“Sure.”

It sounds, on the surface, enough like mild agreement about the Maker. It’s a fairly short ride back on the ferry for them, salt-scented sea-breezes ruffling their hair, not a lot of people headed either way today — it’s a surprisingly cold spring morning — and the Vint doesn’t seem disposed to introduce himself, or to offer up more information than strictly necessary.

What he does say, though, to cut the silence as they step off again in Lowtown harbor: “Watch out for the urchins. They’d have taken a copper to show you the way, then probably still pick your pocket after.”