Chapter 2: Night Crossing of the Hooghly

The night wind off Jagannathpur carried the stale, briny stench of the river, laced with the fading toll of distant temple bells. It shivered across the damp blue stone flagstones, a chill that bit through to the bone. I gripped the Bronze Seal tight in my palm, my knuckles turning white from the pressure. Even polished, the metal felt faintly cool under my skin, but that single chip on the tiger-patterned edge caught like a tiny hook, snagging firmly on the memory of the great fire ten years ago that had swallowed everything. The crackle of the flames still echoed in my ears, scorching my recollections.

I had just crossed the mottled gate when a pebble rolled out of the shadows at the base of the wall. It struck the blue brick with a heavy thud—thump, thump, thump. The last note lingered, cutting through the deathly silence.

Rohan Nair stopped dead. His hand drifted instinctively to his hilt, and he shifted to block the space in front of me. His gaze swept the dark, narrow alleys with the sharp precision of a falcon’s. “Someone’s signaling us. And someone’s counting our steps. Mira, don’t take the main street. Head to the east bank of the Hooghly River and find Lakshmi Sethi,” he murmured low.

I looked up at him. Rain dripped from the eaves, soaking through my collar. “You’re not coming with me? If the Bronze Seal falls into the hands of the Order of the Ash, there’s no second father to take the fall for me. You know what that means. I’ll be living in the shadows forever.”

Rohan Nair’s voice was grave, tinged with a suppressed pain. “A Hunter of the Chamber of Justice can’t openly protect a suspect. But I can buy you half a moment to warn them of our route. The rules say I should seize you, but my conscience tells me to see who’s rewriting the old case. Remember: only the living have a chance to clear the record.”

With that, he turned and disappeared into a narrow alley. Tattered incense banners hung at the alley’s mouth, snapping against the brick wall in the wind. The rustling sound was like someone waving from the darkness, or perhaps the whisper of a wandering ghost. I tucked the Bronze Seal into my waist satchel and hurried past three wet stone bridges toward the Security Agency on the riverbank. Every step I took was a measure in the mud, weighed down by the alert silence behind me—a silence more suffocating than any pursuer.

Lakshmi Sethi lived in a wooden building perched over the water. The structure was warped from years of damp, the wood darkened with black-green water stains. When she opened the door, she still had her arm guards on, her black hair tied back. Her eyes were harder than the door latch. When she saw me, her gaze dropped to my palm first, then swept the black alley behind me. She looked like a hound that had caught the scent of danger.

She stepped aside to let me in, her tone cold and clipped. “You don’t look like you’re here for a reunion. If you’ve got a tail, bar the door first. If you’re hurt, show me the wound. The Security Agency doesn’t take on hidden troubles, and we don’t let people walk in carrying a blood debt.”

I placed the Bronze Seal on the table. The metallic *clink* was clear and cold. “I found it in the tiger’s belly. Rohan said three tiger seals would be enough to crack my father’s case, but three parties have already been chasing me tonight. They even knew which path I’d take.”

Lakshmi Sethi didn’t touch it. She just leaned in, squinting at the chip, her brow furrowed. “This isn’t a casting mark. It was chiselled later. There’s black sand in the edge of the notch, like the gunpowder residue you find on the walls of the Arsenal. My father was escorting something more than just ordinary blades.”

I stared at her. “You recognize that dust? You weren’t in the Security Agency back then. How do you know the color of the Arsenal walls?”

She looked up, a complex light flashing in her eyes. “My master once escorted a batch of old crossbows to Bengal. Under the crate were the remnants of a military ledger. The tiger seal on that page had the same chip, but the name of the one who pressed it was burned away. Before he passed, my master said it was fake.”

A knot tightened in my chest, my voice trembling slightly. “Where are the remnants now? If they can prove the three tiger seals were forged, I’ll trade my father’s hunting bow for them. It’s the only memento he left me.”

Lashmi Sethi pushed the Bronze Seal back toward me. Her fingers were ice-cold. “The remnants were sent to the Asian Academy. Deepika Gupta is checking the woodblock prints. If you want the proof, survive the night. The dead get their innocence stolen by the living to pave their own paths.”

From below, the faint hum of a bowstring drew taut, heavy with intent. Lakshmi Sethi grabbed her long saber, blew out the oil lamp, and plunged us into darkness. Only the cold glint of the blade leaving its scabbard remained visible. “They’re ahead of schedule. Mira, take the seal out the back window. I’ll hold the stairs. Don’t look back to see if I fall.”

I drew my short blade, the rain running down the steel. “I’m not here to have an old friend die for me. If you hold the stairs, I’ll watch the window. A hunter knows the tracks in the forest, and who hides their kill in their breath. We stay back to back.”

The wooden window shattered. A short arrow slammed into the frame, vibrating wildly. Two masked figures dropped in from either side, their feet landing with barely a sound, closing in like ghosts. Lakshmi Sethi met them head-on. She knocked one attacker’s blade aside with the flat of her own, the metal shrieking, then swept her wrist to force the man to crash into the table. The shattering of porcelain cups rang out sharp against the rainy night.

She barked, her voice echoing off the closed room: “The Security Agency protects cargo and the path of the living. Anyone who pulls a blade in my house leaves their weapon first, then their tongue. Otherwise, you leave your life.”

I vaulted through the back window, landing in the mud beside the salt wagon shed. The splash blinded me. Three masked men streaked across the rooftops, their movements synchronized. Under the moonlight, a dark red cloth patch was visible on their sleeves. I forced my eyes to focus and recognized the design: three wisps of ash encircling a closed fire bowl. The emblem of the Order of the Ash.

Lakshmi Sethi jumped out the window, rain dripping from the tip of her blade. “Don’t kill them! Look at the sleeve patches, look at the mud on their soles. They came from the west bank. Members of the Order of the Ash don’t belong at the Security Agency, and they certainly aren’t chasing an unregistered Bronze Seal. This is a trap.”

I dodged a slash, whipped my short blade around, and sliced through the man’s sleeve patch. I held it up in the rain. “The patch is real. The swordsmanship is real too. The Order of the Ash puts secrets above human lives. Tonight they breached the Agency for a forged seal, which means they’re not afraid of the copper—they’re afraid of the name carved on it. They’re destroying evidence.”

In the distance, a wooden clapper sounded. The River Patrol Boat was rounding the bend, its lights swaying as it approached. The masked men suddenly fell back as one. One of them threw a powder cartridge. The fire sparked in the rain curtain. Half the wooden shed collapsed, salt sacks rolling out to cover the ground in a blinding white frost, glaring in the firelight.

Lakshmi Sethi seized my wrist, her grip crushing my bones. “Don’t linger! The River Patrol Boat will treat anyone holding a blade as a salt thief. There’s a small salt-transport boat on the west. The boatman has fled, but the oars are still in the hold. Go!”

I watched the patrol lights close in, my heart hammering like a drum. “What about the three? If they’re alive, they’ll chase along the shore. If we stay, we’ll be caught by the patrol. It’s a dead end.”

She shoved a Security Agency flag into my palm. It was soaked through but still vibrant. “The flag will let the old helmsman on the boat recognize us. It’ll also tell the Order of the Ash that you aren’t traveling alone. Tonight I’ll get you across the river. If you flip the case tomorrow, don’t write the Security Agency into the story as an innocent bystander.”

We leaped onto the small boat and pushed it into the Hooghly River. The tidal brine battered the hull. On the shore, the fires flickered like ghost lights. Two pursuers jumped onto another narrow boat. The sound of the oars cutting through the water drowned out the rain, pounding against my chest like chaotic drums—urgent and dangerous.

I crouched low, rain pouring into my collar. “They’re chasing too steadily. If we go straight for the opposite bank, they’ll cut us off in the shallows. There are timber posts from a sunken ship upstream. Can we use the current to slip around them? The water is fast there; they won’t dare follow.”

Lakshmi Sethi gripped the oar, scanning the river with sharp eyes. “We can. But this boat will scrape the bottom. If it takes on water, we can only save the Bronze Seal or the people. Is your father’s innocence worth gambling your life over? This isn’t something to decide on a whim.”

I answered, gripping the seal tight. “Ten years ago, I didn’t understand gambling. Ten years later, I only know that someone chose the losing move for my father. If I don’t stake myself today, no one will ever know who set the board. I intend to win.”

She glanced at me, a faint, helpless yet approving smile breaking through. “You still have that same temper from your youth. Once you pick a pass, you refuse to detour. But this time, I’ll detour with you. Only the living have the right to stab the old ledgers. Hold onto the oar.”

The small boat skidded past the sunken timber posts. The hull cracked as if an old tree were breaking. Ice-cold water seeped through the seam. I bent down to block the breach, wooden splinters piercing my palm. The blood smeared in the water. The pursuit boat whizzed past on our outside, the oar blades nearly grazing our stern, the spray soaking my face.

From deep in the reeds on the opposite bank, a voice called out, fragmented by the rain. “Flag facing down. Tap the hull twice with the oar head. If it’s Lakshmi Sethi, drag the boat into the reeds. Don’t light a fire.”

Lakshmi Sethi echoed immediately, her voice cutting through the downpour: “Deepika Gupta! You’re just in time. If you’ve brought bad news, plug the hull first. If it’s good news, wait until the water is over your knees to talk.”

The reeds parted. Deepika Gupta stepped out, leading a thin horse. He cradled an oilcloth-wrapped bundle against his chest. He was in his forties, his clothes caked with mud and water, hair plastered to his forehead. Yet he held the package upright, as if it weren’t a paper registry, but an unbreakable stele carrying a secret heavier than life.

He frowned, rain streaming down his face. “Let me see the Bronze Seal. Don’t ask why I rushed here. Someone at the Asian Academy was burning incense in the carving room, mixed with the black sand from the Arsenal. Someone wants to destroy the remnants, and someone wants to confirm if you have the seal. There’s not much time.”

I handed over the Bronze Seal. His fingers trembled. “What did you find out? Why does this seal bear the official government tiger pattern, yet have a corner chiselled off? This doesn’t look like an official flaw.”

Deepika Gupta unfolded the oilcloth gently. “Because it was forged from the start. In the military missing goods case from a century ago, three tiger seals were stamped on the escort ledger, the Merchant Guild receipt book, and the school’s execution writs. The three documents corroborated each other, but the seal ink dates, the direction of the chips, and the depth of the carving marks all contradicted one another. Someone faked it. And they were skilled at it.”

Lakshmi Sethi stared at the yellowed remnants, her voice cold. “If three documents corroborate each other, you can nail a missing goods case shut. On what grounds do you say they’re forged and not just swapped seals later? Once an evidence chain is formed, it’s hard to overturn.”

Deepika Gupta pointed to the edge of the paper, his knuckles white. “The paper is old. The ink is old. But the seal script beneath the tiger pattern is pressed *over* the paper fibers. A true seal is pressed after the document is written. These three registers show the seal impressions formed first, and the characters added later. It’s like someone redid the documents based on an old seal. A classic reverse operation.”

I stared at the tiny scratches. “Then what does the black sand prove? Gunpowder dust only proves a fire started; it doesn’t prove who forged the document. That’s just corroborative evidence.”

Deepika Gupta rolled up the remnants, his face grave. “The black sand has saltpeter, sulfur, and pine charcoal. That’s the residue from the experimental gunpowder at the Arsenal. The forged seals weren’t meant to hide a batch of ordinary weapons, but a batch of unregistered gunpowder and crossbow bolts. Those things could have shifted the outcome of a war.”

Three lights flared on the far side of the river, like three ghost eyes. The Order of the Ash’s pursuit boat stopped just outside the whirlpool. They didn’t approach immediately, as if waiting for us to finish explaining the evidence. Or perhaps they were listening. Lakshmi Sethi drew her blade, stepping between me and Deepika Gupta, the edge flashing cold in the dark.

She said, rain hitting her shoulder armor: “They heard. Deepika Gupta, if you’re bold enough to verify the evidence, you should know the Academy’s carving room will become a cage. Which page is missing from the remnants you brought? Why are you so obsessed with this one page?”

Deepika Gupta was silent for a moment, rain dripping onto his shoulders. He took a deep breath. “The signature page of the main escort general. Without that page, the forged evidence can only prove someone tampered with the records; it can’t prove who was framed. This is the last piece of the puzzle.”

I pressed, my voice urgent. “Stop beating around the bush. What did that signature look like? Did you ever see my father’s handwriting?”

He looked up. For the first time, his composure shattered. Rain blurred his vision, but it couldn’t hide the shock in his eyes. “It looked like Kumar’s. Mira, your father wasn’t a trader dragged into this, nor a hunter passing by the Arsenal. In the military case a century ago, your father was the main general escorting the weapons.”