said.
âThey sell the manure, too. Makes for decent fertilizer.â
Quinn tried to keep his breathing shallow. âIâd hate to live downwind.â
Chaudri gave a shrug. âSmells like money to me.â 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. âThis is a port city. Keep your wits about you,â he said.
Quinn feigned surprise. âSo Bayportâs a port city? Get outta here.â
Logan glared as Quinn hurried past.
On the way out, Kiara pressed a Âcouple of coins into the boyâs 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. âThe port masterâs office is on the north end of the harbor. Most of the captainâs bars will be on the south.â
âHave to split up to cover them all,â Logan said.
âChaudri and I will try the port master,â Kiara said.
Quinn rubbed his hands together. âI guess Logan and I are hitting the bars, then.â
âFor information only ,â Kiara said.
Quinn didnât try to hide the disappointment from his face. He realized he could really use a drink.
âAh, perhaps they could be permitted a bit of indulgence, Lieutenant,â Chaudri said. âIn the name of field research.â
She sighed. âVery well. But keep it in moderation.â
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.
âCaptains love to talk, but theyâll want something in return,â Logan said.
âI could give a little performance,â Quinn said.
Logan shook his head. âThat will draw attention. Weâll just spread some coin around, buy a few drinks.â
âSo once again Iâm absolutely useless here.â
âThatâs what Iâve been trying to say all along.â
âAs long as weâre on the same page.â
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. âGood. I could use a drink.â
âYouâre buying, not drinking.â
âTrust me, I know how to work a crowd.â
âThis isnât Vegas.â
Quinn stepped right into a fresh pile of horse manure. He grimaced. âIâm well aware of that.â
The streets grew crowded as they neared the waterfront, and carried the potent smells of brine and urine. The Âpeople, too, were more downtrodden and ramshackle. Funny that heâd started thinking of them that way. They just looked human . Even the outfits didnât 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.
âMost of them are on shore leave,â Logan said, as if hearing his thoughts. âA 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
âHow will I know what a ship captain looks like?â Quinn asked.
âOh, youâll know.â
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-Âbacked
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