The broker recognized the tender first.
Drake knew this because the man’s expression brightened at the polished bow and darkened when its owner stood up.
“Captain.”
“A profitable afternoon to you.”
“Potentially.”
The floating stall moved beneath them as a workboat passed through the outer channel. Drake looped his line around the indicated post and waited for the neighboring platform to settle within stepping distance.
The market had no fixed aisles. It had agreements between people who thought they owned the best part of the water.
“I’m following a calibration instrument,” Drake said. “Small lens. Brass rim. Somebody asked about a clean fast comparison.”
