They staggered the half dozen blocks down to the port. Colin was pleased to see that even Meghan and Roland were moving gingerly after the day and night in the saddle. They worked along the docks seeking transport to France.
Most were headed to Belgium, the shortest crossing, but it would mean days of riding once they’d crossed. While the others continued their search he stopped to admire a long trimaran. It reminded him of happy days on the Green Sea racing against the other brothers. Granted they used to run smaller boats fit for just two or three whereas this boat could easily need a crew of a dozen if she were racing.
“Bonjour,” one of the deckhands hailed him.
“Hello,” Colin didn’t speak French. Didn’t know it was still spoken.
“Pretty craft, eh?” The small man smiled at him with
