The harbormaster was an affable man in his mid-sixties, and from the looks of him, many of those years had been spent away from the shore. Getting him to talk was no challenge at all. With no one in sight at this early hour, and little to do, he was all too happy to chat about the good old days with visitors. In the past, he’d have gotten a few rounds of beer for his trouble, but times had changed, and he was now spinning his tales for a cup of coffee. Worse, he was the one offering!

  No matter, it still beat staring at the empty docks. Though it is said that the early bird catches the worm, it had been his experience that the wealthy clients of the Yacht club would rarely set off before eleven. That Ishiro kid however had been waiting for him before opening time, and therefore deserved some consideration.

  Ishiro and Hotaru listened politely to the old man ramble about some wild caper off the coast of Borneo. The man had a talent for spinning a tale, they could barely get a word in edgewise. Jumping in at the tag end of a story, Ishiro tried again:

  “That’s marvelous. Could we talk about…”

  “Oh, yeah. Marvelous indeed. Why, almost as great as my first trip through Cape Horn. Now that was something….” he carried on with a tale of rough seas and a pirate girl.

  “Enough. You’ve had your fun. Now let’s get down to business.” Hotaru said abruptly.

  The harbormaster fell silent. He inspected Hotaru. The man hadn’t looked like much, but there was unmistakable steel in his voice.

  “Well, it depends. Are you still going to pretend you are here to find a berth for your ship? Because if I have to listen to bullshit, I’d rather listen to mine.” he answered.

  Ishiro’s mouth dropped. He was about to protest, but Hotaru cut in.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  “You’re right, we need to get real information from you. Are you sure you want to know why?” Hotaru asked.

  “I won’t promise I’ll tell you anything, but I’ll hear you out. You are not the first one to ask about that ship, and let me warn you, they weren’t quite as friendly as you are, so maybe you should reconsider if you want to know.”

  Hotaru proceeded to lay out the situation, how they had tracked Kaori’s car to Enoshima, how she had been on the run…

  “Are you telling me Mashiro Kaori was on that ship?” the harbormaster asked. He looked distressed.

  Hotaru nodded.

  “Well, then she is dead.”

  Hotaru and Ishiro sat in their chairs, stunned. There was certainty and finality in the harbormaster’s voice. It couldn’t be true, but they knew the man wasn’t lying.

  “How…how do you know that?” Hotaru asked, his voice broken. He was on the verge of tears, tenuously clinging to a shred of hope that the man was mistaken. Wait. Someone else had asked after her. They were hunting her. Had she been killed?

  “Who killed her?” He screamed in rage.

  The harbormaster looked at the man. Rage, he understood. There was no point telling him to calm down.

  “God.” he finally answered, pointing to the skies above. “She sailed right into the typhoon two days ago. We lost track of her ship’s AIS signal just as she entered the wall of the storm.”

  “But she could have survived then. She could still be out there! Couldn’t she?” Hotaru was pleading more than he was asking. Deep down, he knew the answer to that question.

  “I’m sorry, son. A catamaran caught in a full blown typhoon? Where she was, those winds would have torn down buildings. All we found were shreds of the main sail, and some pieces of the boat. Come. I’ll show you what we have.”