Each carried on his back a chest that Cashel had been sure was a load for two of them. The sailors didn’t look nearly as sturdy or well fed as Frasa and Jen, and even the Serian nobles were wispy-looking folk by the standards of Barca’s Hamlet. “They’re tough little buggers,” Cashel said to the sprite as he strode ponderously up the gangplank. It flexed noticeably under his weight and that of the two cargo chests he carried, one on either shoulder. “Hard to believe how strong they are when they look like they’d blow over in a good wind.” Mellie laughed above him. The sprite was a tiny weight in his hair, as though a lock had become twisted by the breeze. “Oh, very strong,” she said, but it sounded to Cashel as though she was mocking him. The Golden Dragon had seven transverse cargo holds, each completely separated from the others. The design made it hard to rebalance the cargo at sea, but it also made the vessel extremely sturdy and seaworthy. A hole beneath the waterline could only fill one compartment, leaving a more than adequate reserve of buoyancy.
