So Mr. Lei was particular about his name.

“Lay,” he repeated, carefully this time, though he did not catch any emphasis on tones that Mr. Lei might have made.

He respected that.

“Zechariah Mire, Esquire. It rhymes with ‘choir’, ‘pyre’, ‘fire’, and not with with ‘rager’.”

All the more because his name was given written more often than verbally, and oh, was it a major pain in the ass to cure people of that mispronunciation.

Fuuuuck. The left side of the seat seemed to be poking into his very soul, located slightly off kilter of his left cheek. He shifted, then sucked his teeth. This was why he rarely invited guests.

Well, that and he hated guests.

“Just about,” Zechariah answered. “Mr. Benjamin was a lifelong sailor before he came into my employ.”

Honestly, he was hoping he could row for four without admitting out loud that that was his driving prayer.

“Mr. Longbottom a man of all trades.”

A teenager, his brother’s help, and someone who should probably not be running off to play pirate with Zechariah while Uriel was injured – but he suspected that part of the appeal.

“There was another man who wrote, but his name was smudged.”