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ship, three masts and plenty of white sail. Good strong planks of wood all kept clean with daily scrubbing. The figure head was a woman, dressed in her finest and bleeding from her eyes. She was the spitting image of the ship’s namesake. Sent a shiver through Betrim when he looked at it, always had.
    The captain descended the plank holding the bridge of his nose between his right thumb and forefinger and muttering to himself. He shook his head once, spat into the water and stepped up in front of Betrim, pulling his collar straight.
    “What is it I can do fer ya, Arbiter... Fuck me! Thorn, is that you?”
    Betrim was well known for his flat, expressionless features but even he couldn't stop the grin that spread across his face at Arip Winter's surprise. For his part the old pirate recovered quickly and grinned right back. It was damn good to see Arip again, even if he was looking a little grey these days.
    “Damn it, Thorn. I heard you was dead,” Arip grabbed Thorn in a meaty hug and slapped him three times on the back. Betrim was a little shocked he didn’t snap in two from the assault.
    “Do I look dead?”
    Arip winced. “A little bit, truth be told.”
    Betrim couldn't say he'd looked in a mirror recently. Truth was he'd always tended to avoid them whenever possible given that, even before the burn and the scars, he'd never been described as anything but ugly but it was more than possible that right now he looked much like a walking corpse.
    “What happened ta ya eye? It recent?” Arip asked, pointing at the empty socket as if Betrim might think he meant the other one.
    “Aye. Arbiter took it... shit I dunno. How long I been gone?” Betrim poked at the empty socket and saw his old friend shiver at the sight.
    Arip snorted. “Fuck. Last I heard o' ya was what you did at Hostown.”
    Betrim spat. He didn't like to be reminded of that place but he had to know what was being said about him in his absence, that and who was saying it. “How long back was that? An' how much o' it is gettin' pinned on me?”
    Arip gave him a sympathetic smile. “All o' it. An' must be nearin' a year since I heard 'bout it.”
    Betrim almost groaned. That was the second town ransacking that was being blamed on him now. If he wasn't careful he'd get a reputation for single-handedly burning entire cities to the ground. Not that such a thing would be a bad addition to his list of supposed abilities.
    “What're ya doing wearin' that coat anyways? Don't ya know the penalty for impersonatin' an Arbiter round here?” Arip said.
    “Oh aye, what they gonna do? Take an eye an' keep me locked up in a cell fer three months then threaten ta burn me?” Betrim spat again. The sooner he was out of Sarth and back to the wilds the better. Folk like him didn’t belong in civilized society.
    Arip sighed and stared at Betrim's empty eye socket with a grimace. “Reckon somethin' needs doin' about that?”
    “It's fine,” Betrim said with a little annoyance. “Arbiter who patched me up said it were healin' good.”
    “S'not what I meant. It's givin' me nasty little tingles down me back every time I look at it.” Arip raised his voice and shouted up to the ship. “Rilly! Rilly, get ya scrawny arse down here.”
    A few moments later a young girl vaulted over the railing of the ship, fell a good ten foot to the dock and landed on all fours with the sureness and undeserved confidence of youth. She stood and swaggered over to her father with a smirk on her dirty face. “What is it, Da'? Holy shit. That's the ugliest fuckin' witch hunter I ever seen.”
    Betrim had a sudden urge to slap the girl but he restrained, giving Arip the staring of a lifetime instead. Arip just chuckled and flipped a single silver piece to his daughter. “Get yaself to the market an' pick him up a eye patch. Make sure it's black. Get us some meat an' all, good stuff; bird or somethin'. Just no more fuckin' dog, eh.”
    Rilly looked at Betrim and a grin spread across her