“Couple of messages,” Patrick said, apparently with no other prelude on offer. “First—a shipment of goods and produce arrived this afternoon. Our market tables will be full tomorrow.” A cheer. Fists pounded the air. “But”—Patrick called, and the crowd silenced like a school of admonished children—“if we see the same chaos that ensued last month, some will go without. Do you hear me, Randerson?” Patrick looked over at a man sliding halfway down his stool in an attempt to melt into the floor. “If you start breakin’ the queue, Scottie will haul you out. Wait your fuckin’ turn!”
The man nodded into his drink. “Aye. Sorry, Pat,” he muttered.
“There was a hawker intercepted at the market earlier today. His wares were thrown into the canals. Anyone with information about the origins of the… blu
