Aiming High
The ship creaked gently upon the black waters of the pier as its crew slumbered.
Pinwheel pressed a finger to his lips to silence his partner in crime as they carefully rolled a barrel down the gangway and onto the dock, where several other barrels rested on a waiting cart.
"This is some premium grog - Blockheads'll pay us a fortune." chortled Bazz gleefully, before Pinwheel yanked him close.
"We don't want that old tavern owner gettin' wind that we was here," Pinwheel hissed into his ear. "Help me lift the last of this grog and let's hightail - quietly."
Bazz clamped his big mouth shut and nodded. Pinwheel turned and tiptoed back towards the ship. He paused at the sound of a splash.
"Bazz?" Pinwheel rushed to the side of the dock, peering into its dark depths.
Bazz's limp body bobbed to the surface, an arrow protruding from the center of his forehead like a flagpole.
Pinwheel whirled around, eyes darting to and fro, trying in vain to spot their attacker.
For a split second he heard the whistle of rushing air before an arrow pierced him between the eyes. He staggered back, and toppled off the side, plunging into the oily water.
From her perch above, Azalea leaped to the ground with feline poise. She sauntered over to the dock, checking both targets were dispatched.
Job done.
Heading back, she paused near the barrels, and produced a small leather flask from her belt. She unplugged the bunghole, and let the rich dark red liquid flow into her flask, before neatly plugging it back up.
"Why not?" She thought to herself, taking a swig. "A little extra fruit for my labour."