things settle down, I suppose. But the boat from Death’s Harbour will put in
there at midnight. I think, sir. I tell stories for a living, and I’ve learned
to sew them together from this word and that word I hear. But it doesn’t usually
matter if my pattern is the same one that the gods wove to begin with.’
‘Well,’ Samlor said after consideration, ‘I don’t think my first look at this
place had better be after dark. There’ll be a watchman or the like, I suppose
… but we’ll deal with that when we find it. I -‘ he paused and looked straight
at the younger man instead of continuing to eye the harbour. ‘We agreed that
your pay would be the full story when I had it to tell … and you’ll have that.
But it may be I won’t be talking much after tonight, so take this,’ his clenched
hand brushed Hort’s flexed to empty into the other’s palm, ‘and take my
friendship. You’ve – acted as a man in this thing, and you have neither blood
nor honour to drive you to it.’
‘One thing more,’ said the youth. ‘The Beysib – the Setmur clan, I mean – are
real sailors, and they know their fishing, too … But there are things they
don’t know about the harbourages here, around Sanctuary. I don’t think they know
that there’s a tunnel through the east headland of the cove they’ve chosen for
whatever they’re going to do.’ Hort managed a tight smile. Sweat beaded on his
forehead. The risk he was taking by getting involved with the stranger was very
real, though most of the specific dangers were more nebulous to him than they
were to Samlor. ‘One end of the tunnel opens under the corniche of the headland.