A barely visible image, translucent and black in the shadowy room, leans forward. A vision of death in robes and chains, it says, "Lady's in, gentlemen. Ante up," as it deals out a hand of cards to Rae and four unoccupied chairs.

(6 of Hearts, 6 of Spades, Jack of Diamonds, 8 of Spades, 5 of Clubs)

As Rae sings below, on the upper deck, Lorenzo sees a frog dancing on its hind legs. Not a grippli or a bullywug or a grund. Just a regular frog.

There is a hollow, echoey sound like deep breathing filling the ship in answer to Rae's call. This is followed immediately by Ragtime music and the sounds of people talking and gambling, as if the deck was full of party-going patrons, although it remains dark and empty.

Below the water, the current is strangely harsh for the otherwise steady flow of the river, but nothing out-of-the-ordinary. It continues to get murkier and harder to see through as he goes along.

Above, Rae sees thick red mists start to gather on the waters, flowing from different directions in complete defiance of the wind.

"Ah, yes, a pitchfork," the waiter says, somewhat puzzled that he has to explain. "It's a farming implement comprised of long, pointed tongs on the end of a pole. Used for... pitching hay." He makes a stabbing-and-tossing gesture, still trying to keep his passively mysterious air. "Often used by angry mobs because it's the closest thing to a weapon many of the rural poor possess. It, um... isn't a terribly likely choice of mob gear for an urban area like this, but the stereotype stands."

The water is cold and a bit murky for a freshwater river, but nothing compared to the swampy areas Lorenzo is used to. This close to the docks, nothing unusual stands out to him immediately.