The hired blade talked until his voice went.
Phoenix fixer. Tea-house introduction. Dock rotas. A bonus if the carrier's room could be marked from the inside. He had not been promised escape. He had been promised that the city would be too busy counting sails to count one missing body. Sable let him live. She also let the lower harbor see him walked in irons at first light, because some lessons needed a street.
The Salt Court cutter yielded more than pikes.
A second slate. Not watch hours this time. Draft marks. Four hulls. Estimated days to sail. A note in a different hand: *plain if the city hardens, harbor if it panics.*
Elizabeth read that twice.
"They were waiting to see which we were."
"Now they know we found the slate," I said.
"Which means they will not wait for the panic they wanted. They will pick a road."
