He looked down at himself, trying not to think about how low he’d fallen. Once, he had been captain of Phalesia’s city guard, the commander of hundreds of strong soldiers. He’d led his homeland’s defense against Ilea’s attack and been hailed as a hero. When Aristocles needed help, it was Amos he always turned to. Now he was nothing, a nobody.

Amos scanned the area again. No one wanted to hire him. But he needed money. He licked his lips. Already he could taste it, smooth, sweet wine, flowing down his throat, lighting a fire in his belly.

He glanced up at the sun. It was after midday, definitely time for a cup. One of the drinking houses might have visiting merchants. He’d be using his time effectively.

Well, perhaps it wasn’t quite midday, but any time was a good time for a drink.

Chloe left another tavern, shaking her head in disgust. The raucous shouts, guffaws, and singing of the sailors followed her until she left the place behind. As with the previous drinking house, the sailors she’d spoken to all had work and were using their time on leave to drink their wages dry.

She wondered where she should try next. She had to get to Phalesia, and if she hadn’t had any success by the time the night was over she might have to try sailing herself. But she’d been lucky to find Myana. If she tried to go on alone, with little sailing skill or knowledge of navigation, she might never make it to the journey’s end.

As she walked, staff in hand, the shadows in the streets were becoming long and tapered as heat left the day. Finally she spied one more tavern, smaller than the others. Around the corner from the avenue, on a narrow side street, she was in a disreputable part of town, not far from the Silver River Market. It was now completely dark and the light of oil lamps beckoned wayfarers inside, where warbling music and men’s raised voices merged into a cacophony.

She hesitated and then entered.

The smell assaulted her. The ramshackle interior was dirty, with sticky floors and the stench of sweat and stale wine overpowering. Groups of men sat on stools around low tables, talking loudly and calling for wine from the bustling proprietor. A musician played a lyre in the corner, brow furrowed as he concentrated on his instrument to the exclusion of all else.

Taking a deep breath, Chloe approached one of the tables, where a wiry, sun-tanned sailor sat with a brawny companion. It was only when she raised her voice to be heard above the din that they looked up.

‘I’m looking for someone who knows how to sail to Phalesia.’

The brawny man grinned at his wiry companion. ‘What do you think, Taimos? Told you we’d find you work if we came here.’