I traced the murder trail deeper into the docks, down to the fishmonger's hut. The moment I opened the door I realized something was wrong. Something smelled wrong about this guy from the start. Smelled trouble. Smelled fishy.

He didn't answer any of my questions, just stared at me from under his weary hat. I could swear that he was mocking me all the way, this old bastard. Not that I couldn't use a trick or two to loosen his tongue a little but there was something in his gaze told me that just because he looks quiet don't mean he is. Still waters run deep.

But there was something else that kept bugging me on my way back from this godforsaken hole. Did my mind play tricks on me or have I really seen something moving in a barrel behind the old man's back? After all, he's a fisherman alright but why he was blocking it from me so diligently? Was it a glimpse of fear on his smug face? Maybe I should come back there tonight, when rain would muffle the sounds of my lockpicks rattling at his door...

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