It was late to be disturbed. Or perhaps it was damned early. Admittedly as a poet I’d regularly worked later, but it’s not often people hammer on the door to the barge at an hour before sunrise. Not only that but it was a civilised tide and Shena had commented as we went to bed that for once, both of us could get up at a reasonable hour. I belted an old cloak around me and opened the door, a poker nonchalantly in one hand.

Frankly the poker would have done no good. The bruiser blocking our door would probably have bent it without too much effort.

“You Tallis Steelyard?”

“Yes.” I tried to keep the hesitation out of my voice.”
“Mister Knuckles wants a word with you.”
When I was young, Mister Knuckles was perhaps the leading independent enforcer in Port Naain. There were others, perhaps…