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When Secundus rose, he could see the waterfront not far ahead.It was on an island, separated from the city, with the harbor facing inward.The old stone buildings formed a semicircle enclosing the harbor, and he was coming up from behind.In the pale light he could see the hundreds of shacks, shanties, and lean-tos that crowded between the wall and the water, and in fact many were built raised up from the water.He smelled the stink of it already, the various stenches of human waste, rotting fish and offal, cheap beer.He thought about going around, but it was a long way and he was tired of rowing, so he passed as noiselessly as possible through the stilts and ladders of the outer houses.He’d been to the shantytown before, when he was fifteen, curious to see the poorest and most dangerous part of the city and attracted by its reputed vices.He didn’t remember it being this silent — even at night there was usually drunken singing, screams, fighting.Now it was as still as the village he’d taken the boat from.Had the people here also fled Umbriel’s hosts?
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He slowed his approach, squinting to make out if anyone was on the shore.The boat rocked, gently, then more forcefully.
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He looked back to see what he’d bumped and saw a hand gripping the hull.For an instant he just stared at it, but then it was joined by another, and another, as decaying limbs rose from the water and gripped the gunnels.With a shout he drew his sword and began chopping at them.They came off easily, but he felt the boat rise and realized there were more of them — many more — beneath, lifting the vessel.He leaned over and tried to cut at them, but he couldn’t get a good angle, and the boat continued to ascend as its bearers took it ashore.