“I just don’t get it,” Inez told Alrik as she sat in his cabin, booted feet up on the table as she rasped a whetstone down the length of her sword in slow rhythmic motions. The boots were her own, one of the few things she did own that hadn’t been given to her by the league and deducted from her pay. They were cavalry boots, or had been once, crafted by a master out of supple, brown, Estanian leather, with gilt buckles and intricate stitching. Hard use had taken its toll over the years, and the heels had been worn down by the miles until they were better suited to walking than riding. A fine network of cracks had appeared at the heels and toes from the constant flexing, and the gilt was worn and faded. Old Guierlelmo would have tutted to see his gift so dillipated. The rest of her ensemble was guild issue, dark grey trousers and a white cotton shirt, cinched at the bottom by her sword belt, she hadn’t bothered with the tabard, a needlessly showy thing that was more of a nuisance than a help, save for actual official events. The ship was bustling along under a gentled wind, making good time for once. There was a slight unpleasant thumping every few seconds as the great square prow battered it’s way through the increasing chop of a late afternoon. “I mean to say,” she continued, lifting the blade and peering down the length of it for any nicks or imperfections. “I suppose he might have had reasons to kill you. Maybe you tupped his sister or his wife, or maybe he just hates all bean counting merchants,” Inez mused in a tone that suggested that such hatred was both natural and understandable, thinking of King Salazar back in Estania, grinding its people under his heel on the back of loans and trade concessions to money grubbing northern merchants. “Afterall who didn’t dream of stabbing their landlord? But let’s say he sticks you with a crossbow bolt,” she jabbed the point of her sword to emphasize the point. “What does he do then? He has a dead merchant and leagues of ocean in all directions, nowhere to go you see?” Maybe he planned on framing me for it she thought. Possible but hardly the sort of chance to stake your life on. “Alrik?” Inez asked, the merchant was staring distractedly off into space again. Clearly the killing earlier was something novel to him and was taking a bit of getting used to. He had been somewhat distracted all afternoon while they had asked questions of the hands and tried, rather unsuccessfully, to make some sense of it. No one, it seemed, knew anything or at least they weren’t saying. The captain had been of no help, continually calling men to loosen sheets or set thingamagigs or whatever it was sailors did to fill their days. He had been incurious, merely shrugging his shoulders philosophically at the whole affair. Maybe this sort of thing happened often enough at sea, Inez wasn’t in a position to judge, certainly employers looking to save a fee, or enemies looking to remove a captain who rudely refused a bribe sometimes resorted to such tactics. “Are you with me, o noble patron?” she asked.