"I'm not in the City Guard," he said, his inflection playful. There were many days he thanked the Maker. It was headache enough dealing with criminal mages. If he had to make every crime or possible criminal connection in Kirkwall his business, he thought he might just lose his mind.

"It's often boring in the Gallows. The times that it isn't make you really appreciate the times that it is." He laughed at the mental image of people yelling "doglord" when Hawke was out and about with the dog. "That's perfect. I doubt they recognize the irony."

He didn't try to speak again until he had the traps filled and thrown overboard. They all had air filled bladders tied to them on thin ropes to mark where they came to rest in the muddy bottom. Once the pot was closed and the putty knife scraped against the side below the water line, the stench faded. "This sounds morbid, but my bet would be people who noticed crabs swarming carcasses or corpses. Someone made the leap, and people have been using rancid fat ever since."

He tucked the bait pot away with the knife and dug out a couple of bottles of ale from his nearby pack. Turning, he offered one to her. "This should help clear the rest of the smell."