "This is it."

"And the stamps?"

"Right here." Jett stepped forward, bag in hand. The stamps within made little sound, tightly packed and wrapped together for the occasion. The otterkin snatched the bag from her and deftly loosened the drawstring with her teeth before peering inside. Seemingly satisfied, she laid the punt pole down on the jetty and, with the bag clutched tightly to her chest, dove off the side and into the lapping water.

She disappeared with barely a ripple, leaving them standing somewhat bemused at the dockside. Just as Jett opened her mouth to ask Bronco exactly what was going on, the otterkin reappeared from the water, sliding out as cleanly as she'd gone in, claws latching onto the wood as she gracefully vaulted up to join them. The bag was gone, but before anyone could ask where, she swept up the punt pole again and faced them, water still dripping from her body.

"Follow me."

Then they were moving again, striding at a furious pace along the jetty in the wake of the otterkin worker. She squared her shoulders, guiding them through a series of tight passages that threaded through the dock network until they emerged up onto a flat plateau of hard mud where a dozen heavy-duty haulage crates lay currently unattended, each one twelve feet long and half that across.

"We have five minutes," the otterkin snapped, laying the punt pole down and darting over to a pair of crates that sat off to one side from the main pile. Reaching into a small compartment in the leather wrap of her chest piece, she withdrew a small auto-screwdriver and proceeded to loosen four bolts around the bottom section of the crate.

With painstaking care, she eased the metal plate down, laying it silently against the ground. Then she repeated the process with the second crate before turning and beckoning them forward.

"These are false bottoms," she explained. "The screws are notched on the bottom—you can unscrew them from the inside once you get to Belforra. There's a checkpoint before the final station stop—wait until you're past it before you make your move. Get out of the crates and scoot to the rear of the train. Use the chassis hatch in the back compartment—that will dump you out into the district as far from the guards as you can get. Otherwise, you'll unload into the main bays, and there'll be no way for you to get into Belforra unseen. Do you understand?"

"Got it," Bronco confirmed for them all.

"Good, then get in."

Gallant smiled. "Thank yo—"

"Shut up," the otterkin hissed, silencing her in an instant. "If you don't all end up dead, maybe you can buy me a drink sometime. Otherwise, muzzle it, get in the crate, and forget I had anything to do with this."

Suitably rebuked, Gallant gave a bobbing nod and dropped down on all fours, sliding sideways like a crab into the narrow crevice of the secret compartment. Rapid and Bronco piled in after her, and their chaperone swiftly bolted up the compartment. Then she gestured sharply for Jett and Karno to enter the second crate too.

"And you—inside, now."

Karno shrugged and slithered inside without objection. Jett swept the pack off her shoulder and slid it in after him. Then she took a deep breath and dropped down, slotting herself into what little space remained. Inside she could just make out Karno's shape before the plate was bolted shut again, sealing them into oily blackness.

***

The rock and sway of the barge set nausea swirling in Jett's stomach. The boat ploughed on through the canals, and she tried to brace herself in the pressing confines of the bottom compartment. Stuck in the pitch dark of the crate and knowing she had no choice but to stay that way, she couldn't fight the fraying of her nerves.

"As if I needed another reason never to get on one of these damn barges," Karno muttered from her right. "Just as well I didn't have dinner before we loaded onto this thing."

Jett stifled a laugh. "That makes two of us. I've had my fill of these canals for a lifetime."

"Wonder who Bronco's little friend is. She seemed to know a lot about Belforra."

"Not enough to help out of the goodness of her heart," she replied with an edge of bitterness. "Those were all caps I had left."

"Like you couldn't steal some more."

"That's not the point."

She could feel his smirk in the darkness and snaked out a leg to give him a gentle kick. The pair lapsed into silence after that as the barge continued on, the low rumble of its engine sending vibrations through the hard metal of the crates. The compartment they lay in was barely tall enough for her to lie flat on her back. In one hand, she clutched her screwdriver tight to her breast, the prospect of remaining trapped in this metal coffin niggling at the back of her mind.

After maybe half an hour, the barge slowed, the pitch and yaw of its motion ebbing away to nothingness. Then she heard the thunk thunk of punt poles hitting one side, easing the ship into its mooring.

"Here we go," Karno whispered.

Jett held her breath without even meaning to. The motion of the barge stopped entirely, now anchored in place. Muffled orders sounded from outside the crate, and she heard the grinding clank of heavy machinery. Seconds ebbed past.

Something clanged against the outside of the crate. Knowing what was coming next, Jett pressed her paws against the ceiling of their little compartment, bracing herself. A moment later, her stomach flipped with a surge of weightlessness as the crate was hoisted skyward by the loading crane that had latched onto it.

They swayed sickeningly for a moment before the operator managed to steady them, and then the crate was moving, suspended dozens of feet in the air for all she knew. If it fell from such a height, she doubted the outer plates of this compartment would protect them from the crushing weight of the equipment held above.

The airborne section of their trip lasted for several nerve-shredding minutes before the crate was finally deposited in the tram carrier station, ready for loading. She winced as they thudded against the solid ground once more. Through the plating, she could hear the hissing of the crane claw hydraulics unlocking and the faint sound of voices. The voices drew closer.

Jett's heart juddered in a blind panic as she heard the top of the container bang open. Voices, much clearer now, checked over the cargo held within. She froze, not daring to breathe, and prayed. After a couple of excruciating minutes, the lid was finally returned to the container, the guards apparently satisfied. She exhaled a sigh of relief, slumping limply against the floor.

They sat there while other crates received their own checks, and then maybe ten minutes later, their crate was finally lifted those elusive few meters to be deposited on board the tram carrier. A coiling blend of fear and excitement bubbled in Jett's chest when they hit the floor plates. Closing her eyes, she forced herself to take shallow breaths. One more leg of this journey and they would reach Belforra. She just hoped the crate containing their comrades had been placed into the same compartment. They'd been grouped together, so there was no reason the crates should have been dumped at opposite ends of the tram, but the thought still jabbed at the back of her mind like a splinter.

She felt the reverberations as the tram carrier's engine growled into life and nodded to herself. One way or another, this would all be over soon.

"Here's to not dying," she said softly.

"I'll toast that with you in the morning," Karno replied and reached out one paw to clasp hers.

And then the tram rumbled away into the night, with five desperate, vengeful kin hidden away in its cargo, ready to sell their lives for the secrets of Belforra.