"Don't you dare carry me, boy," Lord Domenec Hender hissed as Mervyn moved to do just that.
Mervyn scooped him up anyway.
The old baron cursed Mervyn the whole way down to the docks, and Rose Marie decided she'd never liked a lord more in her life.
The harbor was waking up around them. Lanterns bobbed along the quays. Men stumbled out of alehouses with blades in their hands, shouting questions no one could answer. Somewhere behind them, down by the north quay, she could hear Teague's surviving men bellowing for the Scourge's crew.
"Get to your ship," Mervyn told her as they reached the outer berth. "Both of you. We'll meet you past the harbor mouth."
"You won't get past the harbor mouth," Rose Marie said.
She pointed.
The tide was running in. Hard. It pushed the grey slush up against the pilings in thick, grinding sheets, and the wind had dropped to almost nothing. The Storm Tossed's triangular sails hung slack from her yards.
