All Is Well

Your reported success brings the briefest smile to her salt-bitten face. She then, frowning, studies the Mirror Map on her desk. A single, simple line crosses the rippling silver. ”A scorenight, if the weather holds.”

You both make a pious gesture. {if A Heretic = 1} A sad but necessary bit of mummery. {endif} She nods and offers you a cup. You then go over a few navigational and administrative details. ”Well done,” she says and you empty your cup. ”Weigh anchors, then.”