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Continued from Harbourside -- Goran

After a quick trip to his rooms, Goran rowed back to the docks. Once ashore, he pulled a pageboy cap from his pocket and donned it. The hat was not technically a regulation part of his uniform, but here on the docks, that didn't matter so much. Goran just liked the hat. It made him comfortable.

He strode down to the scene of the fire, then slowed as he approached the burned-out storefronts. With a frown, he shook his head sadly. Revolutionaries. They were all the same. They didn't care who got in the way of their ideals, as long as their ideals were shouted the loudest. Goran remembered a shadow he'd visited where extremists of a different sort flew airplanes into office towers and crowed about how strong they were. Cowards. Making a statement by destroying the lives of innocent people. The whole concept sickened Goran. War was one thing, but terrorism was not something Goran wished to see destroy Amber.

He took note of the buildings he passed, trying to determine in a quick scan what would be needed to rebuild. When he arrived at the location of the formerly-popular eatery, he asked the bystanders if anyone knew where the owner might be found.

As he moved along, he noticed several men in dark suits moving among the more usual crowd. They moved purposefully - and several of them carried small notebooks and pens. Several of them seemed to be surveying the ruined buildings.

Goran noted their presence but didn't stare or acknowledge them as he went about his business. He did remain aware of their location and activities, however.

He was referred to a warehouse behind the dock where they salted fish. Here, he gathered, there was a temporary morgue where those who had died in the fire were laid out (not many, it must be said, but the cafe owner was said to be among them, having been cooking breakfast for his approaching guests when the fire struck and, foolishly, believing that he would be able to dowse it singlehandedly ... with water.

Goran entered the morgue with hat in hand. He approached the still forms of the dead respectfully and in his native tongue, murmured a short prayer for their souls, crossing himself at the conclusion. Then he looked about for someone who appeared to be the next of kin to the cafe owner.

There was a tired, sad-faced man who Goran seemed to remember seeing, emptying scraps into the pigbin behind the kitchen door of the cafe.

Goran approached him, hat still in hand. "Sir, you worked at the cafe, did you not? Did you know the owner? Can you tell me what happened?" he asked gently.

The man looked at him wearily, and Goran saw the red rims to his eyes. "He's gone," he said. "Gone - and left poor Phil Squid behind to fend for hisself in this cruel, cruel world. Never a kinder man than Cap'n Jack - never a man with a better 'eart."

"I'm sure," Goran said sympathetically as he leaned with the man against a stack of pallets. "You work with him long?"

Phil Squid nodded morosely. "Every since he hauled me over the side of that boat, more dead than alive. That was a matter of fifty years back, or so. No-one else would take me on - said I was unlucky. But he dam'ed their eyes and gave me a job. And now look where it's got him!"

He shook his head sadly.

Goran looked at the grieving man sharply. "This was not your fault," he stated firmly. His anger at others for making such a loyal man feel so guilty was barely held in check. "This was done by people who didn't care who got in the way of what they wanted to accomplish. You yourself were lucky to have lived."

He gazed back at the bodies, allowing his anger to cool somewhat. "Did he have any kin? And do you know who any of these others are?"

"Most of 'em 'as got kin wot'll be along for them shortly - when they've cleaned up their places a bit." said Phil Squid. "But Jack always allowed as I was the only family 'e'd got. So it'll be for me to do the right thing by him now."

"I hear ya," Goran agreed with a nod as he continued to survey the scene. After a moment, he continued, "The Queen and the merchants have had a good partnership these last several years. As our business grows, so does yours. And vice versa. We like to buy local and take care of our associates. The Lady Petra asked me personally to come down and survey the damage to see what we could do to help get you all back on your feet.

"In particular, she wanted to talk to Old Jack here," Goran nodded toward the body in question. "Since you'll be handling his affairs, I reckon you'd be the one she should talk to now, eh?"

"Me?" said Phil Squid. "Oh no ... I don't rightly reckon ... no ... Master ... please ... I can't do that."

And indeed, the little man looked crushed at the thought of it.

"Why not?" Goran replied calmly. "She's going to want to talk to someone. Do you know anyone better?"

Phil Squid shook his head.

"But there's been people around already," he said, his voice quavering. "Talking about ... how we'll need ... protecting. To make sure this doesn't happen again. Offering to ... look after us."

Goran's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "People? Describe them."

"Well, there's been Mr. Twine already," said Phil Squid. "Dunno if you know him, Sir."

But, in fact, Frederick Twine, Insurance salesman, was a familiar figure around the docks. Frederick, (a name he hated being shortened) was tall with narrow shoulders with a slightly pinched face and blue eyes dripping sincerity. His sculpted dark brown hair glistened and didn't move even in a stiff breeze. His bright, reassuring smile and easy style had made him top commission-earner in recent years. His usual tactic was to buy up any freehold that comes available and sell a leasehold option instead, so if if suited the purposes of his bosses they can turf out the tenant six months later. To sweeten the deal, insurance policies were usually offered gratis, though usually this just means their premises won't be fire-bombed the following night. Of course, there was no insurance against the criminal gangs that operate in Amber, especially the likes of the Keepers. His hapless clients just had to read the small print.

"And then there's that Alois Lowenstein - you know, Al Coch's man," added Phil Squid. "He's been around too."

Goran knew both of them - Lowenstein, a skinny weasel with greasy hair and a cheap, light-colored suit that was too big and a crooked bow tie. Just over five feet tall, with dark, thinning hair which was slicked back. He always seemed to be carrying a notepad, taking down everything Albrecht dictated, and saying "Yes, boss... yes, boss" with his very annoying voice.

(Casting: Petere Lorre as Ugarte)

But more sinister was his boss - Albrecht "Al" Coch- a 5'7" (1.7) tall man, bald on top of his head, but with a ring of well trimmed white hair on the sides. He was very much overweight, wearing a dark suit and thin black tie. He had thick lips, which he seemed to smack loudly in satisfaction, and a large nose. He always spoke slowly, with a lot of deliberate emphasis. AQ member of the Bar Association of Amber, he was notorious for specializing in property law and legal strongarm tactics.

(Casting: Alfred Hitchcock)

And where those two went, their bodyguards were usually not far behind.

The fact that Twine and Lowenstein were already on the scene suggested that the sharks were moving in.

"What are they offering?" Goran asked coolly, arms crossed across his chest as he surveyed the mourners for spies and vultures. "And more importantly, what do they want in return?"

"At the moment," said Phil Squid, "expressions of concern. Offers to pay funeral esxpenses. Just advice to talk to them before making any decisions to rebuild - because they might be able to help." He massaged the bridge of his nose between his thumb and first finger. His fingers were long, and he held them bunched together in a way that shaded his face.

"They say there'll be loans ... to help people out."

"Yeah. I'm sure there will," Goran said flatly. "At exorbitant amounts of interest that no one can afford and they won't disclose. Until they seize your property for nonpayment.

"Come to the Queen, Phil. Bring your neighbors. We're docksiders like you. We do business with all of you and you know we're good for our word." He nodded in the general direction of the black-coated slime that he saw on the way in. "I doubt the goons can say the same."

Phil Squid cast a slightly worried look at the moored boat.

"Now?" he asked, with a certain nervousness.

And indeed, the shabby little man scarcely looked the sort who would have a place on the Rambling Queen. He was none too clean, for a start (with a strong aroma of old chip oil and fish), and his clothes were old and worn.

"I have to talk to the other merchants first, so maybe you can clean up some in the meantime. Mistress Petra will understand about the clothes, though. It's not like you have anything left to change into," Goran said. "I'll come find you before I go back."

He clapped the man on the shoulder and moved away, ignoring the urge to wipe his now-grimy hand on his trousers until he was out of sight. He then asked around after the other business owners, keeping his eyes open for the aforementioned goons.

He found several - most in a state of shock - and a couple who were grieving for the death of family or employees. All spoke of similar visits ... and similar offers.

And Goran reminded them of the same things he told Phil. The people of the Ramblin' Queen are your neighbors, your colleagues. Those of the dockside stick together. The others would simply take their money or whatever assets they had left. He comforted the greiving and assisted those who needed immediate help, whether it be moving bodies or taking messages. And he asked what they needed, producing his own small notebook and scrap of a pencil to take down notes.

The list was not excessive. The people were still dazed by what had happened - they accepted offers of help almost numbly. But it was clear that sharks were circling in the water already - although all seemed to seize on the idea of a meeting on the Queen - a meeting with Petra. The idea that someone with power might be prepared to help seemed both to daze and encourage them.

But perhaps it was time to talk to the boss about the fact that half the wharf rats in Amber were anxious to meet with her.

Goran explained to the gathering throng that, though there would probably not be a formal meeting with the Queen's proprietress, he would take the list of their needs directly to her to review how the staff of the Queen could help its neighbors with the resources they had at their disposal. He said he would return the next morning to begin the process of rebuilding.

They were disappointed not to be meeting Petra, most of them - Phil Squid, newly but not exceptionally washed, looked partcicularly crushed - but then, perhaps that was just his natural expression.

Before the questions could get too detailed, Goran ended the meeting and sought out the various teamsters that he had grown friendly with over the years. A group of them were off to the side, surveying the damage done to the merchants who shipped with them and lamenting the loss of business to come. Goran gathered them round and produced several silvers from his pocket. He handed three to each man. "Prepayment," he stated, looking to each man in turn. "These people need the debris hauled away before they can rebuild. The sooner they can rebuild, the sooner they hire you back.

"They can't afford to pay you for this, but I can. This should cover you all for the next two days. The one who hauls the most tonnage off to the middens gets a bonus. But if I hear about any o'you taking so much as a copper from these folks, deal's off. Got it?" Goran scanned the group with a serious eye. Then he added, "And go easy. There could still be bodies in the rubble."

The teamsters nodded sapiently. A good, if rough bunch, Goran knew he could rely on them to carry out his instructions faithfully.

Goran flashed them all a genial grin and strode back to where Phil had resumed his vigil near the pallets. "All right. Let's go," he urged the older man, barely pausing in his path back toward the Queen's dock.

"You want me to come with you?" faltered Phil, moving with him with a curious sideways shuffle as though he favoured his right side for all movements. "To the big boat? I thought you told 'em all to stay."

"I did," Goran said without looking back. "But Mistress Petra wanted to see the proprietor of the Greasy Spoon. You're it, for now. From everyone else, she wanted lists. I got those," he explained, holding up his notebook. He smiled back at Phil reassuringly and slowed his pace slightly. "C'mon. We'll get you something to eat once we're aboard ship."

So they approached the boat together, Phil Squid moving at his usual shuffling rate. Even the promise of food didn't seem to be overcoming his apprehension.

It was too early for the steady stream of tonight's expected clients and guests, but a very alert Alex and, surprisingly, Sergio were at the pier. Unlike the standard practices of the Queen's security, they were visibly armed. The morning's events obviously making Vincenzo's usual vigilance even more pronounced. The pair acknowledged Goran with a nod, but allowed he and his guest by with nothing further. Perhaps because they knew what was waiting behind them.

Which was Vincenzo at the top of the gangplank, and he wasn't feeling so generous. With his arms crossed in front of him, he looked both debonair and dangerous in his dark pinstripe suit and the blood-red silk tie that gave Goran (and everyone else on staff) a clue about what Petra would be wearing that night, as Vincenzo's ties always matched Petra's dress. Vincenzo was not visibly armed, but Goran knew that he was nonetheless.

Vincenzo arched a dark brow at Goran. "I'll take a guess, shall I?" he asked mildly. "Herself has gone off without telling me something fairly important again."

Phil Squid shrank back, clearly attempting to make his mis-shapen form even smaller than it really was.

"What else is new?" Goran replied flatly. From anyone else, this might seem a flippant answer, but Goran had worked rather closely with Vincenzo for several years now and had developed a certain familiar respect for him. Vincenzo was one of only two people that Goran was certain knew of his peculiar connection to the Royal Family of Amber. He had to for the sake of security.

Goran drew himself up before his boss to report. "The Lady told me to find the proprietor of the Greasy Spoon and bring him here." He nodded toward the man who accompanied him. "Phil here is as close as we're gonna get. Old Jack's dead, along with several others who worked down there."

Vincenzo's lips tightened into a thin line of displeasure at this news. On the one hand, the old, wooden buildings of the dockside had been an accident waiting to happen. On the other, the fire this morning had been no accident. That lives had been lost was unfortunate, but not unexpected.

He cocked an eyebrow. "So I take it this means she's gone off again?"

The chief grunted irritably. "Some information came to her attention this afternoon that she felt it best to act on quickly. She should be returning before we leave port."

Goran scowled, but otherwise remained silent.

His gaze shifted to Phil and raked over him before turning back to Goran. "Might I suggest you install our guest in the solarium? It is one of the least ... overwhelming areas on the ship for him to await the Marchesa's return. I will inform Antonia that it is off limits until further notice. Have one of the staff arrange for appropriate refreshment if you come across one enroute."

Goran nodded once. "Will do," Goran complied. "Once he's settled, I'll come find you." It went without saying that Goran intended to provide a more detailed report when they were no longer in mixed company.

The security chief stepped aside to let them onboard. "Welcome to the Ramblin' Queen...Phil. You have our condolances for your loss."

Phil Squid gave a quick, nervous duck of the head and shuffled on board, bringing with him the distinct aroma of fried oil, which seemed to linger around him despite his efforts to clean it off.

"This way, sir," Goran said, steering the fry cook toward a corridor on the starboard side of the ship. Behind Phil's back, Goran shrugged apologetically to Vincenzo about the odor.

Once in the solarium, Goran led Phil to a booth near a window overlooking the harbor, to the seaward side. Potted plants thrived in the light from the bright windows. He indicated Phil should sit and then sat across from him, lounging in the chair slightly to give off the air of comfort. "What do you drink, Phil?" he asked as he beckoned a hesitant server over to the table.

"Beer!" said Phil Squid eagerly, his pale blue eyes gleaming. "When I gets given it," he added, subsiding into something more like his usual downtrodden demeanour. "But I'll take water, Sir."

The server lifted a questioning eyebrow at Goran while keeping a distance that is just shy of rude, and that Sergio would thump him for. They will serve him a beer if Goran thinks it is wise, otherwise, it will be something else.

"On the Queen, you take water only if that's your first choice," Goran grinned. He waved the server over. "Master Squid here will have a tankard of the house pale." The server would certainly be aware that the pale was the cheapest brew the Queen served. It was rarely ordered by the higher-class clients, but would still be better than the swill he was certain Squid was used to.

"And... the steak tips with the fried onions?" He looked questioningly over at Phil.

Phil's eyes positively glistened and he nodded eagerly. Then he ducked his head again in the peculiar way he had of indicating deference, and shot a worried look at Goran.

"If that's all right with your honour?"

The server looked askance at Goran. Did this man really need onions? But if that's what he wanted, that was what he was going to get, and the server was already heading off to submit the order before Phil even asked. If Goran was going to let him have beer, he was certainly going to allow onions.

"Yes. It's all right with me," Goran replied, glancing pointedly at the departing waiter. "And I'm not anyone's honour." In fact, Goran seemed amused by that thought.

He rose then and said, "Phil, I'm going to leave you to your meal. Hopefully, Mistress Petra will return shortly but if she's too long, I won't continue to hold you up. I'm sure you have work to attend to. In the meantime, if I don't report to my security chief, I won't have work to attend to. If you'll pardon me?"

Phil Squid seemed a little concerned that his newfound mentor was deserting him, but he nodded nontheless.

Before leaving the room, Goran pulled the server aside. "If he wants a refill, give him one. One. After that, you have permission to be reeeeaaaallly slow," Goran instructed with a wink. "I have to meet with Vincenzo, then I'll be back. Call me if he gives you any trouble."

The waiter smiled. "Si. Understood. No worries. We will keep him content to remain as he is until you return." He glanced back in the direction of Phil's table. "And we will avoid anything too rich. I am not certain he could take it."

"Good man," Goran agreed. He clapped the server on the shoulder and left, telling Phil he'd be back shortly on his way by. Then he searched out the security chief.

Vincenzo was right where he left him, only he had been joined by Antonia, who was going over things written in the book open between them on the railing. This is not at all an unusual sight when it is within a few hours of opening and Petra is not on board.

Goran strode up and stopped behind the pair, taking up a position approximating a casual parade rest. "Sir? Do you have a moment?" he asked his boss.

Antonia glanced back and offered Goran a smile. She glanced up at Vincenzo, and seeing whatever it was she was looking for, snapped closed her book and made her exit without a word.

Vincenzo turned to regard Goran with the lift of a curious eyebrow. "Si," he nodded. He leaned slightly back so that his back rested against the railing. "This is about your visit to the docks?"

"Yes. And the trip to the castle." Goran moved to stand beside his boss at the rail where he could survey the activity on the lower decks while he spoke. It also facilitated being heard while speaking quietly. "Captain Morgan comandeered me this morning to drive the king back to the castle. I was ordered to stand guard against anyone who had not been at the scene. Based on what I saw and an experiment I tried surreptitiously, I suspect the king was waylaid by some kind of imbalance between Pattern and Logrus energy. Lady Larissa was awfully close to him when she threw her energy at that fire." He paused here for questions.

Vincenzo nodded slowly. "It is the conclusion we have reached as well. Larissa came onboard to discuss the morning's events shortly after you all left. A charming, intelligent woman of discriminating tastes," he said with a faint smirk. A startling revelation, this. Vincenzo never had a very high opinion of the family he's met-with the two obvious exceptions.

Goran turned a skeptical look on the chief. His own impressions of Larissa were quite different. More like "arrogant Ice Princess," but that was neither here nor there.

After a moment, Goran nodded and changed the subject. "At any rate, Prince Bleys arrived to assess the situation. He also took a look at the arm," Goran said, indicating his left arm. Here his voice lowered further. "The wound's gone, Vincenzo. Not healed. Gone. Like it was never there. The Prince suspected some kind of sorcery. Then he gave me a chunk of change to pay his bill and said he'd likely be away for a while. Doing research. That's when I came back down here.

Vincenzo hummed thoughtfully but did not interrupt. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a fine Cornaron cigar, but did not light it. Preferring to slowly roll it between his fingers for the time being.

"The Lady sent me off again in short order. She said she had a proposition for the owner of the Greasy Spoon, and wanted lists of what the other merchants needed so we could help them out. I have both. Or as close as I can get now," he concluded.

His boss looked over at him after a moment. "Sergio and Alex were observing the scene from the ship earlier. The Inspectors they noted easily. But reported they saw some rather suspicious suits sniffing around the area this afternoon. Men who looked out of place. They could not identify them from where they were. Did you see anything of them?"

"Yeah. I did," Goran scowled. "I didn't get close enough to recognize them, but Phil said it was Frederick Twine and Coch's flunkie Lowenstein. Trying to buy out the merchants, no doubt. Squid says they're making all kinds of promises of loans and such. I gave the merchants some actions instead of words. To show our good faith and willingness to help our fellow docksiders." He smirked with satisfaction. "Several of the local teamsters are already at work clearing debris and helping with recovery. On my silver."

"Perfetto," the tall man nodded. "Antonia will reimburse you if you let her know, and will arrange additional funds as needed." Vincenzo then scowled darkly. "Protection rackets and loan sharks," he sneered with disdain. "This cannot be allowed. Not this close to our door." He turned to face the docks, dark eyes scanning over the burned out area. "No, we will need to make them a better offer. How many of them are there, the business owners?"

"A dozen or so?" Goran guessed. "And at least two or three more dead. We'll be dealing with folks like Squid in those cases, I reckon."

Vincenzo hummed thoughtfully as he eyes raked over the docks and the pier below.

Goran scowled as he continued to ponder. "Another thought, sir. Remember the flyers that advertised about the dangerous work? The ones I looked into when I met Payne? There was someone else who ran out of that building that day. Someone I didn't see. You don't suppose Payne, or whoever he was hooked up with, might've burned all this down to cover some tracks, do you?"

"I believe the initial fire was meant to be a distraction," Vincenzo replied as he glanced back at Goran. "To give Mr. Payne that short moment to get from hiding to where he wished to be for his attack. Either he did not foresee this level of devastation, or he simply wrote it off as necessary collateral damage for his cause, it is difficult to say. It could be, of course, something even more sinister, as you suggest. Do you wish to pursue this theory?"

Goran sighed, looking out over the wreckage of the docksides. "I don't know. I could just be fostering conspiracy theories. It's probably nothing more than you said. A cover for today's events. Still, there were a few stones left unturned in that last operation."

He looked over at Vincenzo. "I don't want to leave you hanging though," Goran said with concern. "If things go badly, I have ways of keeping the staff safe. You know that. Their safety is more important than turning leftover stones."

Vincenzo pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I do not feel it is worth the expenditure of manpower, Goran. Not this evening. Petralina, she wishes to Security obvious this evening, and I cannot fault her reasons. That means I will need all of you on board. We will gauge the guests and their moods after we cast off. Should there be no tension or surprise guests, I am certain there is a sketch of the pier among that clutter of hers."

Goran nodded, satisfied with the plan.

"Domani, I would like you to arrange a meeting with the merchants you spoke with today. I feel we can offer them better then those .... alimentatori inferiori."

"I'm certain we can. I believe that was the Lady's intention as well," Goran agreed.

He narrowed his eyes as he watched the men Goran hired work through the rubble. "In the next few days, we will be going to Cornaro. There are people I wish to bring back. Additional security. I have been wanting to for some time. But I do not think we can wait any longer."

Goran looked over at him sharply, but not in disagreement. "Si, signore. Sar� aspetto." He turned his gaze back to the docks. "How is Ornella? Is there any news?"

Vincenzo's expression hardened. "She is resting. Whatever Petra gave her, Aura gave her another dose just a few hours ago, and it has knocked her out. It is just as well, I think, that she be able to sleep through the rest of the day. Ramon is with her. She awoke for a time while Sorcha was sitting with her earlier. She is very shaken by the idea that someone could do that to her mind so easily. She will be asking to go home soon, I believe. To stay."

"I'll escort her," Goran offered without hesitation. His darkened gaze made it clear what would happen to anyone who tried to hurt one of his own again.

"If she has not made up her mind before we go bring back more security, that will be appreciated," the dark man nodded. After a moment, he turned a thin smile to Goran.

"Siete anore per tu progenitores." (you are a credit to your father)

Goran snorted dismissively. "I am a credit to mi majka (mother). My father had little to do with it. But thank you."

The younger man stood straighter and turned to survey the ship. "Any specific instructions for tonight other than making ourselves seen, sir?" Goran asked.

"No," Vincenzo repied. He tilted his head to the side, cracking vertebrae in his neck. "Although if Petralina is not back soon, I might need you to go see what has happened. She mentioned she would possibly be speaking with the Prime Minster," he countined sourly. "And that one, I trust even less with her safety and well being then I do Anansi."

Goran could not hide his sneer. In fact, he didn't even try. He did manage to hold back the associated comments, however. "No problem," he said. "I can drop the fry cook off on the way. I should go back downstairs to check on him. Anything else?"

"Not at this time," Vincenzo replied with a gesture of his unlit cigar. "Do extend our regrets that Petra was called away unexpectedly on business. If she is not back tonight, we will be meeting with them all tomorrow. If you could arrange that?" he asked, arching a questioning eyebrow at Goran. "Around 9:00 AM seems workable. Plenty of time for breakfast and a staff meeting beforehand."

Goran nodded once respectfully. "Si, signore. I'll let you know before I leave." He turned away and descended the stairs, making his way to the solarium to check up on his greasy charge.

Phil Squid was sitting in a corner of the solarium, nursing a large - and almost empty - glass of what had once appeared to contain beer. He gave Goran a somewhat bleary smile as he approached, but his pale blue eyes were watery, as though the beer was only masking the grief he felt for the loss of Jack, his home and his livelihood.

Goran clapped the man on the shoulder and slid into a chair across from him. "How're you holding up? They treating you well?" Goran asked him, also shooting a smile at the long-suffering server to let him know he was relieved of babysitting duty.

"Oh yes," Phil assured him, waving his beer hospitably in Goran's direction. "Are we going to see the lady now?"

"Bad news, Phil," Goran said regretfully. "My boss says the Lady has been called away unexpectedly on business. We're going to have to do the meeting tomorrow after all."

"Oh," said the little man sadly, and something of the light went out of his eyes. His shoulders sagged. "That's all right, Sir. I know you people must all be very busy. And we'll be grateful for your help. All of us, Sir."

He stood up and set down the beer mug slowly, with great caution, as though unused to being in a place where the niceties of such gestures actually mattered.

"Shall we go then, Sir?"

"Sure. I'll walk you down," Goran offered as he rose. "First though, do you have anyplace to go? Did you live at the Greasy Spoon or somewhere else?"

"The Greasy Spoon," Phil Squid told him as they climbed up to the deck. "Leasrtways, I did. I'll have to find somewhere else now, I reckon."

He sighed deeply as they came on deck, then looked across top where the cafe had stood. Abruptly, he stiffened.

"Do you see that, Sir?" he said to Goran.

There seemed to be some sort of fight in prgress on the docks. Two men were down - one was trying desperately to crawl away. Standing upright was a rall figure in a long, enveloping cloak of Kashfan manufacture (it seemed). A small boy was appearently attacking him from behind, drumming his tiny fists on the man, while a woman, close by, screamed. As Goran and Phil Squid watched, the figure in the cloak bent down, lifted the child up ... and appeared to throw hom at the woman, who caught him clumsily, falling to the ground.