He ignored them. All of them. His step, measured and purposeless, carried him past the main quay. Past the legitimate businesses. Past the clean ships and the honest sailors. Toward the back dock.
The back dock, the part of the harbor that was not on any map, was where the criminal element operated. The buildings, old and crumbling, leaned against each other. The alleyways, narrow and dark, were the domain of smugglers and thieves. The people, the men and women who lingered in doorways and on corners, were the dregs.
They looked at him. The 'what-is-a-nobleman-doing-here' looks that were also the 'is-he-lost' questions. One of them, a bulky man with a scar across his face, approached. The 'he-looks-like-easy-money' assessment that was also the 'I-will-rob-him' intention.
The man stepped forward. His body, the large and muscled frame, was meant to intimidate. His hand, which had been at his side, rose. The 'give-me-your-money' gesture that was also the 'or-I-will-hurt-you' threat.
