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Foul, then I must needs protect myself.” The man’s voice echoed slightly, reverberating through his armor. Horran noted that he had a huge sword on a belt scabbard and a pack on his back. The guard suspected that this man had aspirations of being the next Gan Brightblade. Based on the whispers he’d been hearing since coming on this morning, that position was apparently open.
    “If you insist,” Zaile said, “but I’m afraid I’ll have to be raisin’ your fare, then. Extra weight, you understand.”
    “How much?” The would-be wizard-slayer sounded unconcerned.
    “Two gold.”
    “Done,” he said without hesitation.
    It took all of Horran’s self-control not to laugh out loud. One gold was exorbitant for the meagre accommodations on the Esmerelda, and the added weight of one suit of armor was a pittance compared with the weight of any cargo that would normally be taking up the space Zaile was giving to this idiot.
    “Oh, and there’ll be another passenger to share the quarters with. I believe he has the same destination as you.”
    “What?”
    “Captain Zaile,” Horran said, approaching this tableau.
    Squinting in annoyance, Zaile said, “Horran. Didn’t know you were on day shift.”
    “Yeah, the bosses decided to thank me for keeping old sea-bitches like you honest.”
    “What are you saying, my good sir?” the man in the armor asked. “Captain Zaile is as honest as they come. I have it on good authority from many sources.”
    Most of whom are getting a piece of that two gold in exchange for the testimonial, Horran thought. “Oh, Zaile’s reputation precedes him, that’s for damn sure. If you’ll excuse me, uh—”
    The armored man moved to an at-attention stance that bespoke some past military service. “I am Kaylin the Mighty. Word has reached me that Chalmraik the Foul is alive and well and plotting to take over Flingaria once more.”
    “Really?” Horran asked dryly.
    Gravely, Kaylin spoke with the tone of one over whose head Horran’s sarcasm had sailed. “Indeed it has. But worry not. I have obtained a sword—” he patted his scabbard with a gauntleted hand “—that is blessed with the Runes of Tyrac.”
    Again, Horran resisted the urge to laugh out loud. “That’s wonderful. Kaylin, I need to speak with Captain Zaile in private, just for a second. Don’t worry,” he added quickly, “it won’t have any impact on what I’m sure’s a real noble quest.” He turned to the captain and indicated a section of dock near the Esmerelda ’s aft section. “Zaile?”
    As soon as they were out of Kaylin’s earshot, Zaile said, “Don’t you be ruinin’ this’un for me, Horran! This idjit’s a blessed gold mine!”
    Horran smiled. “Last time I checked, Zaile, the extortion laws don’t take into account how idiotic the mark is.”
    “Oh for Wiate’s sake, he ain’t just idiotic, he’s downright stupid. Practically catatonic, even. He’s wearin’ armor on a boat. He thinks Chalmraik is still alive. He fell for the ‘Runes of Tyrac’ scam, for Wiate’s sake! I didn’t think anyone still be usin’ that one, much less fallin’ for it.”
    “Damn. You must feel strong about this guy—you invoked Wiate twice in one conversation,” Horran said with a smile.
    Pointing one crooked, bony finger at Horran, Zaile said, “Don’t you be sassin’ me, boy. I remember when you were just a little demon tryin’ to steal fish outta my nets with that brother’a yours. Hell, I remember when the Guard first arrested you. Shoulda sent you down the hole ’stead’a rewardin’ you.”
    Horran’s jaw torqued in annoyance. He’d grown up in the Docklands an orphan, first supported by his older brother—one of the Docklands’ more talented thieves—then on his own after his brother was killed. Unfortunately, Horran was not as talented as his sibling, and was caught by the Castle Guard, who gave him a choice: jail time, or serving as an errand boy for the Guard. Since he