“I’ll never forget the first time I met you,” said Bergon, “when they dropped me down beside you on the galley bench. For a moment you frightened me more than the Roknari did.” Cazaril grinned. “What, just because I was a scaly, scabbed, burnt scarecrow, hairy and stinking?” Bergon grinned back. “Something like that,” he admitted sheepishly. “But then you smiled, and said Good evening, young sir, for all the world as if you were inviting me to share a tavern bench and not a rowing bench.”
