“Last minute scramble,” Jacques said, drawing his attention away from the ships. The stallion leant against an unlit metal lamp post as he surveyed the various roads and streets of the merchant’s quarter. The chill in the air was brisk, and there was the faintest hint of fog on the horizon out seawards. Seagulls called far above them. “Most of those houses are empty. The merchants that don’t already live here with their families use them as quarters for themselves and their crew. Most that are lollygagging are hoping to score a few last minute deals with their more desperate competitors who don’t want to leave this far north empty-handed.”