Mehmet forced a smile and turned the handkerchief down. He patted himself off, then grimaced when the smell stuck to his hands instead. He shuffled on over to the other side of the dock to run his hands through less-vomited in water.

“I should probably get to the bathhouse,” he said, then turned to face the … ruckus. “Hey!” he shouted, taking solid steps toward the conflict.

Then he saw a copper, and took a less confident step back. He wasn’t about to blacklist his own family over a stranger.