The best laid plans...

[Sethan]

Morning on the Icelace.

Not far from the Peltarch docks, yet far enough that it cannot be seen through the morning fog a ship appears quite suddenly, gliding through the mist. Startled fish dart away from the shape that was not there a moment before. It sails in with the tide and half a dozen other merchant vessels, all vying more or less good-naturedly for the best slips to dock in.

An unremarkable cog of no obvious origin, it ties up at a place neither among the best nor worst, and discharges passengers and cargo in a manner so routine as to be ignored even by those who would normally take note. Once the other passengers have left, a well-heeled man in gray shoulders a light pack and nods to the captain. "Smooth voyage. Thank you"

The captain, a weathered man who is so stereotypical for his profession as to be almost invisible except as part of the ship, nods once, grunts and spits over the rail in response, then seemingly directs his attention to the crew. He notes with a sharp eye the usual crowd of dockworkers, whores and cutpurses, all plying their respective trades on the sailors and passengers disembarking from the other vessels; and watches with somewhat more care as the man in gray smiles to himself and heads down the gangplank.

The cog's other passengers blend into the crowd, then vanish as if no more than smoke the moment no one happens to be looking their way. Cargo is offloaded from the cog, crates stacked on the dock near piles of similar crates, vanishing as most of the passengers did the moment no one happens to be looking directly at them. The crew's work is quickly finished, and they depart the vessel in search of the entertainments the city has to offer, vanishing in the same manner as the majority of the passengers, leaving only the captain and the man in gray.

The man in gray has a mission, but he walks through the docks only as quickly as someone dressed as he is would be expected to, deftly moving just out of reach of the cutpurses without seeming to do so deliberately. He breathes shallowly, taking in as little of the odors of rotting fish, offal and sweat as he can.

Its good to be home, after so long away. Better, even if it does stink than… He stops a moment, unexpectedly, causing a porter and a young cutpurse to nearly collide with him from different directions. …wait... where did I just come from? I sailed from... A mental voice answers, persuasive. The voice of reason. Persuasive, reasonable, and indistinguishable from his own. It doesn't really matter where I just was. I have work to do. That is important. The man in gray absently twists the wrist of the cutpurse until the lad pulls it back, and starts moving again, even as the porter decides the snarl he was about to release would be better left unvoiced.

Aboard the ship, the captain nods once as the man in gray starts moving again, watching until he is no longer in sight, then goes below deck.

The man in gray rounds a corner, and is distracted by a light gust of air… not because of the gust itself, but because it carries the scents of mountains, trees, and open spaces - scents that are far and away different and more pleasant than the stench of the docks, yet also out of place. Again he stops, taking a deeper breath and seeking the source of the gust... only to get a nose full of the stench of the docks instead. Eyes watering slightly, he begins walking again, only to be brought up short by a particularly virulent curse from a merchant factor standing only a few feet away. "How in the Hells am I supposed to deliver this!? No address, just the name, and no payment except on delivery!" He speaks the name on the package derisively. "Thousands of people in the city, and I get a package with no address. Pah!"

The man in gray stops short yet again, facing the factor, and finds himself saying "I know the lady. I can deliver that for you." The merchant looks up from the troublesome package at the unlikely coincidence, sizing up the man in gray. "You can, eh. I'll bet you're looking for a payment to do it, or to hare off with the package. Well don't bother. I'll not lose money or my reputation on this, and the package is magically sealed. Only the person it was intended for can open it."

The man in gray says nothing, but simply locks eyes with the merchant for a long moment. Then two. Then three. The merchant's face twitches slightly. "Ahh… apologies noble sir. I wasn't meaning any insult. Its just..." He trails off.

The man in gray breaks the stare and glances at the package. "As I said. I know the lady. How much were you to be paid for delivery?" The merchant's eyes light up, sizing up the man in gray. He is about to name a figure when the man catches his eye again, and shakes his head almost imperceptibly. The number the merchant speaks is half the number he was about to, and the man in gray nods and reaches into a purse at his side, paying the merchant his asking price, plus a little to salve his pride.

He sets off into the city, package under his arm, purpose altered.

Some hours later, the crew of the unremarkable cog returns from the city to the vessel and begins their work of loading cargo that wasn't there when they began, under the watchful eye of their stereotypical captain. In an average amount of time, the cog unties and leaves with the tide. Her captain looks once to the shore where the man in gray was lost from sight, never realizing that the gray man's purpose was diverted even before he left the docks. The cog vanishes into the evening mist, then vanishes completely as soon as it is out of sight.