I pulled back a bit to take him in. He was thin and angular, and his thick brown coat must have been as heavy as he was. It fell past his knees and sagged with the weight of several visibly overstuffed pockets. His lapel was bordered by a long, wooly scarf, which hung almost as long as the coat, and which I recognized as the one I had passed coming in. He must have doubled back to follow me.

“Hello?” I managed to say, when I had regained balance atop my stool. “Can I help—?”

“You’re recently from the Ukraine.” It was not a question. His voice was calm and even, but something more . . . amused? He continued, his gray eyes dancing as though exploring each thought several seconds before his mouth could voice it. “You’ve traveled by way of Germany, and then a great distance in a sizable ship . . . made largely of iron, I’d wager.”

He cocked his head to one side as he looked at me, only never quite square in the eyes, always just off, as though fascinated by my hairline or shoulders. I had learned how to navigate unwanted attention from boys in school, but this was something else entirely. He managed to seem both engrossed and entirely uninterested in me all at once. It was more than somewhat unsettling, but I found myself as intrigued as I was flustered.

With delayed but dawning comprehension, I gave him a smile and said, “Ah, you’re off the Lady Charlotte as well, are you? Sorry, did we meet on deck?”

The man looked briefly, genuinely baffled, and found my eyes at last. “Lady who? What are you talking about?”

“The Lady Charlotte,” I repeated. “The merchant carrier from Bremerhaven. You weren’t a passenger?”

“I’ve never met the lady. She sounds dreadful.”

The odd, thin man resumed examining my person, apparently far more impressed by my hair and the seams of my jacket than by my conversation.

“Well, if we didn’t sail together, how did you ever—ah, you must have snuck a peek at my luggage labels.” I tried to remain casual, but leaned away as the man drew closer still, inspecting me. The oak countertop dug into my back uncomfortably. He smelled faintly of cloves and cinnamon.

“I did nothing of the sort. That would be an impolite invasion of privacy,” the man stated flatly as he picked a bit of lint from my sleeve, tasted it, and tucked it somewhere inside his baggy coat.