"It's a good thing, too." A couple of sailors were sitting on stolen folding chairs on the dock, eating funnel cake and coffee. One of them made a dismissive gesture. "If the capt'n can't get his head out o' the bog long enough ta set off the dock, I can't say I'd trust him ta get us ta port alive." The speaker was tall and lanky, with a crooked nose and a careless smile.

His companion swallowed coffee thoughtfully. "I don't think he's hung over. He's drunk more than that in a sitting without a blink. But you talk like you're telling me you'd rather stay here." He was only as tall as his fellow sailor, but bald and powerful with a sharp, young face.

"Hah, and not get paid?" Crooked-nose sat forward with a squint and frown. "What'll I do here besides get flayed by my wife? Nah, I'd rather die in a blaze of glory when our [i]captain[/i] drives us into the side of a mountain."

"A hero's death," baldie agreed with a wry smile, and they saluted each other with their coffee cups.

The crowd was dispersing in a murmur. An eldely man wheeled a squeaky bin around and picked up trash morosely, swatting at seagulls. The food and souvenir vendors -- the only happy faces in the crowd -- packed up their empty stalls and rushed off to count their earnings. The band was packing up while the winded tuba player waited for the first mate to count out a handful of money appropriate for the delay. The tuba player accepted a generous doubling of their agreed fee and the band bumped and shuffled off the empty stage, leaving the first mate standing solemnly alone.

The first mate turned and peered up toward the deck of the [i]Annabella[/i], where several bored soldiers were leaning on the rail and waiting for more orders or for permission to go home.

The ship itself was still securely tethered to the dock by thick ropes. The gangplank still allowed sailors to move freely between the ship and the dock, though the cargo door had been shut and sealed long ago, while there had still been an assumption that the ship would set off.