The smell hit them almost as soon as they arrived on the beach: a wave of fishiness, with undercurrents of decay and fermentation and salt. It got stronger as they approached. Damiskos tried to think what to say about it, but couldn’t come up with anything polite.
“Occasionally, when there’s a stiff wind, you get a whiff of that in the garden,” said Nione. “But only occasionally.”
“I suppose you wouldn’t be out in the garden much in a stiff wind,” said Damiskos.
“No,” said Nione, “that’s true.”
Phaia looked nauseous.
Inside, the factory was a model of efficiency, everything well-appointed and clean. There were outdoor tanks, a fermenting house, a smaller building where the finished sauce was bottled, and a warehouse which contained jars of sauce ready to ship, along with some wine and
