The Sun Is On The Harbour
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_There is a strange ebb and flow in the temper of cities and of parts of cities, as strange and unpredictable as the ebb and flow of deep water. The riots have burned out, and what's left in the aftermath is an air half-sheepish, half-sullen, half hopeful.
The new fishing fleet sponsored by the Temple is out on the water; the final crew were signed today. It was a good day to be a virtuous and unemployed fisherman (or someone able to do a good imitation thereof). Less good to be one whose morals didn't match what the Temple wanted, or an established fisherman faced with new competition… still, all agree more boats were needed, and the extra catch means famine with have a harder time striking, fewer unemployed on the docks, and more money in people's pockets. It has people, on the whole, thinking kinder of Sir Mariston than they were a week ago.
The trading cogs are another matter. Oh, the Seafarers like to spit when they got the word. The Wavebreakers... amused, incredulous, hard to describe their reaction. They say Wesley Hardin almost ruptured himself with laughter when he heard Mariston had signed Wilhelmina Dal to captain the first of them.
It's down at the docks now, making ready for its maiden voyage, the crew handpicked to the Temple's very exacting standards. How good they are as sailormen is hard to say, but they're a sober, angelic bunch by all accounts, or good at faking it at least.
The Rat-Master General is doing the last cursory inspection of the ship, scouring the holds with her army, barking at Captain Dal, who is recoiling slightly from the volume and smell of the woman. A platoon of small but vicious dogs goes roaring past along the deck, having sniffed out a rodent stowaway.
Down on the wharf, Jake quietly finishes his last purchases and packs his black leather case.
In the Regal Maid down the street, the girls bid Sir Efrain Bleys a fond farewell; he exits the building, gives a smirk and receives a glare from Lady Cassandra Je'laan, and heads back to his manor to plan his raid. Justy watches him go, then goes upstairs to her room and opens a window. The sea air and sounds of the harbor remind her of Phlan, and before that of Waterdeep and other places, other cities, other common rooms and endless movements of fingers upon keys. She watches Audible Scoggins march past chanting about bears and sheep, watches Yana the guardswoman amble past on her beat, watches Fenz buy a hot meat pie from a vendor. Finally her gaze turns to the cog in the harbor.
The Rat-Master General is grudgingly signing a paper and thrusting it at a mate, who gingerly takes it. Spinning on her heel, grimy blond hair flying in lank whips, she leads her troops down the gangplank with a clatter of rusting platemail. There are other boarding actions to be led this day, and duty calls.
Captain Dal heaves a sign of relief and loudly orders the ropes cast off. The cog slips free and moves into the harbor pool, and a cheer goes up from those watching, who are risking the wrath of the Seafarers with their consignment of cargoes.
Aboard ship, a plainitive voice is singing:_
Should we find Fortune's Favour
And be spared from the gales
We will live off honest labour
With our hearts as big as sails
If I should die don't bury me
Or leave me to the sea
Send my bones back to my home
Where my spirit can be free_The cog's white cloth wings fill and carry her out, and the motion of her passage upon the water causes OK Charley to bob up and down where he floats, facedown, in the harbor water. His feet are bare.
It'll be a day before somebody notices and fishes him out._
