She’d arrived during the night, while he slept in his new residence just two streets inland. Somehow, she’d slipped into her berth—bow out, ready for a new sortie—without waking him.
And steam came from the pier, shots of it intermittently escaping through relief valves. Cranes pivoted on her deck, men and ropes straining to get her cargo down onto solid ground. Whistles signaled once when a crate landed, twice when the ropes were free. And horses nodded in anticipation, exhaling steam of their own, glad to be part of this action.