Burdun Plank, the Torr Man's page

A sailor from one of those tall pole things with all the sails on them shouts down. The Captain pulls his spyglass and puts it his eye. Out in the distance the party can make out a dark dot growing closer.

"Right we're coming in for inspection. Land lubber's below! That means you and your little dog too. You there Mr. Yar was it? You seem to know your way around a ship. Go loosen the snotter on the jigger, it's wound to tight, and I don't want her snappin' the spirit, and crackin' a vang, and just now I can't spare another man. WELL! WHAT ARE YOU ALL LOOKING AT ME FOR? GET TO IT!"

Rowdy is not going to like hiding among dead fish--as I am guessing it will be quite a foreign experience for the wolf, so Reggie will need to 'handle' him somehow.

The sides of the Patience already have a pair of ship-sized carcasses lashed to them with more in the hold. The main deck is awash in blood and saltwater from the storm.

The wild-mono-eyed skipper and his mate greet the party as they board. "Call me Ishmael!" he says. "We're returning to port this afternoon, and you all will be down in the cold hold amid the catch. Well under it really. We'll get you some blankets and tubes ta breath through until we get into town. If yer caught, I and every man aboard will say you are stowaways, and watch as you're hung from the yard arm. Do we understand one another?"

Meanwhile, in Mivon on the Piles.

"Anyone seen Bayler!?" shouts the Torr Man from the busy wharf.

"Not since we dropped those nine off last night!" comes a shouted reply.

"Nine?" the older longshoreman wonders. "Well if he ain't here afore noon he'll be looking fer work with the ratters, he will!"