Swords of the SerpentineAs you come around the curve of the Serpentine river, the scent of the open sea is replaced by the stench of low tide, of boat tar, of rare spices spilled from a smugglers ship; of cooking smoke and human waste. Bells ring out across the water and echo like the song of ghosts, loud enough to almost drown out the chanted prayers of your ships rowers. You round the bend past the lower fort and there she is: the great city of Eversink, sprawled out on