The damp, vaulted stone interrogation cellar beneath the Old Customs House of Silver-Water was filled with the rhythmic dripping of condensation from the ceiling and the smell of saltwater, iron, and burning whale oil. Seated upon a heavy oak chair, his arms lashed with star-metal chains, was the captured imperial corsair captain: a scarred, wiry veteran named Captain Zhao. His black silk tunic was soaked with ocean brine, and his…
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