"I don't know. I thought some kind soul was planning to share his fruit." Kraft picked up the plate and turned the blue-and-purple berries toward Martin.
For people with ordinary color vision, the two were genuinely hard to tell apart. It was like mixing a batch of oranges in with a pile of tangerines. Their shapes and colors differed, but not by much; it was easy to slip one past someone's eyes.
Judging by Martin's grim expression, the dark purple berries he'd picked out definitely weren't blueberries or some edible relative of the blueberry.
"We call them Devil Cherries." Martin plucked a few from the pile and set them on the table, then crushed them with the bottom of the plate, exposing their very different insides. Dark purple juice soaked into the rough wooden boards, without the strange smell of some inedible fruits.
Someone used to grabbing a few berries, or even a whole handful, would have no chance of noticing in time that one of the mouthfuls they'd chewed was an impostor.
"I thought doctors were more familiar with things like this." Kraft was more familiar with Martin's movements than with the berries. The so-called "Messenger" had inconspicuously rested a hand on his sword hilt, discreetly scanning their surroundings, as naturally as if he were simply relaxing during an everyday conversation.
As a fellow professional, Kraft read the meaning behind his movements: there was danger, but its location was unclear. Pretend not to notice and see what happens.
"I don't know much about those herbalists. Sounds like you know what it is?"
Kraft looked back at Martin and saw the same uncertainty in his eyes.
Only seven sailors were on duty on deck. They stood in groups of three or four, chatting merrily. Every so often, they cracked a