[Nuranar]

Calnan came too very slowly, very fuzzily this time. Instinctively he lay still, giving his mind time to clear. When it didn't, he turned to his other senses. He was lying on his back on something lumpy but very hard; beneath his hand he felt stone. It was cool, and he felt a slight breeze through his hair. It was nearly silent...except for someone singing softly, quite close by. Forcing his brain to calculate, he decided it must be very early in the morning, and he was lying in the street.

That's not a good idea, he thought, although he couldn't remember why. He rolled over on his side and sat up, deciding that if the singer meant trouble the fellow had already waited a bit; besides, his mind wouldn't deal with it any better in the foreseeable future anyway. Grimacing with the vicious throbbing in his head, Calnan tried to take in the situation and saw only a gloomy blur.

Forcing his eyes to focus in the predawn dimness, he saw Devon and Callath sprawled near him. The singer was sitting on a doorstep and regarding them with interest, but presenting no immediate threat.

Devon groaned even as he looked, then opened his eyes and groaned again. Delicately feeling a bloody knot on his head, he sat up and gazed dully into the distance.

"This is a nice mess. A darn fine mess!"

Calnan's brow wrinkled in mild perplexity. "Ah, um?" he inquired politely. Devon just glowered at him, so Calnan tried to propitiate with an offering. "Here, use this for your head, to clean off the blood," he said, offering his handkerchief.

Devon snorted. "Speak for yourself! You look like a hard night in a waterfront tavern." He turned to Callath, who was still unconscious.

Calnan cautiously felt his own face. In addition to the wound on the temple, there was a cut on his cheek that had bleed pretty freely, as evidenced by the blood on his shirt collar. This was something he could only see by squinting, an action of which his headache heartily disapproved.

Devon had found a paper pinned to Callath's jacket. He shoved it in front of Calnan's nose. We are watching. "Now do you see?" he demanded of Calnan.

"Oh?" said that young man. "OH!" The momentous events of the previous day crashed back into his head. The carriage, Doran, a ship, war at sea - and Adeline! Not here, with them, but there - with the corsairs!

"Sorry, Devon - I kind of, couldn't remember," he said lamely. Repeated blows to the head tend to have that effect.

Devon was only mildly irritated by his friend's erstwhile obtuseness. "Well there he is - at least one of them!" he continued, jerking his head at their solitary spectator.

Callath stirred and looked up blearily at them. "So wha' now?" he mumbled.

Calnan only just refrained from shaking his head in an effort to clear it. Don't want to shake anything loose, now. Contenting himself with a good eye-rub, he said, "We need to get out the street, that's what. We're fair game for any rabid corsair types. And then we need to find a captain."

"Captain? I thought we needed a ship first," Callath asked, rising unsteadily.

"If we find a good captain, he'll know how to find a ship. Plus he'll probably be more, um, cheerful about this scheme if he picks it instead of us. Right, Devon?"

The ambassador's son nodded in agreement. Looks like his head's all right, Calnan thought resentfully. "Of course. Most of us know nothing about ships."

Calnan stood up carefully and looked around in the fast-growing light. "Well then. I suggest we move on." He glanced at Devon. "So where would you go to find a good captain?"