{Katarina}
Festival paperwork was its own war.
Katarina was at her desk, practically buried in it. Wine contracts, lamp oil quotes, a permit for the long tables, and a strongly worded letter from a harbor councilwoman about whose street got the musicians' stage this year, all taking up way too much mental space.
She was halfway through approving the lantern order for the third-night swim when Enza knocked and handed her a folded letter, sealed with a smudged thumbprint of tar.
[Ooh, Rizzi?]
Katarina opened it.
Got your note. Crane crews and warehouse hands get the afternoon free, the whole quay's coming. Whatever you're up to, I don't want to know, just don't break my docks.
One more thing, since you like knowing things. The Sarrenzi box isn't the only one floating around. Word on my docks is the second chest got fenced down the coast, and the buyer was Petra Olcari. Yes, that Olcari. Thought you'd enjoy that. R.
