Ten miles downriver from the outer imperial prefectures, the flagship barge rested in the cool shade of a weeping willow cove.
A double-woven hemp hammock swung gently between the two central iron deck posts, rocking in time with the gentle river eddies. Beneath a wide straw hat, Kaelen Vance breathed in slow, tranquil rhythm, his hands folded neatly over his wool blanket.
Around noon, he stirred slightly, his left eyelid fluttering open beneath the straw brim.
He reached blindly to the small cedar stool beside the rope, lifted a chipped porcelain cup of lukewarm plum tea to his lips, and took a small sip.
He smacked his lips, feeling a slight stiffness in the air.
The southern breeze feels two knots slower than it was at breakfast, Kaelen thought, propping his cheek on his knuckles. Either a very fat cow is standing near the port intake vent, or some inconsiderate fool has built a tall barn in my airway.
He considered getting up to investigate for roughly three seconds.
The thought of sliding his feet into slippers, walking across the companionway, and leaning over the gunwale sounded utterly exhausting.
