Thosar isn't able to tell much about the cloaked men that is not nakedly visible, but his gut tells him that these are probably the sorts of goons employed for physical power rather than subterfuge and are likely exactly who they present themselves as.
As though in answer, one of them yanks the burlap off a load sitting on the barge, revealing a few crates. The half-orc reaches over, lifts the lid of the nearest crate, and pulls out a ceramic jug. "Fuel oil," he announces. From his belt, he pulls a sealed wax tube. "Map," he says. He nods at another of the men, who produces from beneath the folds of his cloak a large green glass bottle sealed with a wax stopper. Peaseblossom flits about within, but seems otherwise unharmed.
"Hostage," the half-orc grins.