A Candle Stub Kept Dry
- Cheap passage
- Busier than the day
- Passage slackens
Maren Felse waited at the Tallowmarket landing with a candle stub in one fist and her last fifth of a drop in the other, the coin warm from being gripped. The rope hummed as the boatman called names off his list. House Via’s lamps came up orange through the fog, and she stepped aboard with her bundle of wool held to her chest, the candle still unlit.