The harbor council’s map blew off the table before anyone could argue about it.
Drake caught one corner with his boot. Sela caught another. A warehouse delegate put his breakfast on the proposed anchor site.
“An excellent beginning,” Sela said. “We’ve already found three competing uses for the land.”
Nobody laughed except the clerk, who had heard the opening speeches rehearsed and welcomed anything different.
They held the meeting in the council yard because no indoor room could accommodate the delegates and all their grievances. Beyond the wall, masts moved against a pale sky. A cargo winch squealed. Someone shouted for a missing boat hook with the urgency usually reserved for an invasion.
Sela put stones on the map.
“The test berth’s license expires tomorrow. Today we decide whether to provide a permanent site.”
“You licensed the test,” the warehouse delegate said.
