"But they didn't return. I thought perhaps they'd come ashore elsewhere andspent most of the night roaming the other piers asking for them. But no-one hadseen them. This morning I took my boat out. It took 'til noon but I finallyspotted the craft floating free, with its oars shipped. Of the Old Man and HortI couldn't find a trace. I towed the boat in and sought out the City Garrison toreport the disappearance. You already know what they told me. Drowned in asquall! And us still months away from the storm season. ..."
Hakiem waited until the fisherman had lapsed into silence before he spoke."Could it have been... some creature from the deep? I don't pretend to knowthe sea, but even a storyteller hears tales."
Omat regarded him steadily. "Perhaps," he admitted carefully. "I wouldn't riskthe deep waters here in daylight, much less at night. Gods and monsters are bothbest left untempted."
"Yet you risked them today," the storyteller persisted, cocking his head to oneside.
"The Old Man was my friend," the fisherman answered flatly. "But if it'smonsters you want for your stories-then I suggest you seek after the two-leggedkind that spend gold."
"What are you saying, Omat?"
Although they were already sitting close, Omat shot a furtive glance about theroom to check for eavesdroppers. "Only this," he murmured. "I saw a ship outthere-a ship that shouldn't have been there... shouldn't have been anywhere."
"Smugglers?"
"I've seen smuggler ships before, storyteller," the fisherman snarled. "We knowthem and they know us-and we give each other wide berth. If the Old Man werefool enough to close with a smuggler ship I'd have found him dead in his boat or