Coral Spike rose a hundred and forty paces above the sea, a tooth of limestone surrounded by reefs. A boat drawing more than three feet would lose its bottom trying to land. At high tide, mail canoes could slip into a narrow inlet behind the east reef. Sea eagles and lizards had the rest of the shore to themselves.
Sixty feet above the surf on the western side, a shelf of rock gave Pei Jing shelter from sun and rain. He chiseled a ten-foot circle flat beneath it and spread a rush mat.
Over several nights Pei Jing shuttled loads of meat, mantle and suction rings to the new Jin Clan wharf. A foreman had tied a cord across the landing to keep out people who hadn’t brought money. Jin Shan took it down with his good hand.
“Take a load to the families up the ridge first,” he said. “The armor shops can wait for the mantle.”
A boat owner said his own men had hauled most of the meat ashore. He wanted it sold before anyone cut up a share. Jin paid his crews their day rate out of the clan’s remaining cash. Then he put the old harbor book on a crate where anyone could see which boat was taking a load. Two of the boat owner’s men carried the first baskets up the ridge.
