for what they took. It is a devil's bargain.
If a gull should strike the casement of a house, a member of that household out at sea is in mortal peril.
When seagulls fly inland, a storm is brewing out at sea. But if they fly out to sea or rest upon the sand of the shore, the weather is set to be fair.
Mortals fear to look a seagull in the eye, for if they do the gull will know them and remember them. And should that mortal then ever venture to swim in the sea or fall from a ship into the waves, they will be at the mercy of that gull. It will peck out their eyes and leave them blinded and helpless to their fate.
For like the sea itself, gulls show no mercy to mortals who are foolish enough to venture into their kingdom.
The Mandrake's Herbal
The Sea Is Coming
Raffe stepped from the boat on to the island that was Yarmouth. He slid a coin into the palm of the boatman, who appraised it carefully before hiding it among his clothes. Shivering in the grey dawn light, he picked his way along the slippery wooden jetty that jutted out into Breydon Water, where the three great rivers surged into the salt water of the estuary. The gravel beneath Raffe's feet sparkled with silver fish scales. They were everywhere, dried and blowing in the wind, heaping in tiny transparent drifts like snow against the buildings.
He made for the Rows stretched out on either side of him, a hundred or so alleys running parallel to one another down to the open sea. He chose one at random and edged down it; the passage was so narrow that in places he could have touched the walls on either side. An open sewer ran down the middle, like the vein on the back of a shrimp, but the sharp salt breeze funnelling through it mercifully blew away much of the stench of excrement and rotting food, leaving only the overpowering smell of fish which clung to the tarred wood of the buildings like a second skin.
Many of the dwellings also served as shops or workshops, their goods spilling out into the narrow street to make space for the day's work in the tiny rooms. Dotted between the tiny wooden houses were small courtyards where he glimpsed women cooking over open fires, weaving creels or pounding linen in their wash tubs. Their fingers never once paused in their labour, nor did their tongues cease from chattering to their neighbours, but their sharp eyes missed nothing. Raffe kept a firm hand on his purse as he was jostled backwards and forwards, for ports were notorious for the rogues they attracted.
He breathed easier when he finally burst from the end of the Row and found himself on the seashore. There was no less activity here. Everywhere as far as the eye could see along the sand, men were busy making or repairing boats, or striding past with baskets of fish, or unloading bales, kegs and boxes on the precarious wooden jetties that jutted out into the waves. And beyond them in the grey sea, the great sailing ships rolled at anchor, while tiny shoreboats plied back and forth among them like shoals of sardines among whales.
Raffe tramped half the length of the beach looking for the Dragon's Breath, but it was impossible to pick out one vessel among all the ships out there. He enquired of a few of the men, but each shook his head, too many boats coming and going.
'Toll house.' One fisherman jerked his head towards the far end of the shore. 'They keep tallies of all ships, so as they can collect the toll.'
Raffe found the wooden building easily enough, but finding someone to speak to was another matter. He made his way up the outside steps to a square room, crammed with small tables and crowded with merchants and ships' captains shouting and waving rolls of parchments heavy with wax seals. Eventually, Raffe managed to force his way through the throng and by sheer dint of grabbing hold of a man bodily, managed to get his attention.
'Can you tell me if the Dragon's Breath has put in here?'
The harassed-looking clerk gave a squeak of laughter at the sound of Raffe's high-pitched voice, but quickly straightened his face and wearily gestured towards a great stack of parchments on his table, rolling his eyes. Raffe slipped a silver coin into his palm.
'Came in yesterday,'