The crowded taproom of the wharf-side tavern mocked Flint as he strolled across the floor and set his hat down on the scratched surface of the bar. A good crowd stood round the fire. Older men, fisher folks mainly, but no faces he recognized. It suited his purpose. The last thing he felt was amiable, and people here had been kind.

He'd had some tough times in his life. When his ma started taking up with men on account of his no-good daddy walking out on her years before. When ...