Chapter 3: The Shadowed Alley Chase

The night was as black as ink. Saskia wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders, the fabric thick with the damp, salty sting of the sea wind. Her steps were so light they barely whispered against the ground, each one landing precisely on the slightly drier stones of the muddy alley to avoid the bottomless puddles of sewage. The hoofbeats behind her had finally faded into the distance, replaced by the sudden, trembling glow of two kerosene lamps at the alley entrance. That was Piet, one of Hendrick Vis’s henchmen, and another silent, heavy-set brute, cutting off her only escape route. The air was choked with the stench of rotting kelp and old filth, mixed with the sharp, acrid bite of burning kerosene, making it nearly impossible to take a deep breath. She stopped, her back pressed against the wet, cold brick wall. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird, but she forced her face into a mask of calm, acting like nothing more than a lost diver heading home.

The sound of tiles shattering overhead made Saskia’s blood run cold. The henchmen were breaking the structure of the roof, trying to smash through the wall and drop down. She quickly shoved the parchment into the most hidden inner pocket, gritted her teeth, and threw away her last bit of strength to crawl out of the drainage canal. Following the route she had scouted earlier, she burst through the wooden door of old fisherman Tred’s house next door. Tred had been sitting in the dim light, mending his nets. At the loud crash, the knot in his hands slipped to the floor. He looked up alertly, a mix of shock and suspicion flashing in his eyes.

The rain began to pour down in earnest. The muddy alley transformed into a giant, devouring maw. Piet and a few of his goons scrambled through the downpour like hounds that smelled blood, their boots squelching loudly in the puddles. Each *squelch* hammered against Saskia’s frayed nerves. The scroll of parchment clung to her chest, the rough texture seeping through her clothes like a branding iron, warning her that she held evidence capable of tearing the foundation of the Vis Family to shreds.

She quickly pulled the parchment from her bosom, her movements as light as a falling leaf. She jammed the scroll into a crack in the ceramic water jar nearby, then grabbed a handful of wet straw and fish scale powder, spreading it evenly over the wall gap where the clue had originally been hidden. Finally, she tossed a piece of what looked like ordinary scrap cloth—whose lining actually held a tiny, encrypted Metal Chip—casually onto a prominent spot on the table.

The gap in the attic was too narrow to turn around in. Saskia could smell the sour mixture of fear and sweat on her own skin. She heard Piet’s voice again from downstairs, closer now, right at Tred’s front door. “Old man, stop pretending you’re stupid. Open the door. I know that little bitch is inside!” Piet’s yell carried a desperate madness, as if one more push would end the hunt.

The other brute didn’t say a word. He simply stood silently, blocking the only exit. His thick arms looked like iron bars in the dim light, completely sealing off any chance of escape for Saskia. Her eyes swept quickly over the surroundings. She spotted the oil-slicked drain outlet at the corner of the alley—a familiar weak point in the terrain, and the only lifeline. But she knew that fighting head-on meant certain death.

Deep in a blind corner of the drainage canal, Saskia finally came to a halt. She leaned against the wet stone wall, gasping for air. From the waterproof oilcloth bundle, she pulled out the crucial copy of the parchment, her fingertips trembling from the cold and tension. She knew time was running out. The clues left behind could expose her location at any moment. She had to move it to the one person she truly trusted, right now.

She shoved open the rickety window and leaped into the rain. The water soaked her clothes and hair instantly, ice-cold and biting, yet it cleared her foggy brain with startling sharpness. She stopped trying to hide. Instead, she followed her pre-planned route, sliding in a strange arc through the mud. She deliberately lost her footing, “falling” into a low-lying puddle ten meters away.

Saskia hid in the gap between the attics of the neighboring building, watching everything through the narrow window frame. She clutched the parchment, standing in the darkness, forced to make a choice: fully expose her identity and let these bloodthirsty thugs kill her, or feign surrender to preserve the evidence. Outside, the rain began to tap against the glass, like the ticking of a fate-bound countdown.

She leaned against the cold brick wall, breathing in heavy gasps. Rainwater dripped from the short blade in her hand. She had dodged Piet, but the blood on her clothes—scraped from a roll earlier—was glaringly obvious in the dark. Worse, was that Metal Chip still in her palm? No. In her panic, she had only grabbed the parchment. The chip…

Saskia closed her eyes. Exposure meant death. Surrender meant handing the evidence over, letting Vis continue his dark rule, ensuring that innocent people like Tred would never have a moment of peace. But if she didn’t give up the evidence, Vis would scour every inch of the land until he found the “rat” hiding in the shadows.

Piet roared, tearing his own shirt open. But Saskia had already vanished into the chaotic swirl of black smoke and heavy rain. She hadn’t disappeared; instead, using the smoke as cover, she crawled into a deepest, abandoned tunnel in the city’s sewer system. There were no lights there, no paths. Only endless darkness and the echo of dripping water.

*Thump.* A dull explosion, followed by a geyser of thick smoke bursting from the mouth of a dry well. It was the distraction she had set up with smoke grenades and gunpowder earlier. Piet’s eyes went wide. The hand that had been reaching for Saskia froze in mid-air, because through the smoke came Tred’s old, raspy roar: “She’s gone! North! Don’t bother with me!”

Saskia’s pupils shrank to pinpricks. She looked down at her empty palm. Above her, through the narrow drain opening, a beam of searchlight cut through the darkness like the judging eye of a god. It slowly swept over the silent district, finally locking onto the very drain where she was hiding.

Tred looked at the mud caking Saskia’s clothes and her eyes, which held a determination bordering on despair. He fell silent for a moment. Finally, he sighed, stepped aside to let her through the doorway, and pushed open the back door with his rough, large hands, gesturing for her to enter the small shed filled with ropes and old wooden barrels.

Suddenly, a loud crash of shattering glass came from downstairs, followed by Piet’s heavy, ragged breathing. He had found something. No, he had slipped and fallen on the hidden drain cover while searching. Saskia’s heart clenched. She realized she might have only seconds left.

Several thugs lunged at the “fallen” Saskia. In the exact moment Piet’s hand was about to touch her shoulder, Saskia used the momentum to roll away. Her short blade wasn’t aimed at the enemies; instead, it stabbed precisely into the trigger mechanism next to the abandoned dry well in Tred’s backyard.

Piet, furious and helpless, laughed through his teeth just as he was about to make a move. Then, from the doorway, a voice colder and more commanding than anything else rang out. Hendrick Vis stood in the shadows. His hat was pulled low, shading his eyes, but the chill in his tone was enough to freeze the air around them.

Saskia took a deep breath, deliberately letting her shoulders slump to fake extreme fear and helplessness. Rainwater dripped from the ends of her hair, splattering into small water lilies on the cold ground, masking her originally light and quick breathing rhythm.

Piet was enraged by the muddy water, lost his balance, and slid into the murky sewage with a massive splash. The filth came up to his waist. He struggled clumsily, splashing water against the nearby walls with a rhythmic *pat-pat* sound.

Saskia’s face was pale. She spoke in a rushed, frantic whisper: “Mr. Tred, they’re here. Vis’s men. I need you to hide me. Give this paper to Curator Katarina. Tell her the truth is at the Abyss Beacon.”

She opened her eyes, her gaze slicing like a knife across the door that was about to be smashed open. In this instant, a疯狂, resolute thought exploded in her mind. Not total exposure. Not unconditional surrender. But a “switch.”

Suddenly, the sound of frantic horse hooves echoed from the far end of the alley. It wasn’t Piet’s crew. It was another faction from the core of the Vis Family. They had arrived too fast, as if they had predicted her every move.

Piet advanced with his kerosene lamp, smirking. “Miss Kuiper, out for a stroll this late in the alley? Did you forget to tell Chairman Vis of the Chamber of Commerce where the coordinates on that parchment are?”

Saskia staggered back, trembling. She cried out, “Please leave me alone! I’m just an ordinary Salvager. I have no idea what coordinates you’re talking about, and I don’t know a Vis chairman to save my life. Let me go.”

Hendrick Vis barked a sharp command. “There’s no time for useless talk. If you can’t even catch a lone woman, you’ve got no business keeping your position. Go. Search every corner.”

Piet raised the swaying kerosene lamp, the light stabbing directly into Saskia’s eyes. He grinned, revealing teeth stained yellow by tobacco, his voice dripping with rogue menace.

Piet lowered his head and answered obediently. “Sir, that woman dove into the underground canal. We’re tracking her now, but she might have escaped to a neighbor’s house. Please give us a moment.”

“Found you.” A strange, electronic-synthesized voice crackled through the speakers, devoid of a single human emotion. “Saskia. The game is over.”

Piet swung his fist wildly, roaring, “You old bastard, did a woman run into your house just now? Speak up! Hand her over, or I’ll burn this shithole to the ground!”

The thugs finally tracked her down. Piet, soaking wet, kicked open the front door of Tred’s house. Rainwater dripped from his hem onto the wooden floorboards, stark and glaring.

Tred responded calmly. “Mr. Piet, this alley is full of nothing but rotting fish and shrimp. Where’s a woman? Are your eyes gone, or did your head fall off?”

Piet burst out of the door, spotting the figure in the rain. A wild, bloodthirsty joy flashed in his eyes. “Grab her alive!” he shrieked.

Tred put down his net, glancing around alertly. He whispered, “Saskia? Why are you covered in mud? What happened?”

Piet rolled in the sewage, screaming in rage: “You damned bitch! Chase her! Alive or dead, bring her to me!”

Her memory was a blank white. In the earlier chaos, her touch had been blurry. She didn’t feel the chip slide back into her pocket. Instead…

Hendrick Vis asked, his voice icy. “Piet, why haven’t you returned? Did that woman escape?”

Tred’s face didn’t change. He was even still tidying up his nets, answering slowly and deliberately.

Hendrick Vis let out a light, contemptuous snort, his tone piercing with coldness.

Piet quickly shut down his arrogance, answering with a respectful but frantic tone.

“I’m going out.” She whispered to herself, her voice trembling but resolute.

She clenched her fist, her nails digging deep into the flesh of her palm. The real danger had only just begun.