The Cinderwake carried a kitchen bell larger than her fog bell.
Tavin pointed at it before he examined the engine.
“Promising.”
The woman beside the gangplank looked at his coat, his boots and the account case under his arm.
“You eat after the working crew.”
“Even more promising.”
Her name was Herva Doss. She owned the vessel with a five-person river cooperative and had piloted it for eleven seasons. Twenty meters of working hull, shallow enough for the present basin channels and broad enough to carry dense repair stock without stacking it above the safe line. Its paint had been renewed in sections. The old name remained visible beneath the latest letters, a reminder that neither a new owner nor a fresh coat made a boat begin from nothing.
Iven followed Tavin aboard.
