"I cannot climb the boat. Pain sliced into Gerald’s hand and his sword arm jerked. The man lingered. With a drawn cutlass in one hand and a cocked pistol in the other, Blueskin rushed up stairs. She's my mealticket. I am the cause of his ill-usage. Pole coolies came joggling along with bobbing blocks of jade—white jade, splashed and veined with translucent emerald green. He had chosen his time well. He swore when I tried to get it out with the ladle, and told me what it said. “You are the Sir John Ferringhall who has bought the Lyndmore estate, are you not?” she remarked. Below was an uninspiring street, a thoroughfare of boarding-houses and apartments.
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