Fog sweeps in over the bay. Moored boats cloaked in milky frost rock gently... those further away, completely lost in icy, silver-white air. Mournful, low horn sounds of large ships passing, invisibly toward the harbour or out to sea. Suddenly, from nowhere, a small red sail flits across the water. "Devil's daughter.." a man on the jetty beside me mutters beneath his breath, "there's always one."