And I love the weather. . .

Marin sighed as he turned the chair around at the battered table and sat down, crossing his arms on the chairs back.  "We're not going anywhere by sea, at least not until spring.  Cowardly sailors!"

Alejo took a delicate sip from his goblet.  "I cannot really blame them."

Marin shot him a look.

"Good Marin, the sea in these months is fickle at best.  Storms follow those northern rivers straight from the  Immovable Ice, spilling out onto the Tyrrish Sea like those Urolls out of a brothel at dawn.  The winds whip around, making those predictable winds of spring vanish.  Ships can be becalmed one hour only to be driven by a gale the next.  No fool in his right mind ventures out of sight of land in Gullan or Hamal."

"Why, then, did you send me out to find us passage!"

"Good Marin.  We need to leave this city.  I simply hoped someone out there may be as crazy or desperate as us."


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