It irritated Dor no end that his father Gilan trusted Jant more than his own son. All the messages were addressed to Jant and only Jant could decipher them. Mal picked at his fingernails with the point of his knife and ignored the others. Jant would not let Dor look over his shoulder for fear he would work out how to decode the messages. As a result, Dor paced the other side of the room from one wall to the other. Mal looked up and gave a barking laugh at his charge’s impatience. Jant put away his codebook in the inside pocket of his jerkin. Both the book and the pocket were small. The pocket fastened with a string, and much to Dor’s annoyance, Jant spent what seemed like an age fastening it up. “So what does my father say this time,” Dor snarled. “Am I to be bound, gagged and locked in my cabin until this boat is safely docked in Dalk?” “That would be for a very long time, my lord. It appears that the harbor at Dalk has been badly damaged by a fire and the Boat Company has decided the Steam Dragon shall dock in Tallis.”
