by Jaxon Reed
“And what was that bit about me taking the first ship out of here? How’d he know about that?”
Cuppers smiled, clicking to the horses so they would pick up the pace now that traffic had thinned. He said, “They don’t call it th’ Mystic Bank for nothin’, sirrah!”
Chapter 12
Dudge followed along at the tail end of the cargo train, where he had kept an eye on things all day. On their trek’s final day, he ignored the slow pace by admiring the sights.
Osmo was Norweg’s only seaside settlement. The only way to travel there by land required passage through the Tantamook Mountains. A single, narrow trail from the Farmlands led down through a narrow pass in the mountains before opening out into the valley where Osmo nestled by the sea.
Fret’s cask-laden wagons crested the pass and navigated down the twisty trail. Dudge followed along in high spirits now, the journey’s end approaching. He noted everything around him, with delight in his heart and a spring in his step.
The path they trod was not paved, but it didn’t need to be. The stones from the mountain made a passable trail without any need for cobbling or bricks. True, it was barely wide enough for the wagons, and if someone traveled up the trail at the same time, one group or the other would have to cede way at an open area near a switchback. But Dudge knew from his history the trail had proven quite passable for at least two millennia.
The drivers kept steady hands on their brakes so the heavy wagons wouldn’t overwhelm the pigs, who grunted dutifully down the incline. Nothing of interest happened at the rear, so Dudge amused himself by admiring the sights. It was the only part of his father’s realm that contained wildlife and scenery such as this, and he savored every minute of it.
The mountains on the seaward side looked green and vibrant with life, as things thawed out the further they descended. The coast, Dudge knew, would remain relatively warm even in winter. More than once he spied small game scurrying through the brush, and the great carnivorous birds who stalked them from high above. He watched in wonder as one of them swooped down and effortlessly picked up its prey, the talons killing a small furry animal instantly, mighty wings flapping hard while the great bird slowly ascended with its meal in tow.
At long last, the train came to a stop. Dudge knew the lead wagon must be at the gate to the valley, where guards protected the entrance to the dwarven lands from any outsiders who might be adventurous enough to try and make their way in from the sea. They were also there to extract tolls from wagons headed to Osmo.
He looked back and up, giving the Tantamooks one last appreciative glance while several more minutes slid by. Finally, curious at the delay, he climbed atop the casks on the rear wagon and shaded his eyes to see better. At the front of the line he could make out Fret arguing with one of the guards. Fret’s arms waved and gesticulated. The guard remained unmoving.
Perplexed, Dudge climbed back down and made his way up to the front. He could hear the argument in greater clarity as he drew closer.
“Bu’ y’ dinna kin wha’ I be tellin’ ye! Th’ toll is an’ always has been one gold coin per wagon train!”
The guard appeared unperplexed by Fret’s histrionics. He stood a head taller than either Fret or Dudge. He was flanked by four more beefy guards who milled around the stone gateway to Osmo. All seemed bored. One picked his teeth with the point of a dagger while idly glancing over Dudge as he approached.
Dudge placed his hands in the pockets of his coat as he drew up alongside Fret to stand by him.
The guard said, “An I be tellin’ you, fer th’ third time, ye an’ yer train be nay gettin’ t’ Osmo withou’ th’ proper toll. An’ tha’ toll be five gold. One per guard.”
Fret turned to Dudge with frustrated eyes. Dudge took over the conversation. He said, “Th’ toll be set by royal decree, an’ tha’ decree states all trains o’ cargo in an’ out o’ Osmo be charged a toll o’ one gold.”
The guard shifted his attention to Dudge and stiffened his spine while leaning in close, making him taller and more threatening at the same time. His tone grew more threatening, too. He said, “I be in charge o’ th’ gate. An’ I say we each be gettin’ a gold coin fer our troubles, or ye be turnin’ tha’ train aroun’ an’ headed back up th’ mountains.”
The guard took his dagger out and began to nonchalantly clean his fingernails with the blade’s tip, his eyes locked on Dudge. One of the other guards casually fondled the hilt of his shortsword. The one picking his teeth with a dagger spit, and began slapping the flat of his blade on an open palm.
Dudge glanced at them all, and sniffed. He refocused on the leader. He said, “Wha’ be yer name, lad?”
The leader guffawed and another guard sniggered.
“My name be Puffin, Son o’ Duffin, Clan Slag. I be th’ head guard of th’ Tantamook Gate, appointed by Portreeve Rak an’ duly authorized by royal decree t’ protec’ th’ realm an’ gather tolls fer His Majesty.”
His chest swelled with pride. He said, “An’ who migh’ ye be, merchant?”
Dudge cocked an eyebrow at Fret who smiled broadly and seemed positively giddy in anticipation. Dudge turned back to Puffin and sighed with disappointment, not relishing the display of authority he was about to make. He withdrew his right hand from his coat pocket and flashed his signet ring in Puffin’s face.
“I am Prince Dudge, second son o’ King Nudge, Clan Ore. I be authorized by th’ Council t’ accompany this shipment t’ Port Osmo, in protection of th’ royal investment in its cargo.”
Puffin’s jaw dropped in shock, and the blood drained from his face. He deflated, and seemed to shrink in size. He fell down on one knee and bowed his head. The other guards looked stunned, but they followed Puffin’s lead and took a knee.
Puffin said, “Yer Highness, I dinna ken! I—”
“Oh, bu’ I do, lad. I ken wha’ yer doin’. Merchants ha’ no choice but t’ pay yer bribe. How much o’ th’ take goes t’ th’ portreeve?”
Puffin’s mouth opened but he didn’t say anything. His eyes looked up at the prince with a guilty glance. Dudge sighed again and said, “So Rak be in on it, too. Ye’ll accompany me t’ visit him. Ha’ th’ rest o’ yer dwarves stay at guard. But iffen I find they keep askin’ five gold instead o’ one, I’ll deal wi’ them later.”
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The wagon train made its way through lush green fields, bountiful enough to keep the port fed even without shipments of food from the outside world. Fret walked in front of the train with Dudge. The sullen Puffin took the lead, his head and shoulders slouching. On occasion a farmer in the fields looked up to gaze their way and wave a greeting.
At last they reached Osmo, the only dwarven city above ground and Norweg’s lone port. A stone wall faced the land side, some thirty paces high. Its ramparts were unguarded, though.
Fret said, “I half expected another toll at th’ city gates.”
Dudge smiled and shook his head. “Nay, th’ walls an’ gates ha’ been unguarded since almost th’ beginnin’. Osmo was founded in 931, bu’ me great granpaps Mudge built it into wha’ it is today. He worried ’bout attacks from th’ sea. Th’ wall serves t’ stop an army from goin’ inland more so than preventin’ somethin’ out here from comin’ into th’ city.”
They passed through a great stone arch and portcullis, then through the thick walls, reaching the city proper without seeing a single guard.
Dudge increased his pace to draw alongside Puffin. He said, “They’ll be takin’ th’ cargo t’ th’ dockside warehouses, while you an’ me will go find Rak.”
Puffin nodded, barely acknowledging Dudge. He maintained course on the main street and headed for the docks. Dudge decided it would be hard to get lost in the port city. Going forward led to the sea, going back led to the rear wall. The road they came in on seemed wide and accommodating to traffic, and appeared to cut straight through the middle of town.
Their way had been paved with bricks, along with every other street. He glanced down an all
ey between two buildings and noted with some satisfaction that the alley’s surface was paved as well. His grandfather had been known as Mudge the Great, and everything had been built to last in those days, a tradition the dwarves were proud to continue.
The buildings were mostly made of stone, no doubt quarried from the Tantamooks. Looking up, he noted their roofs were made of green copper tiles. These had to be imported from the Sandstone Kingdom, far to the south, where the humans with almond-hued skin lived. They were the only region specializing in the tiles, and finding them on buildings this far north cost a considerable amount, as transporting them in bulk could be expensive. Every building as far as Dudge could see sported a green copper roof, another mute testament to the city’s wealth.
The buildings away from the docks were all sized for dwarves, doors and windows proportional to their height. As the merchants steadily drew nearer to the docks, many of the buildings grew larger, built to accommodate human visitors such as sailors, traders, and the occasional adventure-seeking traveler.
Everyone they met on the streets gave them a curious glance, but otherwise stepped out of their way and let the procession continue unhindered.
The populace seemed a friendly lot, Dudge thought, although they minded their own affairs. He noted many wore bright scarves, ornate hats, and finely worked leather shoes that were probably made for human children.
Such foreign knick-knacks were doubtless a result of all the ships coming in, he thought. But the sight of so many manmade items worn by dwarvenfolk surprised Dudge. By the look on Fret’s face, he seemed amazed as well.
At the city’s center, the thoroughfare opened out into a large open space, a combination park and roundabout for traffic. At the very center, a 50 step high granite statue of Mudge the Great stood, one arm raised and pointing toward the sea, the other toward the Tantamooks. Vendors hawked their fare to humans and dwarves alike from around the statue’s base.
On the left, facing in toward the statue, stood a large columned building of sparkling white stone. Dudge recognized the architecture of authority.
He drew up beside Puffin again and said, “Rak be in th’ Hall, mayhap?
Puffin nodded and said, “Aye, mos’ likely.”
Dudge turned to Fret and said, “Forward should lead t’ th’ quays an’ warehouses. Ask if ye need directions. Don’ let them charge ye too much to store th’ casks. Find a nice inn fer yerself an’ th’ lads an’ I’ll meet up with y’ later.”
Fret nodded, motioned the others to follow him, and the procession continued making its way toward the docks. Dudge and Puffin turned and walked to the steps of the Great Hall.
The edifice impressed Dudge. Sleek white columns fronted a massive hardwood doorway, tall enough to accommodate even the largest of humans. Inside, dwarves sat behind elevated desks so they could meet human sailors and traders at eye level.
Puffin ignored the hubbub of commerce and continued further into the building, until at last he led Dudge to a staircase in the back going down. The building’s basement opened out into a proper dwarven cave. Here, the bureaucracy focused strictly on dwarves. The ceilings were too low, the furniture too small, and the lighting too dim for fully grown humans. For the first time in weeks, Dudge felt at home.
Puffin led him into the far reaches of an underground network of tunnels and rooms. In the back, deep underneath the building, they came to a final large cavern. The walls were lined by desks and dwarves busy writing and reading manuscripts. On the far wall, a thick oaken door stood with a large brass ring attached.
Puffin approached, knocked on it respectfully, and they heard a muffled voice shout, “Enter!”
Dudge nodded at Puffin and said, “Thankee. I’ll go on alone from here.”
Somewhat reluctantly, Puffin nodded and turned to leave. Dudge pushed on the brass ring and the heavy door swung slowly inward.
An older, red-haired and -bearded dwarf looked up from behind a large desk with an annoyed glance. He sniffed at the site of Dudge and his dusty clothes. Dudge smiled to himself, and remembered he had not yet had a chance to clean up.
“An’ who may you be? I dinna ha’ much time fer ye.”
Dudge decided to dispense with the formalities since they were in private. He flashed his signet ring at Rak and sat down without asking in one of the wooden chairs in front of the desk.
“I be nay me father, but I be here under authority o’ th’ Council.”
Rak’s eyes widened in surprise at the ring, then narrowed again as he reassessed the situation.
He stood and gave a formal bow from behind the desk. He said, “Yer Highness, I was nay expectin’ ye. Nobody in Ore Stad tells me anythin’.”
Dudge made a dismissive gesture, then motioned for Rak to sit again. He said, “It be true yer the farthest point o’ authority in me father’s realm. Nearly 60 years ago, I recollect he raised th’ gate fee t’ one gold. Ye shoulda seen th’ stink tha’ made in Ore Stad. Th’ merchants were nay happy. Th’ farmers e’en less so. I sat through two days o’ petitions. Jus’ but a wee bairn I was then. An’ it’s been one gold at th’ Tantamook Gate fer wagon trains o’er half a century now.
“Imagine me surprise when I get t’ th’ famous gate an’ find th’ toll ha’ gone up. Five gold yer man Puffin said. Woul’ nay take no fer an answer. Five! An’ I thought to meself, I dinna recall Father nor th’ Trade Council raisin’ th’ toll fivefold. Nay, I dinna recall that at all.”
Dudge stopped and waited for Rak to respond. He felt rather happy with his opening remarks. He had not accused Rak of anything. He had not expressed outrage, which was certainly justified, and he had not asked questions. Dudge had simply made a quiet statement. Now he waited to see how Rak would respond.
Rak sat back in his chair. Dudge noted it was a finely wrought piece of art, made of much rarer wood than the ones in front of the desk. Perhaps it too had been imported from a distant land.
Rak’s eyes never left the prince’s. Dudge seemed to sense the quick sifting and sorting of thoughts behind those eyes. Finally, Rak said, “These be tough times, yer Highness. I erred in nay discussin’ me plans t’ raise th’ toll wi’ th’ Council. All our increased amounts will be forwarded to th’ Treasury with a full acountin’ o’ th’ books. Be assured o’ that, yer Highness.”
Dudge said nothing for a long moment. Silence filled the air, pregnant with tension.
Finally Dudge said, “What clan be ye in, Rak?”
“I be son o’ Mak, Clan Slag.”
“Hm. Same as Puffin.”
“Aye. He be me cousin.”
“Same as Lok.”
Another tension-filled silence.
Carefully, Rak said, “Aye. We be nay happy th’ evil wizard were of our clan. But he were. Many years ago, ’twas.”
“An’ how were he related to ye?”
“Lok were me uncle. Me pa’s side.”
“So. Yer father’s brother was Lok.”
Rak nodded slowly, eyes unblinking and never leaving Dudge’s.
“Who did ye bribe on th’ Council t’ become Portreeve of Osmo, Rak?”
Dudge noted a tiny flicker of lightning flash behind Rak’s eyes, perhaps one of suppressed anger. Otherwise, he gave no outward indication of acknowledging the slight.
“I ha’ served yer father, His Majesty, an’ th’ Trade Council fer seven years. Th’ duties an’ fees ha’ always been sent t’ Ore Stad on time.”
Dudge stood suddenly. Rak’s head jerked up in surprise, he stood up awkwardly a moment later.
Dudge said, “I’ll be lookin’ at yer books. All ledgers since yer term began.”
The color drained from Rak’s face. Pale white skin peeked through his red beard.
“Me main cypher be gone fer th’ day. I kin have it fer ye in th’ mornin’.”
“Nay. I’ll take th’ books wi’ me now.”
Dudge turned and walked toward the heavy wooden door. Rak hurried after him. Dudge pulled the door open and walked
out of the room and into the bureau. The prince turned to the desks lining the walls to his right, and walked over to one with a heavy shelf of books behind it, Rak following close behind.
He flashed his signet ring at the surprised dwarf sitting at the desk and said, “I am Dudge, second son o’ Nudge, o’ th’ Clan Ore. I be here on Council matters. Be these th’ main records o’ th’ port?”
The startled dwarf nodded, then belatedly stood up and bowed, awkwardly. Every other dwarf in the room followed suit, chairs scraping as they all stood and bowed.
Dudge ignored them, save for the dwarf with the books. He looked older than the others, and considerably heavier. He trembled visibly, his head bowed low.
“Be ye keeper o’ th’ books?”
Without looking up the fat old dwarf said, “Aye, yer Highness.”
“I need th’ ledgers fer th’ last eight years. Since Rak became portreeve an’ th’ year afore.”
The old dwarf turned to the sturdy wooden shelf behind his desk, filled with thick brown leather-bound ledgers. He pulled down the last eight and held them out to Dudge, his hands shaking.
“Thankee.” Dudge tucked them under his arm and walked away. In the middle of the room he stopped and said, “All you may return t’ work.”
Rak hurried after him as Dudge reached the hallway. He said, “Yer Highness! We ha’ nay gone o’er those books an’ accounted fer everythin’! There may be errors!”
Dudge stopped and turned. He said, “Iffen th’ numbers square wi’ th’ revenue ye been sendin’ t’ Ore Stad, ye ha’ nothin’ t’ worry ’bout.”
He paused holding Rak’s eye for a long moment. Then he said, “Iffen th’ numbers be off considerably, iffen fer instance they indicate five gold tolls when th’ Council ha’ only seen one . . . then ye shoul’ worry.”
He turned around again and headed out the room. Rak gave his red beard a nervous tug, then wiped away a sudden surge of sweat on his brow.
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