The walk back to the Fisher Mare was shorter than he remembered. All the hairs were closed for the fast approaching winter. Whatever ships had been in for refitting and restocking had left with the last of the Black Fleet, so all the bridges were down. The only harbours now open were the commercial ones at the port. Thankfully, they didn't have to exit their apartments via the brothel, but that was small comfort to Handy in the biting chill of the morning wind. He still drew a lot of looks, even without his intimidating armour on, although now they were more of curiosity than caution. It was like seeing a particularly odd out-of-towner walking down your street rather than some dangerous foreigner or some mythological monster who decided to come back from the dead. Despite any sane person finding this change of attitude to be desirable, Handy found it unnerving, especially considering he didn't actually take any action to change their minds. His suspicion began to stir. Sure, maybe it was because people here were just reasonable folk, or they were just jaded and cynical and got used to the idea of him hanging around their little stretch of coastline a lot faster than most would. There were certainly enough shady characters here to make the latter possibility more likely. Still…