Visitors

The navy soldiers appeared at the end of the dirt road.

Roy walked to the window. Two navy soldiers were coming down the dirt road, their pace unhurried as they surveyed the houses on either side. They occasionally stopped to exchange a few words before continuing onward.

Mila went to the door, pulled it open, and leaned against the frame. Sunlight fell across her face. She narrowed her eyes slightly, the corners of her mouth curving upward in an expression common throughout White Wax Town—the look the youngest child in a family wore before adults.

Innocent, well-behaved, a little curious, completely harmless.

The two navy soldiers on the dirt road drew closer.

The one in front was a hearty-looking young man, somewhat older than Damian, in his early twenties.

He wore the navy's standard white uniform, its sleeves rolled up to his forearms, exposing tanned bronze skin. His waist was empty. He had short black hair, a square jaw, and an old scar by his left eye, slanting from his brow bone to the corner of his eye.

He walked differently from the soldier behind him. His strides were wide and heavy, as though he planted every step firmly before taking the next, yet he was not slow at all.

The younger navy soldier followed close behind him.

He stopped in front of Marcus's house.

"Sorry to disturb you." His voice was loud, far louder than seemed appropriate for speaking to a little girl leaning against a doorframe.

"We're a navy patrol, searching the island. Are there any adults at home?"

Though his eyes were on Mila as he spoke, she noticed his peripheral vision sweep through the house. It was quick and natural, as effortless as breathing.

"My father is in the workshop." Mila tilted her head behind her. "Should I go get him?"

"No need." The hearty soldier withdrew his gaze from the house. "We'll leave after asking a few questions."

"You live here. Have you seen anyone suspicious these past two days?"

Mila shook her head. "No."

"What about ships? Have you seen any pirate ships?"

"No."

The hearty soldier nodded. His expression did not change, but Mila noticed him glance into the house once more.

Roy came out of the kitchen and stopped two paces behind Mila.

The hearty soldier's gaze paused on Roy.

"Your little brother?" he asked Mila.

"My third brother."

"He looks pretty sturdy."

Mila turned her head and glanced at Roy. "He eats a lot."

The hearty soldier laughed and patted his own arm. "So do I."

Roy said nothing. He watched the hearty soldier, his brown eyes devoid of emotion.

The hearty soldier noticed. His gaze lingered on Roy's face for an extra beat before casually shifting away.

"Your house is pretty remote." He looked down both ends of the dirt road. "Beyond that is the forest, and farther out is the coast. If you see anything unusual..."

"We'll come find you," Mila said.

The hearty soldier smiled again, and this time his smile lasted a little longer.

He crouched down until his eyes were level with Mila's.

"Little girl, what's your name?"

"Mila."

"Mila," he repeated, then stood up.

He was very tall. It had not been obvious while he was crouching, but once he stood, the top of his head nearly reached the upper edge of the doorframe.

He glanced toward the workshop. Marcus's sawing had not stopped since earlier, steady and unhurried, one stroke after another.

"Your father's a shipwright?"

"Mm."

The sawing stopped.

Marcus came out of the workshop, still holding his plane. He looked at the two navy soldiers at the door and said nothing.

"Sorry to disturb you." The hearty soldier nodded at Marcus. "Routine inspection. Things have been unsettled on the island these past two days. There may be roving pirates. You live on the edge of the island, far from town. If anything happens, come find me immediately."

Marcus switched the plane to his other hand. "Where do we find you?"

"At the docks. The warship is moored there, and I'll be there too."

Marcus nodded, then turned and went back into the workshop. The sawing began again.

Mila remained leaning against the doorframe, and Roy remained standing behind her.

The hearty soldier dusted off his hands and turned to leave.

Footsteps sounded on the dirt road.

Damian walked in front, with Barlow following behind.

Damian's footsteps were heavy. He had not brushed all the wood shavings from his shoulders, and sweat ran from his temples, darkening a small patch around his collar.

Barlow walked half a step behind him, a ledger tucked beneath his arm, his expression exactly as usual.

Damian stopped before the door. His gaze swept from the hearty soldier to Mila, then Roy, before returning to the hearty soldier.

"Inspection," the hearty soldier said. "You're part of this family too?"

Damian nodded. He neither stepped forward nor back, standing in the middle of the dirt road and blocking half the way to the door.

"Are you done asking?"

"We're done." The hearty soldier turned to face Damian. They were about the same height, and their shoulders were about equally broad.

"You live in a remote place. Report anything unusual immediately."

Damian nodded once.

The hearty soldier's gaze shifted from Damian to Barlow. Barlow was pulling the ledger from beneath his arm, opening it, and looking down at it as though there were no navy soldier standing on the dirt road at all.

"Your brother?" the hearty soldier asked Damian.

"My second brother."

"Doesn't look like much of a talker."

"He's always been like that."

Barlow turned a page in the ledger.

The hearty soldier glanced at Barlow, the corner of his mouth lifting again. He turned and waved to the younger soldier behind him. "Let's go."

The two of them headed down the dirt road toward the docks, their white uniforms growing smaller beneath the afternoon sun.

After taking a dozen or so steps, the hearty soldier stopped.

"You four kids are all pretty interesting."

He turned halfway around. Sunlight fell over the old scar around his left eye, turning it into a thin white line.

"Oh, right. Remember to give them my name when you get to the docks. I'm Navy Sergeant Monkey D. Garp."

After saying that, he turned back and continued walking.

Mila leaned against the doorframe, watching the two white figures recede down the dirt road. They rounded the edge of the white wax grove and were swallowed by the shadows of the trees.

Then she closed the door.

In the kitchen, Mila leaned against the stove with her arms folded. Roy stood beside her, Damian stood in the doorway, and Barlow sat at the wooden table with the ledger spread before him, his finger moving slowly over the accounts.

"Monkey D. Garp," Mila said.

"D." Barlow's finger stopped on the ledger. "I've read about the Clan of D in the newspapers."

Damian looked at him.

"It's a rare name. There are few records about D, but every so often, someone with D in their name appears on the seas." Barlow closed the ledger. "They all did the same thing."

"What?" Mila asked.

"They turned the world upside down."

Mila left the stove and walked to the window.

In the distance, the gray-blue outline of the warship rested by the docks. The seagull flag atop its mast was pulled taut by the wind, and faint white figures moved across the deck.

She watched for a while, then shut the window.

"Two days," she said.

No one answered.

The sawing started again, one stroke after another, exactly as before.