“No, just that it’s been almost a decade since they made the memorial. Took you a while to get here.”

It’s not proper criticism; there’s humour lurking in the corner of the man’s mouth, a rueful twist to his expression. But he gestures to the ferry and leads the way back onto it, boots crunching down the rocky shore. “I needed to go shopping at the market anyway, it’s not out of my way. Why would you come to the Gallows to ask for directions?”

His tone is light, affable. (And still prying for information.)