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Salve!

So I participated in my own little word sprint this weekend in an effort to make up for the fact that I’ve been doing just poetry writing the last handful of days. Thus, a Word Sprint! Nearly 4k words today and still going! I wanted to post a snippet of what I’ve been doing, but like I’ve said before, it’s getting more and more difficult to post snippets without ruining big surprises or giving away earlier-in-the-story ones! Anyways, I hope you’re having a wonderful weekend and that NaNoWriMo is treating you well! Remember to subscribe and like on my blog and on Facebook to get the most out of my writing!

Damn, I shouldn’t have wasted a good knife.

Aura got that for me.

His anger reappeared, red hot as he pushed the memory away, mentally attacking it until it subsumed into the back of his mind.

“Gods’ curse him.” He said for the upteenth time. “And her too.”

Carefully, and not a bit woozily, he stood. Glancing at the ceiling to avoid any other unpleasant and unexpected encounters with the ceiling, he sat in the single chair bolted to the floor of the cabin, and started to dress himself. FIrst he put on his best tunic. Constantinople was a city of wealth and excess, and you stood out more if you looked shabby than if you looked reasonably profitable. He then pulled on a soft pair of boots. Made from the finest leather, and well-broken in. Corbus had made sure to wear them on deck for much of the voyage. Finally, he gathered all his various small items into his knapsack, tied down the openings  and double checking around the room. It wouldn’t do to leave a weapon or a hint of their mission behind.

He finally emerged from the room, into the dimly lit lower deck of Neptune’s Trident. A few iron lanterns swung here and there, but the hold was mostly empty, save a few other passenger berths closer to the main mast in the center. The ship was a newer design, a fusion of sailing knowledge and mekanical knowledge. Sails in case the engine failed, and a propeller for all the other times.

The captain had compared it to babysitting a ship, not sailing one. But the mercantile interest he worked for realized that faster ships meant goods got to market faster, which meant less overhead and more returns, especially on fresh fruits, vegetables, and meat. So in with the new, out with the old.

Corbus climbed the steel stairway up onto the top deck. Shielding his eyes against the bright glare of the sun, it still took him a few minutes to really adapt. Every time it felt like his eyes were getting close to adapting, it’s as though the sun got a bit higher and a bit brighter.

Corbus grumbled.

“Fine morning to you, Master Atmose.” Captain Breir said, doing his morning rounds. Corbus nodded at his alias, before asking.

“When will we be able to disembark?”

Breir looked at the harbor, no doubt his experienced nautical eye catching some key details as he thought about the answer to Corbus’ question. Earlier in his life, he would have been dismayed, even angry at the man for not answering his question immediately. But if the experiences from the last few weeks had taught him anything, it was to make sure you have the answers before you start speaking.

“No more than two hours, perhaps three if they insist on us going to the middleweight docking facilities. We could easily slip in right there, between those huge grain haulers. We’ve only got a few people to offload before we take on another load of Byzantine Silk. Do you think they’ll rename it now and call in Constantinople Silk? I’m not sure of the verbiage.” Corbus shrugged a gave a diplomatic non-answer. Breir wandered away, shouting at some crewmen apparently lounging too lazily on deck.

Chalybs and Janus were near the bow, as they always were, both men enjoying the brief respite of the sea spray from the warm day. Corbus could feel how hot it would soon be, and he hoped that there might be a rainstorm to help bring a change of weather.