The arrival of another flying eorman nearly capsized the long, narrow town-boat. Beau’s landing set the little craft rocking with the waves and the exclamations of Lotye, Jeneyeru, and the merrow oarsman. It was the instincts of the elves on board that prevented then all from taking headers into the canal, as the selkies grabbed up extra oars and used them to stabilize the boat, until finally, the resounding smack of Lotye’s slap across Beau’s face marked the end of the acrobatics.
“Well struck, lady,” cheered Peino. He reached up and grabbed Beau’s sleeve, pulling him down to a more stable sitting position. Finally getting a good look at the intruder, he recognized the cold-eyed man from the Alderman’s Inn in Kledy, the one who had whispered in his captain’s ear so eagerly.
“Raining sailors, is it? Perhaps it should be raining blows upon your skull next. Captain Lafitte, isn’t this man one of yours?” said Peino. “What’s the meaning of this foolery? He could have up-keeled us.”
Peino’s words were the mere scolding of a captain over a reckless bit of sailor’s roughhousing, but the edge in his voice betrayed his suspicion of this man, the one his own officers had marked as a killer “taking the measure of our shrouds.” This sudden appearance was not to the Prince’s liking.