The quayside stank of fish and seaweed, which formed piles that steamed in the sun. Fishermen sat on stools, chatting while they mended nets. Dozens of gulls cried out to each other as they fought for the occasional morsel. Newly arrived traders, puffed up with self-importance, headed directly for the Silver River Market, scribes and porters in tow.

Hearing stern voices, she turned to see a heavyset man accosting each group of merchants in turn, weaving on his feet, his face covered by a thick black beard. The merchants wrinkled their noses as one after another turned him away. He wore a ragged tunic and his feet were bare, but despite being unable to afford sandals, the sword on his hip was sheathed in a well-crafted scabbard. Lurching from one trader to the next, he hiccupped and pleaded for work.

‘Guard? Need a guard?’ He tried to grip the arm of an old, dark-skinned merchant, but the merchant’s lip curled in distaste as he shook himself free and ploughed on without responding.

‘Anyone? Guard?’

The drunk saw that he’d run out of targets to approach and glanced in Chloe’s direction. Immediately she turned her back and began to walk away from the harbor. There would be inns and taverns on the broad main avenue. She could feel the drunk’s dark eyes on her as she left him behind.

She tried not to look back over her shoulder, and finally she rounded a corner and breathed more freely. It shouldn’t take her long to find some sailors who could help her. A stout boat in return for helping her get home should be an attractive proposition . . .

Amos couldn’t believe his eyes.

He could have sworn, in front of all the gods, that he had just seen Chloe. But Chloe was dead. Transfixed, he watched her walking away: a slim, dark-haired woman in a plain white chiton, heading determinedly for the inns frequented by the city’s sailors, traders, and laborers. He shook himself. There were many in Myana who might match Chloe’s description. His mind was playing tricks on him.

He turned back to the docks, but sighed when he couldn’t see any more new arrivals. Scratching under his arms, he pondered. He could return to the harbor later in the afternoon, or he could see if there was any work in the drinking houses. At least if there wasn’t work in the taverns he could pass the time more pleasantly, out of the sun, and then come back tomorrow. Yes, there was no point returning to the harbor in the afternoon. Tomorrow would be better. He’d find work eventually.