Aeran is suddenly aware of the rapid pounding of feet sounding from the dock boards as someone approaches at a run.  "Coming through-- coming through!" A lean-bodied young man, his head bound in a waterlogged towel in the fashion of some devotees to Fharlanghn have adopted in this land.  "Mistress!" he calls aloud, "I have news!"  The young man, Fahsen, frequently works on her crew to facilitate shipping arrangements, crew fluctuations, accommodations and the like-- though in his teens, the young man seems to unwaveringly sense changes in the city as if he had his finger on its pulse.  "A ship just arrived-- unscheduled, and bearing minimal cargo.  Travelers--"  he gulps and tries to regain control of his breath, "--travelers only.   Conscripted service, but not royal.  Not tourists... they had no guards."  He pants still, starting up at the tall woman's face, and shakes his head for emphasis.  Then, his eyes glint giddily and his teeth flash in a knowing smile.  "Something different about them.  The cargo was minimal, and the dock hands said they'd made more on this trip than any before.  The ship will stay at harbor-- empty but for supplies-- for<em>two fortnights</em>."<br/><br/>Grinning madly, he waits for her to make her assumptions.  "Only four travelers.  Three with blades like reaping scythes, and one they say never left his cabin-- never even saw his face!"  The young man grins and turns his gaze back to the shoreline, as if expectantly.  "Who the hell can afford passage on an empty ship, and then to keep the thing sitting like an empty bucket for four weeks?  Just paying the crew to whore it up and get fat the whole while?"<br/><br/>***<br/><br/>The breeze was mild respite in the direct sun, but as Ajax and Davor enter the shade of the palm-thatched deck, the relief is immense.  The porch on this shady side of the structure is not entirely crowded, and the ruckus inside is more cheerful than usual with the arrival of a giddy and well-paid crew.  The 'welcome girls' from Madame Firth's down the row have evidently made their way here with the expedient awareness of flies to a fresh heap of elephant shit, and the crew inside is receiving bawdy flirtations before half the men have even received their first tankards.  A pair of weather-worn benches sit against the near wall, and if the noise from inside is any indication, this bench is the best place to be.<br/><br/><div class="floatleft">(http://imgur.com/f0b9l.jpg)</div>A young woman in a leather apron makes her way along the sand just below where they sit on the porch, and they can tell from her apparent exhaustion and steady determination that she's obviously quite tired, but still trying to work.  When she makes her way up the plank stairs just a few seconds after Ajax and Davor have ascended them, there's a pang of frustration on her face at all the noise.  "Oh, hells another crew..." she then turns her attention to Ajax and Davor-- "Look, boys, I--"  they can tell from her familiarity and rush that she works there, although, evidently, she's just arrived tired from some other task.<br/><br/>They see how she is about to tell them that orders will be taken inside only, but after a look into both their eyes, she immediately seems to recognize their distinction from the crew within.  It's not for their apparent wealth-- which, by comparison to the average resident of this fort town, is considerable-- but rather she is somehow sympathetic, or perhaps receptive, to men who seem to have a civil air about them.  "I'm sorry.  It looks a mess in there... it'll be a fight getting your orders in, so if you'd like I can wait on you now."  They can see that the blond woman's shirt is damp with fresh sweat and the leather soaked at the edges.  "I see you've brought your drink," she tips her head indicative of the bottle they carry, "and I'll bring cups, but I'm sure you know that only patrons are allowed on the porch, so what else will it be?"