“So, Ewoud, did you finish those white-roots,” the cook asked, limping up to him.
Huh? “Um, no, sir, I was interrupted. I quartered two and peeled all of them.”
The cook looked at Ewoud’s hands and grunted something. Then he limped to Jan and slapped him hard on the back. “You. Once you get done feeding the fish, finish the white-root or the rest of us will be hungry come fourth watch.”
Ewoud almost gloated. Then a sailor pointed with his thumb. "You have good dark-sight. Go help stow the hose."
Ewoud slept well that night. Getting out of his bunk the next morning, though... He'd have shoulders like a black smith if they had to pump the hold again. He moved with care, mindful of his hands and aching from shoulders to hips.
Two days later they rounded the Scythe against the wind, almost. Or so it felt to Ewoud. The wind moved the ship east, but the waves slapped the hull from the south. None of the merchants, journeymen, or apprentices ate much that day. After he returned the bandages to the mediko, Ewoud found a reason to be on deck, and watched the land crawl past the White Wave. Enormous grey birds with thin wings sailed overhead, and he wondered how they stayed in the air so well. The shore ended with a tan colored cliff, chewed by the waves into chunks that stuck out of the water like square, crooked teeth. Dark trees crowned the cliff, marching inland as best Ewoud could tell. The air smelled of needle-leaf tar. "Someone's working in the woods," a sailor observed, nodding toward the trees. He presented Ewoud with a handful of rough, heavy cloth. "Take this and walk toward the steersman."
Ewoud took a firm grip on the canvas and lifted it shoulder high before starting toward the stern castle. One did not drag anything but rope across the deck. That lesson had left him seeing stars, ears ringing with threats of dire fates and questions about his ancestry and intelligence. Ewoud still marveled at the sailors' ability to curse and insult without swearing, and decided that he needed to learn more of that art. Although his mother probably knew sufficient sailor-speak to catch on and tan his hide, adult or not. "Stop there," the sailor called. A second sailor ducked under the canvas and walked below the light-brown material. "See it?"
"Yes. As big as my head, beside the seam, the Lady be praised," a voice called from under the sail. "We can repair it without patching."
"Praise to the Lady," Ewoud and the first sailor replied. "Stay there, and hold that for now," the first sailor ordered. He and his assistant went into the bow castle, returning with the largest needles and thread Ewoud could recall seeing in a sewing box. They set the box on the deck. "Don't disappear." The sailors folded the end of the canvas, walking it and folding it until they reached the gap. "Hold it again. Niko, you stitch. I'll hold tension."
As he pulled on the enormous wad of material, Ewoud looked up at the sails on the two masts. The big triangles of canvas hung well above him, kept taut by enormous wooden poles on their upper ends. The poles attached to the masts, trees growing out of the upper deck, or so they looked to Ewoud. He could see the seams in the canvas, and wondered if anyone made a loom large enough for a single sail. Then he thought about the weight in his arms and decided that the gods of weavers, and the weavers' apprentices, probably would not allow such a thing.
"Huh. I'll need to go past the gap," Niko grunted. "Someone didn't tie off the knots and they are coming undone."
That would let the wind out, Ewoud knew. As hard as it was to get and keep wind in the sails, he was opposed to letting the wind out. His shoulders and arms still burned a little, but not as badly, and he did not complain. Jan had. Jan got slapped down by one of the merchant masters for whining. Ewoud added whining to the list of things never to do around the sailors and masters. Real men didn't whine, anyway. He rolled his head left and right, easing the ache a little.
The sun had passed the second mast before they finished rounding the Scythe and turned south. As they passed a pillar of white rocks on the western shore, then sailors began chanting. "Praise to Donwah, Lady of the Waters. Honored Lady, thank You for smooth waters. Bright Lady, thank You for sweet waters. Noble Lady, thank You for soft winds. Great lady, all praise to You."
"Thanks be to the Lady," Ewoud and the others chanted back, bowing to the small image of Donwah on the bow castle. From here until they docked, the land on both sides of the channel would protect them some from the great storms. That was, if Donwah willed, Ewoud added quickly.
The tar scent faded, replaced by soil and what Ewoud thought of as land-smells. Early on the morning of the third day in the passage, Ewoud stopped on deck and sniffed. He'd just emptied a slop bucket, but this was a different stink. Rotten eggs and metal, that's what he smelled. But there were no eggs on board. Huh. He eased closer to the port side railing and sniffed again. "Whunf," he whispered, eyes watering.
"We pass the yellow hill," Meester Twan Moere said, stopping beside Ewoud. "If you go inland that way," he nodded toward a patch of sickly trees, "you find a hill that reeks of brimstone. Yellow water bubbles out of it, hot to boiling yellow water. Anything that drinks it gets sick, and deserves to if they're that foolish." The tall man shook his head. "If you can smell the bad water from miles away, and still drink it..."
"Yes, sir." Even Jan wouldn't be that stupid. Would he? No, Ewoud decided as he returned the slop bucket to its place in the bunk-area, Jan wouldn't. The journeyman from Maans'hill would, though. He'd gotten another thumping for trying to hide below-decks and shirk. Master Dogald himself had beaten the man. What was his name? Ewoud couldn't remember, and wondered why he couldn't recall. Probably because he didn't want to remember, lest the stupid fool's folly spread.
As he straightened up, Ewoud saw a shadow out of the corner of his eye. No one else was supposed to be here, since all the sailors were on deck, moving the sails. He froze, watching sideways as a man started moving his hand in a complicated gesture. He held something in his other hand, just out of Ewoud's view. If it wasn't a sailor, and the masters were all meeting in the stern-castle with the captain. I don't like this. Should he say something? The other man moved and Ewoud saw an unlit mage-lantern.
"No," Ewoud hissed. "Don't do that!"
"Shut up, boy. This is a set-spell, not a charm or new casting." It was the journeyman from Maans'hill. Ewoud felt a spell building, and not just a pre-set mage-light coming alight.
Ewoud lunged forward and slapped the man's hand, breaking the casting. He grabbed the lantern and hurried to the ladder, crouching to avoid the beams close overhead.
"Give me that back, you stupid bastard of an apprentice! I'll show you—" Ewoud ignored the threat and clambered up the ladder, almost knocking one of the sailors over as he burst out of the hatch. The voice from below bellowed, "Damn fool, may Donwah and the Scavenger both drown you."
The words stopped all activity on the deck, and the masters and sailors turned, staring at Ewoud and the man emerging from the hatch behind him. "I said give me that, you damned—"
Klang! The sailor ripped the lantern from Ewoud's hand and smoothly brained the journeyman with it. Thud. The man hit the planks below the deck, and it didn't sound as if he were moving. Ewoud gulped, still not moving.
"What happened?" Captain Huydonks didn't sound angry or upset as he loomed over the scene, but the crimson rising into his face warned Ewoud that he'd better tell the truth and fast.
"Sir, ah, sir, I was returning the slop bucket and saw someone in the crew bunks. He wasn't a sailor or master, and he was doing something, casting a spell or charm on the mage-lantern. I told him to stop and he said it was a set spell but it didn't feel like one, sir, and I slapped his hand to stop him. Grabbed the lantern, sir, and came up here. He followed me." Ewoud paused for breath.
"And he cursed the boy in the Lady's name and by the Dark One," the sailor said, holding up the lantern. "I stopped a second curse, Captain." The man looked like thunder, dark faced and furious.
Master Dogald glared at Ewoud. "That was my journeyman you hurt, boy. And my lantern."
"This have a set
-spell?" Captain Huydonk took the dented lantern from the sailor, who ducked out of the way.
Dogald kept glaring at Ewoud, black eyes snapping with anger under thin white eyebrows. "No, but that's no excuse for assaulting my journeyman. I claim damages."
Huydonk shoved the lantern into the merchant's hands. "Sort it out on land. You and your man know the sea laws, and he broke them in front of witnesses for a second time. Once more and he goes over the side." The big ship master turned and stalked to the stern-castle, leaving Dogald spluttering and snarling at Ewoud.
"Stupid boy," he hissed at last. "I'll have your master flog you, and you will pay damages. Who's your master, boy?"
Doesn't he know who I am? Ewoud started to snarl back, then caught himself. Dogald was a master, and a prosperous one too, with relatives on the Maans'hill city council and in two mage guilds. "I am working for Meester Haako Pelzerman, sir, under Tajo Haakom." Better to leave it there, and hope that he could explain before Meester Haakom met Dogald. And if Dogald didn't know how wealthy Ewoud's family was, he wouldn't demand that much in damages. Ewoud hoped. Maybe.
This was not an auspicious start to his first trading journey. Two more days to Tanpermouth, and then Ewoud could avoid both men. He hoped.
3
The Road to Kehlibar Vlee
Why did he have to serve in the crane? He should have been meeting other merchants here in Tanpermouth, not working so hard. Ewoud panted, legs aching. That's why they'd brought apprentices. Probably because Maarsdam frowned on something Ewoud had done, and so was punishing him. "Stop!" Ewoud and the three other men slowed their steps, grabbing the beams of the crane wheel for balance as the enormous machine slowed and stopped. Bits of sunlight darted through a few gaps in the roof and walls, but the heavy wood muffled the sounds of unloading. Ewoud heard wood creak and took a tighter grip as men outside the crane grunted with effort, pushing the beam that turned the crane. The four inside reversed directions. Ewoud wiped sweat off his face and tried to pant more quietly. "Forward!" He started walking, driving the wheel with his feet. It was too bad they couldn't use water power for the cranes like they did for mills.
Ewoud and the others staggered out of the crane some time later. The sun had moved and was within three hand-spans of the western horizon. "Over here," Meester Hajo called. Tears of pain burned Ewoud's eyes as he teetered over to the wagons. "Lucky you, you get to ride this afternoon. We're leaving to get outside the walls by sundown. Get in." Ewoud started to ask if he could have some water, then changed his mind and clambered into the wagon. Instead of great-haulers, something that looked like giant schaef but with heavier legs and stubby horns pulled the wagons. The beasts had short-clipped white hair, like the wild schaef of the wastes and mountains. Did they smell as bad wet as schaef did? Ewoud decided that he'd rather not find out.
Some of the wagons used great-haulers, others had the giant schaef. All were narrower than the usual wagons, but just as long. Why were they not taking the river south? That would make more sense. The wagons creaked into motion. Ewoud stared around, looking at the strange buildings. Instead of tall, slender wares-houses, everything here crouched. Flat, grey tiles of some kind covered the roofs. The roofs themselves appeared steeper than at home, making the houses and other buildings look strange. Instead of white plaster over the wood, the people had colored the buildings pink, light green, or an orange-brown that hurt his eyes, then cut patterns into the plaster and filled them with something dark—soot or earth-tar perhaps? The women wore full skirts that stopped at the knee, but with tall boots or really heavy socks and dark shoes. Everyone wore vests, long or short. Old men and women had vests to the knee. The women's vests stopped just under their breasts, which seemed larger than the girls had back home.
"Get on, you!" one of the teamsters ordered, shattering Ewoud's musing. A giant schaef tried to sample something from a baker's tray and got thumped on the wide, flat black nose for his pains.
"Mbwaaaa!" the beast protested.
"I'll bwaa you, Igoo, you know better," the man warned, brandishing a long whip with a very heavy, thick butt wrapped in bright red leather. Ewoud boggled as the schaef ducked its head as if embarrassed! Was the teamster a beast-mage? No, his clothes did not carry any of the marks of that guild. Ewoud pondered the problem and winced as the wagon bounced hard in and out of a hole in the road. That had not changed.
They stopped at a spring. The caravan master announced, "We'll go this far again before stopping for the night. I don't want to wear out the animals." Ewoud managed to get out of the wagon, but his legs quit before he reached the spring. He needed water desperately, and needed to get rid of water as well. Tears streaming, he forced himself to get to his feet. Someone had packed his new staff, and he had to move on his own, one aching step at a time. He found a bush and took care of that need, then joined the line for water. The beasts had their own area away from the main spring. The caravan master pointed with a blue-wrapped whip. "You and you, check the beasts, especially the birds. Don't bother with the bells, we'll strip them this evening."
The large man had not pointed to Ewoud, so he got a long drink, filled his water skin, and walked back to the wagons. Moving didn't hurt as much as before, and he decided that he'd probably better walk the pain out if he was going to move in the morning. As he waited, Ewoud leaned against the green-painted wagon and considered the caravan master. He wore a loose tan shirt and dark pants, both with tight cuffs. The pants tucked into mid-calf boots of black leather. The man wore a heavy leather belt over a painfully bright yellow and orange sash that made Ewoud's eyes ache. His scarlet and blue-green vest looked almost drab in comparison. The man's chest reminded Ewoud of a barrel, one of the short, squat ones for shipping vitriole. In fact, as Ewoud looked around, he decided that all the local men had been born to coopers. The only tall, not-round people were the traders and one man with red hair and skin so white that it had to be cosmetics. He wore dark blue-black, and knee-boots. He handled one of the larger schaef teams but did not use a whip.
Had there ever been trees along the road? Ewoud trudged along, glad of the wind but not glad about the dust and heavy sunlight. Why didn't the sea wind blow here? The trees began well back from the road, or what Ewoud guessed was a road, going by the ruts and lack of grass. The grey dirt turned to fine powder under the animals' feet and hoofs, sort of a walking dustbath for the great-haulers. The local men had wrapped scarves around their lower faces, but the merchants suffered. Meester Dogald seemed to take the dust as a personal insult and he muttered to his journeyman. Hanka was the man's name, Ewoud remembered it at last. The journeyman slouched on top of a bale of some sort of cloth. The trees at least looked clean, and Ewoud wondered again why they had been cut close to the road. Was shade considered bad? He liked shade in summer. They had leaves, big dark leaves with silvery undersides that flashed in the breeze.
Brush grew between the trees and a thin strip of grass on either side of the road. The closer to the road, the shorter the green-white brush, and as he studied the foliage, Ewoud discovered that it looked chewed rather than cut. Not too many minutes later, one of the giant schaef edged as close to the edge of the road as he could and grabbed a mouthful of the leaves. "You! Bad ovsta," the beast's handler said, spatting it on the nose. The animal ignored him, chewing contentedly. The grass near the road looked like grass but dust covered. All he could smell was dust, and the pong of the giant shaef. Or was it the schaef?
One of the hairy beasts tossed his head, thick stubby ears twitching as if flies bothered him. "Look to the sides," the man beside the schaef called. "We're being stalked."
"Already?" Meester Hajo called back, but more quietly. He placed his staff into the wagon and removed a strung bow and quiver with black arrows in it.
"Hard winter, drove the game farther south," the teamster replied, spitting.
What would dare hunt a group this large? Then Ewoud recalled the pelt in the council chamber and his mouth went even drier and his bowels sh
ivered. "Ah, Meester, is it the giant white beast with black skin under the pelt?" he squeaked.
"One of the snow-ox hunters? No, Yoorst be thanked. These are laupen, like dogs but with smooth hides and ears inside their heads, not on the outside." The trader hung the quiver from his belt and removed an arrow, carrying it along with the bow, head turned so he could watch the trees to the side of the road.
The sour stink burned Ewoud's nose, and he moved closer to the wagons. He didn't have anything larger than his knife with him. The hairs on his neck stood under his collar.
"Behind us," a man bellowed. Ewoud whirled around to see a handful of sleek dark shapes running toward him. They looked almost as big as the schaef, longer, like racing snakes. Hajo stopped but did not fire. Instead he watched the trees beside them, raising the bow but not drawing it. What was he waiting for? Then Ewoud remembered his father's story of an ambush, and he peered into the shadows of the trees.
"More!" Ewoud screamed, pointing as another swarm of dark shapes flowed out of the shade. Now Meester Hajo drew, waited, and released the arrow. Ewoud watched as it hit one of the beasts in the shoulder. The black thing staggered and another black shape attacked the wounded hunter. It screamed, a high, piercing cry like a woman's voice mixed with the screeching of ungreased wooden axles. Four more of the things raced on, and more arrows flew from the caravan.
"Bwoooh!" One of the schaef behind Ewoud faced a laupen. The dark shape lunged for the schaef's head. Heavy claws caught the thick fur covering schaef's neck. "Bwooh!" The schaef tossed his head and sent the attacker flying back, almost over the wagon. It landed in the wagon instead, and one of the men with a spear stabbed it over and over. A little bit of Ewoud's mind thought the schaef looked pleased with his efforts. The rest of him gibbered and ran around in circles inside his head.
Imperial Magic Page 3
