Hm. This idiot seemed easy to please. He hoped he had a lot of money and an inverse amount of sense. Those were his favorites over a barrel.

The fellow – a Mr. Edwin Lee – assured him once again that a sailor could sail. How did a sailor have clothing that nice? Perhaps he was a … cloth, sailor. Yes. No matter.

Edwin did manage to get a skeptical blink out of Zechariah with his blatant flattery. Truly? Did he mean that? … Of course he meant that. Zechariah had just extolled how easy this man’s job was, and he was confirming what he knew all along: Simon was an idi- ahem, that anyone could sail.

He relaxed just a fraction, but then the back of the chair bit into that single layer he had stripped down to. This caused him to straighten with an even more pinched expression.

“You are quite right, Mr. Lee. We meet at the north side of the beach, an hour before it begins.”