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Chapter 51 - Infiltration

The moment Roman caught sight of her, a smile broke across his face. "I knew you wouldn't be long, Commander Marlene," he said warmly, stepping aside.

"Welcome back, Commander!" Hendricus boomed, his voice echoing down the corridor. His enthusiasm earned him a glare from a sleepy scribe passing by.

Leesa offered a nod of thanks, her stride never faltering as she crossed the threshold. The moment she entered, both Anton and Elzar glanced up, and visible relief washed over their faces.

"You're earlier than expected, Commander Leesa," said Elzar, grinning as he straightened from a scroll he had been examining. "Feeling ready to return to the mountain of duty?"

Leesa returned the grin with one of her own. "Of course, Commander Elzar. My apologies for the delay."

"Apology accepted. Now, save me!" came Anton's dramatic plea from beneath a literal heap of parchment. "I have not seen the surface of this desk in days."

Laughter stirred in the room, and with renewed energy, they set to work.

The hours that followed were filled with scribbling pens, the soft rustle of paper, and the occasional muttered curse as ink blotted a seal or a form went missing. Somewhere in the quiet hum of duty, Leesa recounted the tale from her father's estate: the strange surge in shipment inspections, the discovery of metal and stone hidden among agricultural cargo, and the corruption tied to Dale Palpatine. She laid the sealed complaint on the desk, and all of them examined it in silence.

"We'll need proof," Anton said, his voice low and grim.

"And we'll get it," Leesa answered. "We should plant someone among the dock workers. Someone loyal to the Empire."

It did not take long for them to come to an agreement. A trusted soldier from the Royal Army, known for his discretion and sharp instincts, was selected to go undercover at the docks by dawn's light. His orders would be discreet, and his presence would be unknown even to the local officials.

By the time the bells tolled first light, the final report was signed, the letters sealed, and the room, once heavy with tasks undone, felt lighter with the promise of motion.

Leesa looked around the chamber, at the comrades who had shared in her burden and never questioned her return. Despite exhaustion tugging at their limbs, there was a steadiness in the air—a readiness to act.

The storm, it seemed, was about to begin.

As the appointed spy took his position among the dockworkers, the rest of the command committee resumed their posts within the palace, each tending to their respective duties while awaiting the first whisper of intelligence. In the quieter moments between official matters, the council of five would gather, deliberating on the possible enemies of the Crown Prince—searching for that elusive thread, the motive behind his abduction.

The spy, a seasoned operative of the Royal Army named Malvin Grey, reached the Western port on horseback in just under a day. Fortune favoured him; only four days later, a vessel was due to set sail, affording him ample time to embed himself among the labourers and observe.

The port, though bustling and loud from a distance, held no glamour for those who toiled there. It was a place of ceaseless burden, where backs were broken, hands blistered, and bodies were spent on coins barely sufficient to mend broken bones. Labourers knew well the risks: an injury could render them not only jobless, but helpless. And the Empire's compensation was as thin as the soup they often took for supper. Such a place breeds desperation, and desperation is fertile soil for corruption. If a man approached these workers offering quick coins in exchange for small favours—no questions asked—they would not pause to consider the law.

Malvin had gleaned this hard truth within mere hours of his arrival. Already, he sensed corruption ran deeper than words had suggested.

"Oi, you there!" barked a weathered man, sun-scorched and broad-shouldered, pointing a calloused finger at him. "You're new, aye? More work means more wages, so shift those muscles of yours and get moving!"

This man oversaw the labourers of the West zone—a quadrant closest to the bay and, therefore, the most active and heavily supervised. It had been Malvin's calculated choice. Upon reaching the port, he had surveyed the bustling expanse and quickly surmised that proximity to the departing ships meant proximity to whatever illicit dealings were being arranged. He had sought out the West Zone head, a gruff overseer with eyes as sharp as razors, who had scrutinised him from head to toe before assigning him a trial task. Malvin had passed with little issue. His build-up and resolve earned him a grudging nod of approval, and by the following day, he was already considered a dependable worker.

Now, with sweat slicking his back beneath the weight of a grain sack, he strode alongside other labourers, learning more from their idle complaints than most could from formal interrogation.

"Don't mind the old brute," one of the men muttered beside him. "He's been foul-tempered ever since the ship stoppages began. They've put him under scrutiny. Still, he's got no right to run us like draft horses."

"Stoppages?" Malvin asked, feigning idle curiosity. He paused to shift the sack slightly on his shoulder, his voice carrying a casual tone. "What kind of stoppages?"

The other man spat onto the dock before replying, "Strange ones. Ships all packed properly with grain and produce suddenly found to be carrying metal or stones—unregistered goods. It doesn't matter if the cargo was checked before; the patrol always finds something during the final sweep. Every time. No one knows how it gets there. But when it does, the fine falls on the company. That's where money is lost, and tempers flare."

Malvin gave a slow nod, filing the information away. His instincts stirred; there was more than a mere coincidence at play. Now he only has to wait and watch. The moment would come when the truth would reveal itself. And when it did, he would be ready.

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