A Clumsy Counterintelligence Ploy

Near noon, in the open ground a dozen or so paces from the mill.

Weeds soaked with dampness smoldered slowly in the fire, sending thick smoke rolling into the sky. These pirates acted as though they owned the place, utterly unconcerned that the smoke would reveal their position.

A deep iron pot hung amid the smoke and dust of the bonfire. An old pirate lackey and a young one poured coarsely ground wheat flour mixed with bran into the bubbling pot, stirring without pause with a ladle.

Once it had been stirred enough, they threw in large handfuls of chopped ingredients—onions, peas, leafy vegetables, root vegetables, and several kinds of wild greens whose names no one knew—then gave it a few more stirs.

The fourteen- or fifteen-year-old lackey cut finger-sized chunks of butter and tossed them in. The old pirate lackey carefully took a parchment packet from his clothes, opened it, and shook several clumps of hardened salt into the pot before continuing to stir.

After a while, the old lackey judged that the salt had mostly dissolved. He lifted the ladle, licked it, and nodded in satisfaction.

Do not imagine a pirate's life was all that wonderful.

Other than the pirate leaders occasionally enjoying a special feast cooked just for them, most of the time these men ate no better than an ordinary farmer.

Piracy was, after all, a trade that could not see the light of day. Even if they had money, they dared not spend it freely.

By the bonfire, Ponytail sat quietly leaning against the pile of burning weeds. The braid on his head had been tied up again, and he had just changed into a tattered linen garment, likely snatched from some unlucky fisherman. It reeked of fish.

Yet Ponytail seemed utterly unconcerned by the stench clinging to him. His eyes were fixed on the wheat porridge dripping from the old pirate's ladle, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed again and again.

After running ten miles over mountain roads, then being beaten and cursed at, the little bread and mashed peas he had eaten before dawn had long since been digested.

"Hungry?" the old lackey asked when he noticed Ponytail's expression, lifting the ladle.

The old lackey was thin and haggard, with deep wrinkles on his neck and scars carved deep into his hands from the ropes he used to haul in large fish.

He had originally been nothing more than an honest fisherman from the north of the island.

The year before last, his family's fishing boat had capsized in a storm. With their livelihood gone, his entire family, young and old, had died one after another of hunger and sickness, leaving him with nowhere to turn.

Since he had some distant family connection to the Ulf family, he had gone to sea with Ulf as a pirate that spring. Ordinarily, he did not dare kill or rob anyone. He could only do rough chores like tending fires and cooking, occasionally handling sails or rowing on the ship. He barely counted as one of the chief's men.

But Ulf was not actually satisfied with this old distant relative, beating and cursing him at the drop of a hat.

Ponytail wanted nothing more than to bury his head in the deep pot. Hearing the old lackey's words, he nodded repeatedly, his eyes never leaving the wheat porridge about to drip from the ladle.

The old lackey glanced around twice. Seeing that none of the fierce bandits were paying attention, he quickly pulled a wooden bowl from the wicker basket atop the grass pile behind him. He ladled half a scoop of wheat porridge into it, thought for a moment, then added another small half-scoop.

He secretly handed the mostly full bowl to Ponytail. "It isn't lunchtime yet. If you're caught stealing food, you'll get beaten. Hurry and finish it while no one's looking."

Ponytail took the wooden bowl and immediately tipped the porridge into his mouth. The boiling-hot paste made his mouth twitch violently. He quickly spat it back into the bowl, blew on it twice, then slurped it back into his mouth at once.

The half bowl of wheat porridge was gone in no time. Ponytail hugged the empty bowl and looked at the old lackey, his meaning obvious enough.

The old lackey waved his hands repeatedly. "No, no. If you steal too much food, they'll notice. You know the second chief won't let us eat extra."

So this was why this band of pirates had been floundering for all these years, never amounting to anything.

Ponytail did not think that far. He merely smacked his lips, brought the wooden bowl to his mouth, and stretched out his tongue to scrape and lick the remnants from its rim, every inch a glutton.

"Ponytail, tell me—was it really that bastard young master from the Colin family who killed the chief?" the old lackey asked kindly.

Ponytail had already stretched out his tongue and licked the last trace of wheat porridge clean from the bowl. He casually tossed it aside, wiped his nose across his sleeve, then realized the garment reeked of fish and flung it away in disgust.

"Of course. They say that ever since he returned to the island, he'd been staying inside the manor and hadn't come out because Gary, the village chief from your village, injured him. They claimed he was seriously wounded and recuperating."

"Now that I think about it carefully, they must have spent the past month plotting how to ambush and kill the chief. You weren't there—the demon's movements were too fast. The chief didn't have time to dodge at all. Afterward, he even forced us to strip the chief of his armor and clothes."

"The Red Mill opens every day. He didn't go early, and he didn't go late, yet he went on the very day the chief came. It looks like it had been planned all along." The old lackey was not terribly grieved by the chief's death, but that man had been his only support among the pirates. Life would only grow harder from now on.

Ponytail reached out, dipped a finger into the wheat porridge that had dripped onto his trouser leg, and sucked it into his mouth. "Exactly. Back then, he said he was treating a few of us to drinks at the Red Mill and wanted us to make a great racket to draw out a guest."

"Who would have thought he only wanted to lure out the chief? If I'd known they meant to deal with the chief, I wouldn't have gone even if you beat me to death."

As he spoke, Ponytail used the motion of sucking his finger to steal a glance at the old lackey from the corner of his eye, anxiously awaiting his reaction.

At first, the old lackey did not catch on. He merely kept his head lowered, stirring the wheat porridge in the deep pot. Only after a long while did he understand, lifting his head in startled suspicion to ask, "The chief only suddenly decided yesterday that he wanted to go to the Red Mill. How did those people know where he was going?"

Excitement surged through Ponytail's heart, but his expression did not change in the slightest. Still sucking his fingers with relish, he answered vaguely, "Who knows? I only heard that guy say something about 'thanking Whiteface for the help.' It made no sense. How would I know who he meant?"

With that, he stuffed his pale, saliva-soaked fingers into his clothes, pulled out a large flea, and tossed it into his mouth with a crisp crunch.

The old lackey was worried about where he would end up in the future and paid no attention to Ponytail's muddled words. He continued stirring the wheat porridge absentmindedly, and Ponytail felt another wave of disappointment.

However, the young lackey beside them, who had said nothing and only tended the fire with wood and grass, had kept his ears turned toward Ponytail.

After hesitating for a moment, he rose and went to the wicker basket, selecting two slightly cleaner wooden bowls and placing them on a tray. He said to the old lackey, "Old Fisherman, the wheat porridge is about done. I'll take the two chiefs' lunch over first. If I'm late, I'll get beaten and cursed again."

The old lackey agreed. He ladled two bowls of wheat porridge from the pot, thought for a moment, then added two small chunks of butter. After that, he chose two hard loaves from the wicker basket in the grass pile that had not been burned black and placed them on the tray in the young lackey's hands. "While you're there, ask the second chief whether everyone can eat now."