“Don’t go far, girl,” Darrel said as the whore hurried half-naked past Ulrich and out the door. With only a blanket keeping him decent, Darrel leaned against the bedpost and scratched his neck. He was a burly man, with skin darkened from months spent in the sun. A long scar ran from his lip to his chin, leaving a gap in his brown beard.

“Shouldn’t you be helping them unload?” Ulrich asked.

“My men know what they’re doing.”

“It’s not your men I’m worried about. It’s my cargo.”

Darrel stepped off the bed and pulled on his trousers.

“Your damn wine is safe and dry,” he said, buttoning them. “Not that I give two shits. I could piss in every one and the scum here in Angelport would consider it fine vintage.”

“I would still prefer it if you oversee things, in case such a respectable crew as yours decides to help themselves.”

“You telling me how to run my ship?”

“My ship,” Ulrich said, glaring. “You may captain it, but this is my boat, my cargo, and my reputation on the line. Besides, I don’t give a damn about the wine. You’ll be carrying something worth a thousand times more soon, and I need to be certain it is kept safe and untouched.”

The captain pulled a white shirt over his head; it was hopelessly stained with sweat.

“What could you possibly have worth more?” he asked.

In answer, Ulrich taking out a small pouch from his pocket and opened the drawstrings. From within he drew a single leaf, tore off a small piece, and handed it over. It was green with strange purple veins, and Darrel grunted as he examined it.

“What is this shit?” he asked.

“Bite, but don’t chew. Keep it crushed between your teeth, and focus on breathing steady. Oh, and I suggest you sit down first.”

Darrel shrugged. No stranger to various drugs and drinks, he seemed unimpressed with the simple leaf.