You might want to pull your cap a little lower.’ Fenn steered them under the spiked gate and into the marina. Bowmen were strung like beads along the city wall, each jetty crowded with officials and soldiers. Risha glanced sidelong from beneath the broad brim of her hat. There was a backlog of barges being processed. Fenn angled them into the queue, calling a greeting to one of the boatmen and exchanging coarse insults with another.‘Thought you’d left us in peace,’ the man called.‘Route pays too well with all the provender coming into the city. Weddings are always good for business.’‘Royal ones especially.’The man was waved forward a space, the barges around jostling with resigned patience as customs clerks stepped from deck to deck. It wasn’t long before one hopped onto Fenn’s foredeck to enquire after their load.‘Fresh vegetables that’ll keep better in your sheds than in the sun,’ Fenn told him, ‘and some of the finest parasols the likes of us will ever see.’He gave a world-weary nod and scribbled something on his slate.
