Minas Tirith Harbor, the docks.
Several heavily laden cargo ships were undergoing their final loading and securing.
Hemp ropes cinched waterproof oilcloth over the spoils of war piled beneath: roughly processed chitinous shells, tough hides from Deep-Sea Behemoths, and several large barrels of pearls and coral scavenged from the seabed.
These alchemical materials and luxury goods, rarely seen inland, now lay casually piled up like ordinary cargo.
Baron Kru stood on the pier, the sea wind snapping his cloak.
His face glowed as he directed his private soldiers to carry the last wooden crate aboard.
A corner of the crate struck the gangplank with a dull thud. It sounded as though it was packed with heavy coins.
"Careful with that! That's the seed money for Alex's future fief!" Baron Kru bellowed, then turned toward Veylin beside him, his fleshy face bunching into a beaming smile.
"Lord Veylin, now that we're leaving, I really am a little reluctant to go. Your rye beer certainly packs a punch."
Veylin stood beside him, checking a list in his hand.
"If you like it, Baron, I'll have another two barrels brought aboard for you to drink on the voyage."
"That would be wonderful!" Baron Kru rubbed his hands together. "But seriously, once I get back, I'll have to pour in every bit of capital I have. I went to see that newly reclaimed land just now. It's still a muddy swamp, but drain the water and you'll have flat saline-alkali soil. Grow two crops of those sea-salt potatoes you mentioned, then tend it for a few more years, and it'll be productive farmland."
A shrewd gleam shone in his eyes, the discerning look of an old landed noble.
"Once I'm back, I'll arrange for the first batch of farmers to come over as soon