The following afternoon, wind swept across the harbour, carrying the scent of salt and wet timber.
"I am late!"
Lachlan exhaled a white mist, dragging his leather-bound trunk across the wooden planks of the pier. When he caught sight of the large merchant vessel still at the dock with a noisy crowd gathered near it, he breathed a small sigh of relief.
As he drew closer, however, he heard the sharp voice of a merchant. "What do you mean we aren't departing?!" gesturing furiously at the stacks of crates left sitting in the cold. "I paid a premium for passage on this ship!"
A dockworker wiped his hands with a rag and sneered, "Unless you fancy a private tour of the ocean floor, no one's setting foot on this ship for the next three weeks or a month. There are massive holes clean through the lower hull and water's pouring into it."
"A month?!" the passengers began to grumble.
Lachlan stopped, leaning his weight against the handle of his trunk, and let out a long, weary sigh.
