With his left arm draped leisurely, Surus sat on a bench beside a stairway leading up to the navigator's cabin. Out of the way, unobtrusive, he smoked his pipe as not to arouse suspicion.

On the deck above the cabin, two sailors handled both the rigging and the signals hoist necessary for course corrections in the shallows near the sand bars that routed up the bay.

Already, Surus smelled the briny where the ocean waters flowed from the open bay coming up the river into the fresh waters of the Kayili.

He observed the pattern of their activities. The sailors moved in kind, clockwise, along the railing; together they cranked the gears of one set of cables, soon moving along to the next.

The navigator's cabin was unshuttered on three sides. The front opened up to a terrace deck. Surus caught sight of the sexton as it was held in place on a swivel, inset on rollers mounted to the ceiling.

The navigator moved it from the aft position Surus had spied it to the open deck terrace where it could be used unhindered.

After a short time, the navigator returned to the cabin, causing tumult amongst the shadows inside. Bent over a table at what was likely a contour map of the river's shallows with his arms stretched the navigator cursed.

He barked orders up to the sailors. They rushed to the signals hoist. Gears in need of oil squeaked as the sailors cranked away.

Opportunity was slow to present itself. In preparation, Surus removed a false heal from the bottom of each boot. These attachments made the boots appear as fashionable and limited in function as any other ordinary footwear.

A compartment inside one contained a small folding blade, barely thicker than a razor. Surus moved it into the lining of his jacket cuff. It held a special purpose for him, and he most definitely planned to use it this evening.

The hard soles, he placed in a space between the bench and stairway. The tobacco pipe, he carefully laid on top of them.

Opportunity came then when the two sailors worked on the coils of rope fastened to a cleat just above the sexton roller. With the device hanging loose on the open deck, it needed support. A hard break in the water would have been enough to knock it loose from the mount.

With the sailors preoccupied, Surus scurried up the mast that fastened the signals hoist. He listened a moment before climbing level with the deck.

The sailor's voices were muffled. Their backs were towards him. He climbed the length of pole that jutted above the deck rail. Surus looked around to determine where the fell hawk nested.

The navigator's cabin and hoist was the highest point easily accessible on the riverboat. Several other areas on the massive surface were nearly as storied.

He dismissed the officer quarters and captain's suite. They would not tolerate the nesting of a fell creature near them. The same could be said of the stewards and service crew members quarters.

Most likely, it nested in the aftcastle where an above galley set of storage cabins sprawled out beneath the hoist supports that held it up.

Set at the far end of the riverboat, it would provide the privacy necessary for a craft practitioner to indulge in her art of animal or beastial sympathy.

Satisfied that he knew the layout well enough to stage the next set of plans Surus climbed back down and retrieved his effects from where he previously sat.

He retrieved his boot soles and his pipe, and made his way up along the back support of the bench to squeeze into the thick of shadows.

With a wrist curled grip on his pipe, Surus inhaled a long draw of smoke, finishing off the tobacco packed within. Flipping it over, arm outstretched, he shook out the ash onto the deck boards before stashing the pipe away in an ivory tube inscribed in indigo.

Eager to return the tube back into his inner pocket his fingers fumbled with the brass buttons sewn on a herringbone patterned liner. He needed to sit still as he waited in well-positioned eyeview thirty yards to the fore of the gambling den entrance for his quarry to appear.

Within seconds, the door opened with Tareth Salugarr holding it as Anyetta eased through with her hands holding down the billowing black folds of her dress. Tareth's weight bore down on a stoutly knobbed cane in his left hand.

He offered up his other elbow for Anyetta to clasp.

Surus studied the lovers. They did not lean into one another for more seclusive intimacy during conversation. Their gait lined side to side as if in formal ceremony.

She seemed to ignore him as Anyetta wore her smile with characteristic serenity. Her neck craned long and stretched as her head bowed and nodded a slow allemande to Tareth's rapid cascade of words.

Surus did not follow the two. There was another query that riled his curiosity even more.

Other gamblers left the den going a myriad of ways. Several more minutes, after everyone cleared out, Lavert held the door for Pucè.

She flipped a sign on the door over. Closed for Dinner Hour. Lavert grabbed at his lapels and he loosened up conscripting buttons of his shirt. Pucè stood close as they spoke; squeezing her elbows in tight together and laughing, she sputtered her words at Lavert.

Surus caught his own surname in the mist of her deep chortle, but otherwise he could not make out what was being said. The two of them hugged with Lavert reaching his arms low and giving her a manly smack on her bottom.

Pucè returned the favor with a girly grope using her forearms pressed into his haunches.

They parted ways, with Levert rushing up the boards towards Surus' bench. He sat still as the dealer passed him by.

"Jaeques, how goes it," a shout came from above them.

Levert stopped. His head stooped as he shook it.

"That Solugarr and the Veering woman found a perfect mark and ate up his coins like biscuits. But for the fret they made. Damn. I will tell you later, but for now, I'm sitting in a dark corner with a glass of blushbort and winding down until we open up again."

"Very well then. I won't keep you."

Pucè had taken off in the other direction. Surus studied the paths that would give him the best concealment. Once Levert passed by, he was on the move under the cover of an overhanging decorative mermaid welded to side rail supports.

Pucè stopped two yards from a door. She leaned against the wall and wiped her face with a handkerchief. She sweated with deep trickles under the lanterns.

The Jezde woman approached the door and the raps she knocked against it were obviously a signal. Surus moved in closer, as the spacing of the lanterns gave him a vantage point.

A tall woman in a dark blue cowl opened it. Her body bulked with what was likely armor underneath. The woman leaned against the door with her arms folded.

Her long face cast a smirking gaze as if she was evaluating Pucè's worth to her. Curls from a dark bronze coif leaked out of the cowl.

"Abysmal Mothers," Surus whispered to himself. He knew the Ninci woman.

"Ereste, as always, you are dressed for a fight," Pucè berated. "Ever is your hair let down?"

"Do you have the coin to be here, little lasmer," Ereste asked of her.

Pucè held up a green velveteen purse, and she smiled.

"Do I ever waste your time, Capiné?"

"Get inside," Ereste said with a satisfied growl.

As Pucè passed her, the guild Capiné leaned her head out surveilling the open-air. Convinced of no surveille or not, her face was too expert for Surus to read, Ereste shut the door.

Whatever occurred inside it was at least guild business. Ereste ran the diamond district in Nevespora's southernmost ward. What common cause, or service rendered mutual, the Jezde and the Nincian Capiné had, Surus could not fathom.

He braced himself in a wall niche to rest his back. After a few minutes, Pucè crept back out unaccompanied. She continued to the boat's aft.

She crossed a set of loose planks that had been used as a makeshift ramp. A quick inspection revealed new boards added to a second storied wall with the lumber below never cleared out. As Pucè crossed them, up sprung a racket from beneath her feet.

He would not be able to follow her path directly. Surus was forced to crawl towards the opposite side railing and grab the sides of a long container where he hung by his grip and trawled along the rail.

Jumping back down to the deck he rolled to keep as quiet as possible into the shadows beneath a row of stacked barrels by the side of a storage shed.

His knee bumped into a long metal pole he had not spotted. He suppressed a squeal.

Pucè walked cautiously, nervously, nearby him. She was also listening for someone. Her hand impulsively felt along the back of her neck. There was the knob of a bruise there.

"You there? Stop with your tricks, you fiend."

After several seconds, she relaxed her stance and briskly walked towards the barrels on the opposite side that Surus hid. She pulled out the pole of which he had just collided.

Pucè took it over to a trap door into the aftcastle where the cabins that formed it over hung on set pole masts above her.

She placed a key into a head clamp built into the pole. She worked the hatch deftly until the fasteners slid aside. With the pole in place, she eased the trap door open.

A ladder built into the trapdoor slid down.

She hooked the pole into the top most rail and set it there. After climbing the ladder, she shoved the pole through the hatchway and closed the trapdoor.

You there? Stop with your tricks, you fiend.

Who was she accusing of following her? A sailor who liked a little rough and tumble, perhaps? It occurred to Surus she could have meant himself. She could have been referring to the scurrilous Gareen legend of the Night Visitor.

The bruise on her neck made him doubt this line of query. Along with the tension in her body and the expectant tone, they referred to a common occurrence in her own life. If this person did not show up, then why?

Surus jerked his head around. Then he studied the path behind him. That person could have been waiting for Pucè, spotted Surus and decided to lay low to surveil him instead.

Did this person see Surus slip in between the barrels? The spy would be now waiting for him to make his next move. He looked back once more, searching for a means to double back without being seen.

As he did so, the boards above Surus buckled without making a sound. From the footfalls, Surus determined the person was attempting to position himself to jump Surus as he crossed over to the hatch.

Surus was certain it was a man who weighed just over fifteen stone. He considered Ereste, but even armored she still would not weigh the boards down so much.

Surus found a foothold between two barrels where one stood on top of the other. He twisted around as he pulled up, grabbed a hold of two under laying joist on the shed and lifted himself just enough to peek over the side.

A man was hunched over by the ledge, patiently ready to pounce the moment Surus came out into the open. The man wore a thin jacket, but from the manor the man crouched Surus could see peeking out at the waist the gleam of a cobalt blue tinted chain link armor.

An armor distinctly worn by Ko Laga operatives.

Surus pulled himself up on the roof. He could now see the man held in his hand a nasty weapon used by D'jestre thugs for torture. A scorpio-ballast, a device with barbed wire coiled and tethered to a wind-up handle.

Wound up tight enough it could dig deep into a man's sternum and prove instantly lethal. Typically, it was set fairly loose for the purpose of flailing during an interrogation.

Surus crouched behind the D'jestre on silent soles. He circled to the man's left until he was within two feet of him. Surus kicked off with his right foot to spring forward.

Grabbing the man, he wrapped his arms around the man's shoulders to prevent him from using the weapon. The D'jestre hit the board hard, the wind knocked out of him. A growl discharged from his throat.

Pushing him down at this point proved easy enough as the man was poorly positioned for a side sprung attack.

The thug tried to wiggle the weapon from beneath him to use against Surus, but with a tight hug Sueus rolled back around, on top of him.

The man thrust the weapon up, but Surus twisted away. The ballast whine sharply as the coil sprung out into the air. The weapon jumped out of the thug's hand.

He tried to wiggle up close into Surus to avoid being flayed by his own weapon. It shredded the thin coat. Smacking against the chain armor caused the ballast to tumble a few more yards and drop into the river.

As the thug hugged Surus he returned the favor. He took the opportunity to hold the D'jestre tightly and rolled him over.

The man tried to twist away, but Surus head-butted him in the nose. Then he rolled a second time and flipped the thug over the side and into the drink.

Surus grabbed hold of a chock to keep his hold as his own leg skirted over. Pulling himself back up, he brushed up against something soft.

A cloth pouch.

Surus gathered it fell out of the thug's jacket as the two struggled. Sulus could smell the contents before he opened the pouch. Inside was a powder with a reddish tint that appeared more like paprika than opium.

He knew what it was for. In D'jestre lands it was standard practice for falconaires and beastmasters to consume the somniferum sympathique to better align their souls with their beasts. Given the corvus hawk was fell he could only imagine the kinked soul of its master.