Sulfur torches sputtered along the granite quay of Pier Seventeen, throwing greasy green glare over the black water of the Cangwu River.
Dusk had settled like lead over the canal basin.
After drifting against the outer water-gate in late afternoon, the derelict grain barge had been winched through the quarantine lock by order of the dock judge, isolated at the far stone apron where no commercial traffic dared approach.
Lu Chen stepped from the cold stonework directly onto the groaning oak gangplank.
His boots struck the slime-slicked planks with measured, heavy thuds. Steam plumed steadily from his wolf-skin collar into the damp river fog, the sixty-five-degree heat of his chest keeping the cold river spray from wetting his coarse woolens.
Behind him on the stone apron, two dozen court guards and guild porters huddled behind iron shields. They waved torch-poles but refusing to set foot across the gunwale.
Only Doctor Meng followed to the edge of the plank. He grabbed a bag of wet lime plaster and a brass apothecary box. His face was pale behind a vinegar-steeped mask.
Lu Chen vaulted the low bulwark onto the main deck.
