Kevel slung his leg over the crossjack yard and peered into the fog. It was thick as cream. He could see nothing.
The Master called up from the deck, the disbelief evident in his voice. “Well? What do you make?”
“Nothing but the damned fog.”
Kevel was confident in his reckoning. He could feel the loom of the land, though none yet could smell it.
And then, as though Neptune himself commanded it, the fog vanished in an instant. The glittering harbor was full of strange craft none aboard had ever seen the like of before. They had no sails.