It would have been unusual under normal circumstances for this section of the city to be so quiet. Normally stevedores and bargemen would be carousing in the alehouse and knocking shops that surrounded even the secondary harbor. With the siege entering its first full day, the city watch had been out in force enforcing a curfew at areas close to the wall. The pool itself held twice its normal volume of barges. There were big timber carriers from Middenland, grain and wine barges from the Reik and even a few pleasure craft of the idle rich. The river slapped their hulls with gentle rythmic sloshing and the lines tethering them to the wharves creaked and groaned. Emmaline had argued that this was a matter for the city watch, the army, the Templars of Sigmar and basically anyone who wasn't blond, buxom and indolent. Neil was not without sympathy for the shapelier parts of this argument, but had pointed out that if the city watch rushed the barge the most likely result was that the cultists would blow the powder right here in the pool. That probably wouldn't breach the wall, but it would demolish everything within several blocks of the docks and start fires. That still wouldn't have convinced Emmaline, but Neil was also sure that Leizbauhnor would happily throw them under the proverbial ox cart rather than take responsibility for such a disaster himself.

"Which barge is it," Neil whispered as they approached the waterfront, taking cover amidst a pile of netting that normally served to swing cargo out to the barges. Emmaline clambered up beside him. This was not her kind of thievery, but she had done enough creeping to not be a complete novice. The barges were much of muchness to her eye, but fortunately all wizards, even lazy apprentices had a natural abillity to see magic. Emmaline opened her 'eye' with a minor effort of will. The golden wind, Charmon, flowed strongly in Nuln. Pulsing rivers of it thundered around the artillery works an the gunnery school, spilling smaller more slugish current out over the rest of the city. The barges themselves were mostly dark save for where some product of alchemy, a lantern or a spy glass, attracted the wind. One barge, at the far end of the dock was different. Charmon and the other winds coiled and flittered around it, tangled together in an untidy mass which reminded Emmaline of drawings she had seen of tumors. She could just make out some men on the deck, covered with heavy ponchos against the chill of the evening. Hastily she released her sight.

"It is that one," she told Neil, extending a finger to indicate the barge which, now looked as innocent as the rest. They crept down the quay darting between crates and other cover until they were close enough to hear the conversation of the men on deck. One of them sounded like an Altdorf docker, the other had the harsh guttural cadence that Emmaline associated with Norsca. Neil led the way down between the wharves and onto the slimey pebbled beach beneath the wharf.

"Like this," he whispered and climbed onto the riders that ran beneath the wharf. Emmaline watched him dubiously for a moment and then did the same, following his lead as he eased himself from pylon to pylon beneath the wharf. By the time they reached the barge Emmaline's arms were complaining in no uncertain terms. Neil paused when he reached the curve of the barges hull and climbed onto a net which hung down over the side. Emmaline joined him and a moment later they were over the side and on the deck. The barge was open to the sky, its hold stacked high with barrels of what could only be gunpowder. The steering house was towards the stern where the two guards continued their conversation, interrupted only occasionally by the clatter of dice.