On reflection, there are better hiding places than a pile of sailcloth[…] attached to a mast[…]
It's a long swim back to dry land through black waters. And something cold and clammy just brushed against your legs.
A dock in a sewer-mouth underneath the spires of the University.[…]
A black iron door with three locks, which opens to reveal a passageway[…]
From your hiding place amongst the barrels you can't see where it leads. Perhaps it's better that way.
