As she neared the docks, she slowed. Creeping closer, she searched her surroundings. In the distance she could just see her little boat tied up to the pier. Finding a darkened corner, she sat down and waited.

She did not have to wait long. As the dockmaster emerged from his shack she glimpsed the corner of a chair and the back of someone wearing something white with a blue edge.

Goodbye, little friend, she thought at the boat. I hope you find a good owner.

Then, with a pang of regret, she turned away and slipped into the shadows of the city.

The stranger had taken a seat at the back of the room and had spent the last two hours watching the other occupants of the drink shop. Roffin hadn’t liked the look of the man from the moment he had walked in. Too well groomed, he was. Trussed up in a big tawl. A foreigner, with an arrogance to his manner that suggested highborn ways. Roffin didn’t like the way the man watched everyone come and go.

“You lookin’ at our mystery guest again?” Cemmo murmured.

Roffin turned to regard his companion. Cemmo was a wiry man, one of the youngest of the local fishermen. Roffin grunted quietly.

“His kind don’t belong here.”

“Nope,” Cemmo agreed.

“Should be up at the high-folks’ drink shop.”

“Tha’s right.”

“Someone oughta throw him out.”

“Upta Garmen. He won’t ’less there’s trouble.”

“Garmen’s got somethin’ to lose if highborn folks take exception. We don’t,” Roffin pointed out.

Cemmo looked away. “True. But…I dunno. Somethin’ ’bout him looks dangerous.”

“Just his starin’ gettin’ to you.”

Garmen, the owner of the drink shop, gave the stranger a quick, nervous glance. The man wasn’t drinking much, either, Roffin noted. Cheap, foreign bastard.

As Roffin slammed down his third mug, the stranger turned to stare at him. Roffin stared right back. The man’s eyebrows rose a little. He smiled.

“Well, if nobody else has got the guts.”

Cemmo frowned as Roffin rose, but said nothing; he just slid off his chair and followed, a silent supporter. As Roffin strode toward the stranger, others looked up and nodded in approval.

The stranger watched him come, apparently unconcerned. Roffin leaned over the man, taking full advantage of his bulk.

“You’re in the wrong place,” he told him. “The place for you is on the other side of the road. Uptown.”

A smile thinned the stranger’s mouth.

“I like here,” he said in a deep, strangely accented voice.

Roffin straightened. “We don’t like you here. Go stare at your own kind.”

“I stay.” The man gestured at the seat opposite. “You stay. We drink.”

“You drink elsewhere,” Roffin growled. He reached for the stranger’s shoulders. The man’s eyes narrowed but he did not move. Roffin felt scorching heat envelop his fingers. He snatched his hand away, cursed and stared at his reddened skin.