A rain shower washed away the faint traces of blood on the deck. A warm land breeze, carrying the fresh scent of grass and trees, filled the sails. It brought with it subtle hints of toasted wheat, the clamor of vendors at the market, and more, all drifting in through the portholes.
Unlike the seaside, the river port lacked the briny tang imprinted on the senses. And since the river provided fresh water, the city's center of gravity had drawn toward its banks. Buildings with overlapping pointed arches and small turreted battlements stood there, with flying buttresses spanning between them.
Projecting balconies rested on high-relief supports, their green curtains formed by trailing plants and dotted with pale flowers in season. The Clock Tower's long shadow cut across a sea of fresh leaves reflecting golden-red light, pointing down toward the Harbor District below.
Kraft leaned against the porthole and watched for a while, then stepped aside of his own accord, leaving what little evening sunlight remained to Martin, who was dealing with the aftermath. Martin tried to pull out the short arrow. After several hard tugs, he realized its barbed tip was lodged between the bones, so he simply snapped off the hollow wooden shaft and hurriedly stuffed the corpse, which had lain on the ground all day, into a sack.
"What are you going to do with that?"
"Someone will see that it ends up somewhere suitable." Martin tightened the drawstring and tied it in a bowline. He dragged the sack a few steps across the ground, checking that the lumps in it wouldn't immediately give away that it contained something unpleasant. "We need to move faster and reach the lodging arranged for you before the next 'accident.'"
"Sounds like you've prepared pretty thoroughly."
"At least this little matter won't