Chap. 344 The Watchers at the Wharf

Chap. 344 The Watchers at the Wharf

(Early morning, the same day:)

“The Sea Treader is that tub on the east wharf, sir,” the boy with the wagon said. “She’s slow as can be, and you’ll know why when you get downwind of her,” he said, his eyes laughing.

“Better than that, lad, I can smell it from here. I can see people shoveling manure into a wagon on the deck? Am I seeing that right?”

“Yes, sir. The ship was built specifically to transport beasts. They have a lellivator, the beast walks up the ramp into a pen and it’s lowered into the hold. It gets moved to the aft end on rails, and a clean pen sent back up. Just like that. And when it reaches port and unloads, then the farmers come in with their manure wagons and scrape it out and then they’re clean for the next load!”

Not sure what a lellivator is, but I’ll figure it out, he thought.

“Are you a herdsman?”

“No sir, I just, um, just work here at the port. Mostly I love the Treader because I love the beasts, horses most of all. Like yours.” He looked enviously at Lizard’s team. “May I pet them?”

“Of course.”

The boy went to the bay riding horse behind the caravan.

“What’s his name?” he asked, scritching the bay’s shoulder. The horse responded with a gently turned head, wanting to reciprocate. But Lizard had secured him to the back of the caravan.

“He doesn’t have one. I just bought him.”

“I’d love to have a horse,” the boy said, wistfully.

“Can you ride?”

The boy dropped his eyes. “Um, no. Oh, I’ve been on one a couple times but I won’t claim to be able to really ride. I’ve spent my whole life doing, oh, um, things like working a farm, or like now, toting people’s things to or from the ship. So I just draw horses and pretend they’re real.”

A hard life, he thought-a kid having to forestall his dreams to survive. Somehow I know that life.

“I’d like to see some of your drawings sometime.”

“Really?” the boy’s eye’s lit up. “Most folks think I’m silly for drawing, so I usually don’t let on what I’m doing. The hardest part is getting paper, I like paper, but it’s a lot of money and I, um..”

“Don’t have a mark to your name, so you use a slate.”

“Yes. I mean sometimes I have money, sometimes people give me a little when I move their baggage or bundles, like yours. But most times, people don’t treat me as if I’m human. I’m just this drudge off of one of the ships.”

“And you’re not?”

“No, sir.” His expression told him not to press any further. The boy was clean but thin, looking like every other Holdless kid, working at anything to keep his family fed.

Lizard remembered the box of colored pencils and blank notebooks K’ndar had given him, specifically for poor children.

“Would you like a box of colored pencils, and a notebook? A paper notebook?”

The boy gasped, but then he dropped his eyes.

“I don’t, um, I bet they cost a lot.”

“Don’t be a fool, lad, they’re a gift from a friend of mine, a dragonrider. What’s your name?”

“Here, they call me Hey Porter. But my milk name is Kim.”

“Hey? Porter? Two names?”

“No, sir. It’s Hey, Porter, like “Hey, porter, take this baggage to that ship.”

Lizard climbed up into his caravan, feeling his back twinge and his knees crackle. Crunch, curled up in his spot by the door, greeted him as if he’d been gone for months. I am getting old for the road, he thought, then shoved that thought away. I’ve lived this way for too many years. He dug out a notebook and a box of pencils and climbed back down.

“Are those your fire lizards?” Kim said, looking at the bronze and the gold perched atop the caravan. A brown fire lizard was ogling the gold, kept at a safe distance by the glares of the bronze. He’s obviously a tamed one, Lizard thought.

“Just the gold and the bronze. I don’t know who the brown one looks to, he’s not mine.”

“They’re beautiful. The brown one came from that tall man standing with those three men, this side of the gate. He came off the Stella Maris this morning, no baggage other than his backpack. The three with him, they’re locals, but I don’t know their names. They’ve been watching everyone coming off the ships.”

Something’s not right about them, he thought.

“Here, Kim.” He handed the notebook and box to the boy. The boy’s face was a mix of disbelief, joy, and even avarice, to be replaced with gratefulness. He gently opened the box to see a rainbow of colors.

“They’re free?” he said, not believing his luck.

“Aye.”

If I live till I’m a hundred, I’ll never forget that expression, Lizard thought. How cheap it is to bring such joy and how priceless is the result.

“Can you draw?”

“Not a straight line, lad,” Lizard said, chuckling, “I admire anyone who can. It takes talent.”

“I never heard it called that. I just like to draw horses and dream of having one. Or a bunch. A herd. I want a chestnut, a liver chestnut with a flaxen mane and tail. And a dark bay, one so dark he’s black. Not that this bay is bad, no, he’s pretty.”

“And gentle. He’s what we call a ‘schoolmaster’. He’s taught dozens of kids to ride. And, Kim, it’s okay to dream. Dreaming leads to goals, and goals lead to reality.”

He considered putting the boy up on the bay gelding, now, but he realized the boy was working and didn’t have the time. Nor do I, he thought. I want to get through Southern Hold as soon as I can. Three days, at the fastest.

“Let’s get my bundles to the Sea Treader, Kim, and next time I’m through here, you can show me a drawing, and I’ll let you ride one of my horses.”

Kim tucked the notebook and pencil box into his shirt. “Thank you. I’d like that,” he said, bashfully. “Um, sir, what is your name?”

Lizard grinned, wickedly. “Hey, Trader.” The boy took a moment to get it, then laughed. In a conspiratorial whisper, Lizard said, “My professional name is Fire Lizard Man. Only my friends are allowed to call me Lizard.”

The lad’s face twisted. “Am I your friend?”

“Would I have told you if you weren’t? Yes. Call me Lizard. But not so other people hear, okay?”

The boy smiled. ” Yes sir. Thank you, Fir..Lizard.” He turned and with practiced ease, loaded the heavy bundles onto the wagon. Lizard felt a dismaying sense of inability. I AM getting old. It took all my strength to get them onto the back end of the caravan, and he tosses it like it was a bale of feathers.

I used to be that strong, he thought. What happened?

“Need a hand?” he asked, hoping the answer would be no, but his male ego, such as it was, forbid him to not at least pretend he could match the boy.

“No, sir. I’ve done this a time or two. I know just how to load my wagon so that it’s easy.” He pushed the loaded cart through a crowd of disembarking passengers up to the gate, where a man standing next to a sign that said “Port Authority” stopped him.

“You’re shipping?”

“Aye,” Lizard said, “On the Sea Treader.”

“She’s the last ship on the east wharf, your nose will tell you which ship. They’re cleaning her out now before she sails on the tide,” the man said. “You, Porter, don’t let him get lost.”

Kim laughed. “Small chance with just two ships, right now.”

Lizard noticed there were no other porters with a wagon. Odd, but this wasn’t a recognized port. Still, there were plenty of people using it.

Some of the passengers were leading horses, that all seemed only too happy to get off the ship.

“See that big crate, Lizard? It’s on the lellivator. The crate had horses in it, their pee and shit go into a tray underneath it. Right soon the wagon will be full up, they’ll pull it away and the crate will be reloaded with beasts. See the flock of sheep in that pen on the wharf? They’ll be herded up the ramp into the crate and then the lellivator goes down into the hold. It rests on rails, and gets moved to where the loadmaster thinks it will ride best, and then do the whole thing over again with more beasts.”

“Fascinating. Someone did a whole lot of thinking. I’ve shipped my team and wagon and it’s always been sling loading the horses. They don’t like it, not at all, and sometimes a sling breaks and an animal either breaks a leg or drowns. This way makes a lot more sense.”

“Oh, no..” the boy moaned, his heart twinging at the thought.

He unloaded Lizard’s two large bundles at the foot of a loading ramp, at the end of a line of other cargo awaiting stowing. A small placard said “20” on the wharf bolster.

A well dressed, well fed passenger walked up to the boy and said, “Hey, Porter! I’ve got a gigantic trunk that needs portage. It’s to the right of the gate, where Lord Holder Toric’s men are watching it. I’m a cotholder of Lord Toric.”

Lizard caught the boy’s eye and grinned.

“I’ll fetch it in a moment, sir, soon as I finish business with this trader,” Kim said, in a professional tone.

Lizard withdrew a coin from his pocket. His fingers told him immediately what denomination it was, and he really didn’t care. He handed it to Kim.

“Thank you, lad, for the service.”

The boy gulped, but didn’t let the passenger see his surprise.

“Thank you, sir.”

The passenger gawped at the coin, then at Kim.

“A mark? You charge a mark?”

Before Kim could respond, Lizard grasped the man’s arm and turned him so that his back was to the lad. He motioned for Kim to move off.

“Hush, you dolt!” he hissed, in a strong Northern accent, “You want him to hear? A mark for a heavy wagon load is a bargain where I’m from! You want him to double his price?”

The man shook his head, astonished. “Oh. Uh, no! Of course not, I was just, well, um, thank you. I had no idea.”

Kim turned to look back and caught Lizard’s eye over the man’s shoulder. He grinned.

Lizard winked. That’s how you do business, lad, he thought.

A man with a clipboard met him at the end of the line of cargo.

“You’re shipping these two bundles, sor?”

“Aye.”

The man handed him the clipboard and a pencil. “‘You’ll be shipper number twenty. Soon as the crew finishes cleaning the hold, we’ll start stowing. Your cargo will be separate from the animals, not to worry about it getting stinked up.

Cap’n’s got a new system, y’see, I’ll give you a chit ‘stead of a bill o’ lading, but you’re more’n welcome to look at the bill. What’s in the bundles?”

“Tanned sheepskins, from Western Hold. They’re good skins. Shall I open them for your inspection?”

“Nay, sor, not necessary, I can see you’re good for your word. And I sees you properly tagged it with the name of the man what’s picking it up.”

“Aye, I’ve shipped things a time or two,” Lizard said, “Just never from this port.” He noticed the man’s left hand was missing. He scanned the bill of lading, found the first empty line, number 20, and wrote in “2 bundles tanned sheepskins, prepaid. Shipper FLM.”

He felt the familiar twinge of misgiving in his gut, the one that always pinged whenever he put down his name on something as official as a bill of lading. I treasure my anonymity, he thought, but cargo shippers rightly expect to be able to pin names to shipments, just in case someone was lying about the contents. It used to be a steward opened every bit of cargo, memorized every item that was shipped, every name, every face. Paper had changed all that.

The steward handed him a small tag with the number 20 on it and the name of the ship.

“What an amazing invention, paper, eh?” he said, handing the clipboard back to the steward. The steward fumbled with it, swearing at his inability to manage three things with just one hand.

“It’s bettern’s skins, smells much better, but paper, it’s useless when it’s wet. And we allus get wet at sea. Lately, you here in Southern grow a lot of papergrass, shipping it north in greater quantities alla time. We have to pack it extra dry, makes for a lot more work, but also makes for good business, you know? And we get the residue they call it, nice dry stuff that can’t be made into paper. Can’t beat the price, it’s free!”

“And you use it for what?”

“Bedding in the shipping pens for the beasts. Coming or going, it’s quiet cargo that don’t shift and smells nice. If the beasts eat it,that’s okay, it’s harmless and gives the beasts something to ease their nerves. ‘Cept for pigs, they won’t eat it. Cap’n won’t allow one aboard, not after one old boar broke loose. Come right through the planks on the crate. Bloody monster had a hump up to your navel and tusks as long as your palm. Oh, shards, what a wreck that was, he shat all over, opened up one man’s leg when he jumped on the beast’s back with a rope. Six of us trying to corner him and he had us all cowed. He finally busted his way through the loading bulwark, fell into the sea and drowned hisself. We was all happy to see that! Nasty creatures, pigs. Don’t know why they was ever brought over from Earth.”

The steward dropped the pencil.

“Shards,” he swore. Lizard bent down to pick it up. “How did you lose the hand?” he asked as he handed it back. The stump end of the man’s arm was still fairly pink. Someone had done a neat job of sewing up the end.

“Got it hung up in a rope when we was replacing a broke yard at sea. The block broke, the rope wrapped around my wrist, then the yard hit me in the head, knocked me cold. I’m told the sail wrapped around me in the wind and me, the yard and the sail all dangling over the deck spinning like a weaver’s spindle whorl. The only thing keeping me in the air was my wrist…” He grimaced.

Lizard cringed, his stomach lurching.”Oh, shards.”

“Me Cap’n, he designed this ship for two things, beasts and dragons. See the aft end? She’s wide enough for a dragon, a blue at the biggest, to land. That’s how I got sent to Healer Hall, I don’t remember the dragon ride, but them folks saved me life. My shoulder will always hurt, and I still have nightmares. Only the ship’s cat, he knows when I’m fretting, and he’ll bunk up with me when I’m off watch and purr til I’m asleep.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to dredge up bad memories.”

“No matter, sor. It’s over and done with, and life goes on, aye?”

He shook his head at the memory of the agony. “I can’t work the tops like I used to. Instead of putting me ashore, Cap’n made me steward, for which I’m forever grateful. I don’t like t’ job, ever shipper thinks I’m skinning (stealing) from them, and ciphering (math) weren’t never my strong point, but it’s better’n staying ashore for the rest of me life. Spent me whole life on a ship, I can’t walk right on land. Don’t know how you landlubbers do it. By the way, your charge be a mark, sor.”

“You’re not skinning me, are you?” Lizard said with a grin. The steward paused, then, realizing it was a joke, said, “Shards, you’re smarter than you look.”

He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a worn mark, handing it to the steward. The pencil slipped from his fingers. Lizard picked it up and held it.

“Blast this,” he swore. He turned the coin over and over in the early morning sunlight. “What Hold it’s from?” the steward said, “It’s all worn to a nubbin, and me eyes are all fogged up. Everthing’s yellow. The Healers told me I has catracks. I don’t understand what cats got to do with it, our ships cat ain’t never messed with me eyes. Maybe it’s because he’s yellow? I asked her and she said it were damage from violent light. Don’t make any sense, light ain’t violent.” He shook his head. “I just don’t understand medicine.”

Lizard shrugged, vowing to ask the next healer he met what made light violent.

“Yes, I hear that. I haven’t heard of violent light. Anyway, the mark is from Southern Hold. You can still see Toric’s stamp.”

The steward rubbed a worn thumb over it. “Aye, I can feel the carving. Now, beware, trader, he’s Lord Holder Toric. For whatever reason, ‘is men is here today, all on horseback and looking ugly. This ain’t Hold lands, so they got no jurisdiction about what you say. Even so, they’ll give you a hard time iffen you don’t mention Toric without “due respect.” He glanced over his shoulder and then said in a conspiratorial whisper, “Not that he gives any one respect in return.”

Lizard nodded. “So I’ve learned. The hard way. This is the first time I’ve shipped from this port. It’s new, right?”

“Aye,you can still smell the fresh lumber on the wharf. Dragons brought it all in! It’s wider than most, it were designed to accommodate dragons landing, there at the end. But much of it be natural jetty, you see where the ships are moored? It’s all been left by the ancients, I think, sometime in the past, someone piled an awful lot of rock, this flat stuff? to lengthen it out into the sea far enough to allow deep sea ships to moor. How they did it, sor, is beyond my little brain.

It’s a small harbor, aye, just enough for two wharves, but there’s plenty o’ sea room ‘neath your keel. We’ve even seen shipfish here. All the lads what built this wharf had to add was bolsters and bulwarks.”

“And Toric built it?”

“Nay, sir, no. You know as well as I do Toric’s banned all dragons from his Hold. No, this port were built by dragonriders. Aye! It’s a new Weyr, they call it Coastal Weyr! The harbormaster, ‘e were ship bred and Impressed and rode his dragon with Southern Weyr. Then Toric banished them, apparently they nomaded around for more’n a Turn, ‘specially after Thread stopped falling. Finally they decide this be dragonlands and we be dragonriders.

So the Southern Weyr, it broke up, but most of ’em were born here so they all come back. There was hundreds of huge trees cast up after the fireball’s soonamees hit this coast, and so some bright spark said, let’s build a wharf with it and make a living that way. So they toted all them trees to Singing Water Hold’s mill, carved them up, some were bloody enormous, took two bronzes to carry just one, and shipped the wood back and built the wharf. Nice thing is if us seafolk pitch in the help maintain the wharf, we get a discount to put in.”

“Are you obligated to do maintenance?”

“Nay, sir, it’s all voluntary. Them that don’t want to, get charged full rate for moorage, stores, that sort o’ thing. Some just don’t figure it out. That ship over on the western wharf? She’s the Stella Maris.

They can’t be seen doing what they call landlubber work. So harbormaster charges them full rate, and more iffen they make a mess of things. Which they do on a routine basis. They’re a strange ship, sor, used to be they was raiders but their Cap’n, he wants to clean up his ship’s reputation, so he keeps his thumb hard on his crew. Which can’t be easy.

You notice there’s no place to eat or drink? Harbormaster, first thing said no alcohol and take your fighting off my wharf. It’s made for a peaceful port, because some crews, once they hit port, all they want to do is go ashore to fight or get drunk. I can’t stand drunks, sor, I’d sooner toss them over the side when they get to being all obnoxious, telling me Cap’n or crew what to do, or worse, puking all over me decks.

Them Stella’s, they’re the worst of the drunks. They’s always ready for a knock down drag out. Allus looking for a fight, if it ain’t ‘tween themselves, it’s for the first person who they don’t like the looks of.”

He dropped the pencil again. Lizard retrieved it.

“Thankee, sir, I’m sorry. My mind still don’t know I’m missing a fin. And I were left handed.”

“Maybe put a lanyard on it?”

The steward was gobsmacked. “By the stars, I consider meself a seaman and a landsman has to teach me? I’m a moron. A lanyard! I’m a dolt!”

They both laughed.

“Where are the dragonriders?”

“I think they’re living behind that rock wall, the one due south of here? You’ll see them flying in and out, most times. Mind you, this is as far on land as I can tolerate, so I ain’t never been past the gate. Most seaholds have everthing I want right at hand, I don’t even have to leave the ship, sometimes. There’s allus someone willing to go fetch something for you for a fee.

Nice thing about this port is it’s beholden to no one. The harbormaster-‘e rides an old bronze, took on the task o’ being harbormaster. He runs a tight ship, as we say, but he says, you seafolk run your business and I’ll run mine. So he don’t tell us what to charge for shipping. Cap’n says, Stewie, you charge what you think is fair. I looked at your bundles and you’ve been so patient listening to my drivel, I say, sor, you owe me a mark. We keep the money, none goes to him or any Holder.”

“Sir. If the going rate is a mark per bundle, I’ll pay it. You’re not driveling, either.”

“Sor, it’s my call and I calls it a mark for two bundles.” The steward tried his best to look stern. He failed.

“Thank you. I prefer to work with free lancers, anyway. No middle man to deal with.”

“Aye.The Sea Treader, she’s a good ship, we’s honest folk. Not like the Imp, pardon me while I spit and don’t say that name in front of me Cap’n.” He spat into the sea. “Sorry. That ship is nothing but a bunch of smugglers, thieves, and cuthroats. Haven’t seen it here yet, but this is just the sort o’ port they like, and right now, we all prefer to keep this port a secret from her. Even the Stella Maris crew been keeping it quiet, and that’s a big deal, because when they’re drunk, they blab everything and when they’s sober they fight. They’re allus ready for a fight.”

He bent closer to Lizard, as if to dispute an item on the bill of lading.

“The problem is we do get suspicious louts. F’r’instance, you see them four wastrels, on t’other side of the gate? They been watching my supercargo and offloading beasts like starving wherries.

They’re not shipping a thing, or picking up a passenger. They’ve just been there, playing cards while they wait. They’ve got no business here so they’re not allowed beyond the gate, they’ve caused problems in the past.”

“You’re the second one to tell me that. Your porter lad mentioned them, to.They’re Toric’s men?”

“Nay. Toric’s men are west o’ them by that big wagon. What they’re doing here is none o’ my business.”

He paused, quickly counting the number of sheep in a small flock approaching his ship. “That’s our next load,” he said, offhandedly. The shepherd’s dogs kept them nicely bunched. “My folks is just about ready to load them.”

“Shall I move off, then? I’m sorry to take up your time.”

“No, sir, they’ll be loading at the aft end, we’ve got a special pen to put small flocks. Once they’re in the pen, we just lower it into the hold.”

“On the ‘lellivator’?”

“The ‘lellivator? Oh, you mean ‘elevator’. Aye.”

“And the louts. They’re seafolk?”

“They t’aint seafolk, that’s all I know. They gots horses and walk like landsmen. When the Stella moored, only one man come off, they don’t usually carry supercargo, just freight. ‘E had nothin’ in the way o’baggage save his backpack and the fire lizard. They met up with him. “

Normally, when your supercargo goes ashore, anyone waiting for them leaves with them. But not this time. Them four, they’ve been watching the beasts being unloaded off my ship. They took note of every person who disembarked. I was wondering what they were waiting for, so I sent the porter lad to go and ask them if they’d like to buy transport, though I was scared to my toes they’d accept. They didn’t even say nay, just run him off with a cuff.”

“Not that boy with the wagon? The one who brought my bundles?”

“The very same, sir.”

“That was wrong, he seemed to be a good boy.”

“E is, mate. And I don’t mind saying, sor, I saw what you paid him for portage. That were good of you, mate. You’re not really from North, are you?”

Shock ran through Lizard’s mind. I AM getting old, to let my character slip. I’ve been using a southern accent for so long it’s become second nature. Might as well own it as a lesson learned.

“Good catch! I wanted the man to think I had just come from Northern. I was born and raised on Northern, but I’ve lived here on Southern for most of my life. But I’ll be switched if I let that wealthy man cheat a lad who’s breaking his back for him.”

The steward laughed. “Thankee. Most of these people, they’s the first ones to accuse me of skinning them but think nothing of doing it themselves. I can’t tell you how many times I’ll have them wanting to argue, trying to get me to cut them a ‘deal’-and what they think a deal is no charge atall! Worse, they treat me like I had no more brains than those sheep.

Most supercargo, shippers, they don’t give that boy, or me! the time o’day. In that boy’s case, they thinks he’s a crewman. He’s not. He don’t have two sticks to rub together to make a fire. When he’s not toting cargo, he’s running errands for Cooky, or me, he’ll do just about anything to help. There’s not a cook on any ship that calls here that don’t love him, even the Stella’s, and their cook don’t even love hisself. So we make sure he gets a couple good meals in him, even though he works it off so fast it don’t stick. He’s thin as a rail.”

“Where does he live? Sleep?” Does he have family?”

The steward flushed in embarrassment. “I don’t have a clue, sor. I’m ashamed to say it, but I don’t know a thing ’bout him. He keeps to hisself, always watching, asking questions about everthing and sticks all that learning into the brain ‘tween ‘is ears. ‘E’s honest and trustworthy. When he’s here, he’s working and then he’s not ’til next morning.” He cast another look at the four men.

“Those louts, they’re watching for someone, sor, sure as sunrise,” he said. “You can see it in their faces, so watch your topknot, once you’re through the gate, you’re on your own.”

“Thank you, sir. I will.” He was about to leave when something made him pause. He pulled his last coin, a half mark, out of his pocket and handed it to the steward.

“That’s for you, sir.”

The man gasped at the largess. “Sor, you’ve already paid for shipment.”

And information, Lizard thought. This stuff is priceless. “I know. And I know life’s not easy with just one hand. You’ll do well as a steward. Good day.”

Lizard turned and headed for the gate.

That was nice, the steward thought, cradling the coin in his one hand. Just when I begin to doubt the human race, a man like you comes along to reassure me that there are good people in the world. I hope it’s not you them louts are after.

Instinct told Lizard to get a good look at the loiterers as he headed for the gate. There was an expectant, truculent air about them. He’s right, he thought, they look like giant wherries about to pounce on an unsuspecting beast. I need a better look.

“Shaff,” he said, out loud, and bent down to retie a bootlace. He took a surreptitious look at the men. Yes. They’re definitely waiting for someone.

He heard the hollow thud of hooves on wooden decking behind him. “Beware! On your left, sir!”a woman’s voice called. He moved to the bulwark on his right. A young woman, a seaman’s cap covering her hair, was leading two horses, a bay packhorse and a fractious saddled grey to her left. The grey whinnied, tossing her head and trying to bolt. Only the stolid bay kept the grey from jumping right off the wharf.

As she passed, she said,”Lizard. I need your help.”

Shocked, only years of experience kept him from meeting her eyes. He kept his expression neutral as he straightened up. Who was this person? But if she knows my name, she knows who I am.

As the horses blocked the view of the men watching, he said, “That’s my caravan on the far side of the lot, there. Two chestnut draft horses and a bay gelding behind,” he hissed. “I’m heading east. Meet me at the second meadow on the right, it’s a few kilometers down the road.”

The grey sidled and whinnied again. “Blast you, you fool,” she snapped, loudly, at the fractious mare, “It’s just wood footing, idiot. I can’t wait to get rid of you.”

She was past him now. He noticed her right arm was tucked up to her side, as if it hurt. The grey was splendid, it’s mane, tail and points black against the lighter dappled grey skin. The packhorse looked weary, as if he was tired of the grey’s stupidity. The pack saddle held a barrel shaped load, covered with a canvas.

He glanced at the thugs through narrowed eyes. Their victorious expressions told him who their prey was. The woman. Their eyes followed her as she passed through the gate. She seemed oblivious to their gaze.

The steward saw it, too. My eyes might be catracked, but I can still smell an incipient robbery when I see one, he thought.

To confirm his suspicions, the men waited until the girl led her horses past them, then they turned their backs from his view, watching her. He couldn’t catch their words, but he knew they were planning on going after her.

Yes. They’re going to follow her, I’m sure of it, and find some secluded spot to- to do what? And then they’ll vanish into that wilderness of rocky outcrops? Shaffing brigands, he thought, fury suffusing his soul. Them bastards. I can’t let that happen. She was kind to me and the crew. Not many people treat us as anything other than drudges.

Ah.

Kim was returning with a large trunk on his wagon. The owner was anxiously hovering over him. He unloaded it in spot number 21. The steward, one eyebrow raised, looked at the man. After a moment, the man ostentatiously paid Kim a mark.

The steward caught Kim’s his eye and jerked his chin to signal him to move to the aft of the ship.

“Thank you, sir!” Kim said, and moved his wagon further down the wharf.

“You’re shipper number 21, sor, sign here? That will be a mark for shipping. You may go aboard, if you like, we’ll be sailing on the incoming tide. That’s about three hours from now. There’s klah and small food in the galley. It’s small but our cook is the best.”

Once the man was below, the steward beckoned Kim to meet him.

“Yessir?”

“Lad,” he said, quietly, “You go to the Stella Maris. You know their ship’s crew, aye?”

“Of course, you do too.”

“Ssh, softly, now. You tell their steward, them louts on t’other side of the road? The ones who cuffed you for no reason?”

“Yes,” the boy glared, “I won’t forget ’em.”

“You go tell the Stella’s they’re the ones who sold them that cask of ale that turned out to be green water. Then stand back and watch the fun.”

The boy laughed.