He turned back to the harbour, and walked to the empty pier. He waved to one of the workers to approach him. The man moved a few steps closer, then stopped, staring at his strange skin that the early morning sun made shine with an odd golden hue. There was mistrust in the man's eyes. His instincts told him he was looking at death, but Ambrogio's behaviour was polite enough.
Ambrogio smiled, and did not bother to pull the hood deeper over his head. He had to act as if his skin colour was nothing out of the ordinary. He pointed at the pier and sought a word from his memory.
"Ship," he said, "when...leave?"
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