the smuggler’s bible

Wighmar Zhi

Threshold. Sidewalk. Bus stop. Docks.

His trail through the city is marked by washed out concrete under dirty lightbulbs. He hoists his canvas bag and heads down to the water’s edge. There is a creature in the harbor, and he intends to do something about it.

Wighmar Zhi prowls through the dawn air until he finds what he’s after—an iron ring sunk deep into the jetty. The hawser whispers out of his bag. He loops it once, twice, checks the hook at the other end. It’s certainly heavy, but he wouldn’t mind a second one. Is that even possible?