Bless the Maker. How exceedingly convenient. Byerly wonders if that's truly the case, or if the old ferryman is simply clever enough to know that when the erstwhile Head of Diplomacy shows up with a captive who looks to be on the edge of tears, that privacy is probably desired.

"You've done your work admirably, men," Byerly says, nodding to the two of them and pressing a pouch into the closer man's palm. "Share this between you, and with your comrades - " And then a cheeky wink - "If you're feeling generous. Seems to me you did most of the work, eh? Come on, lad," By says, and grips Octavius by the upper arm, and pulls him into the ferry.

The laborers don't seem too heartbroken to be spared the rocking voyage across the sound - especially since they've some high-quality tobacco to enjoy, and especially since they've been barred from the really satisfying work of cracking skulls - and let them go. By arranges Octavius in a seat, though he doesn't untie his hands; instead, he shifts into his own seat, stretched out across from the boy, long legs sticking into his personal space.

His manner now is considerably less theatrical. None of that prior outrage or righteousness. Instead, he's quite drolly amused, eyeing his captive with hooded eyes and a crooked smile.

"Do you know Benedict Artemaeus?" is his opening question.