A Word at Brindle Ford
- Cheap passage
- Busier than the day
- Passage slackens
At Brindle Ford the water came no higher than a stoker’s knee, and the Glare’s lamps sat on the far bank, watching the crossing. Sefton Mirrel took the toll from House Spider’s boatmen without looking up from his tally. Then he leaned in and told them, low, that the far sergeant had asked his name twice. Nobody answered him. The crew waded on with their lamps buttoned inside their coats.