The Rogue Retrieval by Dan Koboldt Page B

said.
    â€œThey sell the manure, too. Makes for decent fertilizer.”
    Quinn tried to keep his breathing shallow. “I’d hate to live downwind.”
    Chaudri gave a shrug. “Smells like money to me.” Logan had finished hobbling the horses, then lashing the swords and bows up in canvas. Probably a good idea to keep those away from prying eyes. He came over to Quinn and Chaudri, and tucked a carbon dagger into each of their boots. “This is a port city. Keep your wits about you,” he said.
    Quinn feigned surprise. “So Bayport’s a port city? Get outta here.”
    Logan glared as Quinn hurried past.
    On the way out, Kiara pressed a ­couple of coins into the boy’s hand for an extra careful watch over their mounts and saddlebags. They regrouped outside the gate, which the boy closed and barred behind them.
    Kiara pulled up a rough map of the city. “The port master’s office is on the north end of the harbor. Most of the captain’s bars will be on the south.”
    â€œHave to split up to cover them all,” Logan said.
    â€œChaudri and I will try the port master,” Kiara said.
    Quinn rubbed his hands together. “I guess Logan and I are hitting the bars, then.”
    â€œFor information only ,” Kiara said.
    Quinn didn’t try to hide the disappointment from his face. He realized he could really use a drink.
    â€œAh, perhaps they could be permitted a bit of indulgence, Lieutenant,” Chaudri said. “In the name of field research.”
    She sighed. “Very well. But keep it in moderation.”
    They arranged to meet that evening at an inn called the Lost Lady. Comm units were checked, but Kiara wanted radio silence unless there was an emergency. She and Chaudri set out to track down the port master, whose offices were at the south end of the city. Logan and Quinn made right for the waterfront.
    â€œCaptains love to talk, but they’ll want something in return,” Logan said.
    â€œI could give a little performance,” Quinn said.
    Logan shook his head. “That will draw attention. We’ll just spread some coin around, buy a few drinks.”
    â€œSo once again I’m absolutely useless here.”
    â€œThat’s what I’ve been trying to say all along.”
    â€œAs long as we’re on the same page.”
    Logan almost smiled at that as he dug out a brown leather purse and handed it over. Quinn shook out a handful of heavy round coins into his hand. Some gold, some silver. They had the heft of value to them, like premium poker chips. “Good. I could use a drink.”
    â€œYou’re buying, not drinking.”
    â€œTrust me, I know how to work a crowd.”
    â€œThis isn’t Vegas.”
    Quinn stepped right into a fresh pile of horse manure. He grimaced. “I’m well aware of that.”
    The streets grew crowded as they neared the waterfront, and carried the potent smells of brine and urine. The ­people, too, were more downtrodden and ramshackle. Funny that he’d started thinking of them that way. They just looked human . Even the outfits didn’t seem odd any longer. Fewer of the Kestani bright colors were visible here; loose shirts of what appeared to be sail canvas were far more common. Nearly everyone walked with the rolling swagger of lifetime sailors.
    â€œMost of them are on shore leave,” Logan said, as if hearing his thoughts. “A day or two of drinking, gambling, and other vices until their pay is gone. The captains will be holed up in one of these drinking parlors.”
    â€œHow will I know what a ship captain looks like?” Quinn asked.
    â€œOh, you’ll know.”
    T he first drinking parlor was a dive for certain. It was a squarish room, poorly lit by round lamps that flickered and gave off oily smoke. A haze hung over the bar, a wooden monstrosity carved to resemble the hull of a ship. A handful of men lounged in high-­backed