* * *
By ten the town's hangover was forgotten. Men strained on ropes, heaving wreckage out of the harbor channel. Small boats picked their way between the straggle of broken masts and tangled rigging sticking up out of the water, dropping grapples for shore-based hauling teams. Along the tideline, scavenging men and women disturbed the flocks of shrieking gulls from their gruesome feasting. But by noon the gulls had it to themselves again. Every man, woman and child was hauling on the pulley-stacked ropes, dragging pieces of vessel out from between the moles. That channel was the town's lifeblood artery, and if the danger had gone, the town was eager to see trade and fish flowing up it again.
They were working folk in those parts. The channel hadn't been clear by high tide, but by evening it was at least navigable. The only external signs of the Hashvilli raid were the fire-blackened stones of the South Mole. And on the end of the moles a series of tall poles, adorned with topknotted heads. Cap's party could sail on the dawn tide.
For a while Keilin sat and listened to the talk in the Silver Anchor. Cap held court with several of the town's prominent citizens and some of the senior captains. "You've a very defendable site, but you need some kind of warning system. Say a watchtower on that cliff promontory. With pigeons, or a mirror signalling system." Beywulf, sitting picking at a platter of pickled mussels, scallops and sea violets, saw the doubts in the minds of non-military men.
"It'd have great commercial possibilities too," Bey commented amiably. This pricked their interest far more than Cap's military assessment.
"How so, good sir? Tell us more."
"Put a light in. It'd be a great aid to navigation. I've heard safe landings on this coast are a bugger to find in foul weather. You come in close hunting them, and pick up a reef instead. Ships'd find Port Lockry without having to risk coming inshore." He could see the skippers nodding. "It'd bring ships here rather than to Narhoon River or Northaven. Besides," he said with a sly wink to one of the merchants, "knowing the trawlers were coming in with full holds—before everyone else did—'ud make a hell of a difference to the price of cod, wouldn't it?" There was general laughter and agreement.
Keilin slipped away, off down the streets and back to the house he'd left early that morning. Coming to a familiar turning he grimaced. This was where he'd worked out that he didn't have his ankle pouch. Its familiar weight was there now, a little lighter without her bangle in it. He hadn't had to ask for it. She'd thrust it at him, before walking off, without saying a word. She still wasn't speaking to him. Women! He sighed and walked on.
Perhaps because of this his knock was tentative. But here at least he was welcome. It was still night when she woke him up. "It's an hour before dawn. You'd best be going soon." The candlelight was kind to her face, but he could see that the usual smile was gone. Then it came back with all the poignancy of autumn. "But we still have a little time . . ."
Once again he was amazed by the breadth of her gentleness, followed by the depth and frenzied urgency of her need.
Keilin was down on the quayside about half a minute before Beywulf set out to fetch him. He was more than slightly taken aback to discover that Bey knew exactly where to look for him. Considering that the sky was only just turning gray it was surprising to see how many of the townsfolk were there. "By the way," said one of the townsmen, a familiar face from yesterday evening's tavern gathering, the owner of one of the boatyards, "a little, sneaky, blond rat-faced fellow came into town yesterday afternoon asking after you folk. Offered me a fair amount of gold to delay you when he heard you were sailing this morning." He smiled reflectively. "Boatyards are good places for tar, and a fair number of folk contributed the feather pillows. Good voyage to you."
Keilin stood at the rail of the good ship Starchaser. He was surprised to see the Princess standing next to him, at first. Then he realized that she'd decided that her silence wouldn't put as many barbs into his flesh as her tongue could.
The three girls who had kissed and hugged and cried over the bemused looking S'kith were waving. "Look at those cheap prostitutes," Shael said, in an arctic and pointed fashion, raising her finely carved nostrils. "You'd think they actually cared. In actual fact they'll be selling their bodies to any disgusting man before midmorning."
"It's probably all they have to sell. Besides, just because they're whores, it doesn't mean they don't have feelings. S'kith's probably the first man that treated them as if they were important and superior to him."
"Hmph!" She snorted in disdain. "You should know. You're familiar with women of that kind. But I don't see your slut come down to the docks to cry over your departure!"