Ewoud guessed what the master intended and wedged his back against the wood, then jammed his feet against the edge of the drain-way, or scupper and closed his eyes. He did not want to see what was going on around them, or watch the boat move. Feeling it was bad enough. Ewoud resumed his prayers. He heard something dragging, and murmured pleas, and metal on wood. Metal on wood? "Almost there." Vansluit warned, "It didn't break, but pulled loose from the hull. This will take a bit."
A very long bit passed before the barrel shifted backward behind Ewoud. His legs had started cramping. "Found a puller," Vansluit panted a little. "Back up. Not safe down here in storm." So why were they there? Because the sailors were too busy above them, and passengers also had a duty to the ship. The master clambered up the ladder first, and Ewoud started to follow.
The Great Fir plunged down, shuddering as she slammed into the next wave. Ewoud lost his grip, sweaty palms slick on the wear-polished wood, and he fell. Pain jagged as lightning lanced through his shoulder and head, then he felt nothing.
"That's one way to get out of working the pumps," a dreadfully cheerful voice declared. "But you and Vansluit kept the load from shifting, so it balances. This is going to sting—" Small hands gripped Ewoud's shoulder and pulled, then twisted.
"Gah!" Sting? Only the flogging had hurt worse. If he'd had anything in his stomach, he'd have lost it. Ewoud whimpered.
"See? Not so bad." The mediko's hands wrapped and secures cloth to the shoulder. "Open your eyes." Ewoud cracked them open against his better judgement. Light shone into them and he whimpered again. "Both even. Just a bump, not a cracked skull. Typical youngster."
The captain rumbled, "Just when we need all hands," and sighed very loudly. Ewoud closed his eyes. "Well, Ewoud, at least it wasn't a leg like your father. You can still hold sail when we mend them, and work the pump if it comes that that. When it comes to that," he corrected quickly. "We'll probably have another storm tomorrow." Heavy footsteps stomped off.
"He's saying that because we have a good pushing wind and smooth waters," the medico chuckled. "Lady be praised."
"Lady be praised," Ewoud managed to reply. "Water?"
"Only a little, because of the head, at least for the next day." The water tasted stale and very, very good. "Now sleep, since you can't do much else."
Sleeping sounded very good, but the pain in his shoulder made it hard. At least the ship only rocked, not jumping like in the storm. Ewoud concentrated on thanking the Sea Lady and Maarsrodi for their mercy and blessings, and on not crying. How would he get his things out of the ship with only one good arm? What would happen if he did need to work the pump? He prayed more. After a while he did sleep.
9
Arrivals
"We're after harbor closing, so we have to dock here and unload." Captain Deelman sounded more morose than usual. "Can't go in until the eight-day passes."
Despite the captain's glum words, the sun shone. Light following winds helped the Great Fir ease into the dock close enough that she could be winched in to a pier. They'd have to pay more for the loading and unloading, and the other captains would rib the crew about their tardiness. Ewoud didn't care. The walls of Rhonari stood ahead of them, and the open river gate with its carved ships and solid sturdiness. The harbor wasn't really closed to all shipping, since the ice had not begun choking the river yet, but only fishermen and local boats came and went. The trading season had ended outside the walls. For the first time Ewoud looked forward to not working and not seeing new people and goods for a while.
Two sailors helped him balance his bundles over his good shoulder and eased him down the way to the dock. Ewoud staggered as the land moved under his feet. He walked with care, using his staff to prop himself up on that side. It wasn't fair, having to carry his clothing and other things, but a man cared for himself, injured or no, unless he couldn't. That was the rule of road and sea. Ewoud gritted his teeth and set one foot in front of the other on the bobbing land. He would not fall, he would not fall, he would not fall.
The gate of the city loomed ahead of him. How could he—No, that wouldn't—Perhaps if he—. Ewoud took a deep breath and planted the staff in between two cobbles, then eased down onto one knee. "Hail Rhonari, free and proud city! Maarsrodi bless you and Donwah prosper you. Hail, proud city." He managed to rise almost to his feet before he started to overbalance.
"Enough, young man," his father's voice said. "Give those to Bastian." A strong hand gripped Ewoud's elbow and kept him from falling over. "Shoulder?"
"Yes, sir. Landed on it falling off a ladder." Ewoud wanted to embrace his father, but not in public. He was a merchant's son and better than that.
Tycho sighed and shook his head, then led the brothers into the city proper. "Your mother will fuss. She has plans for us." Beside him, Bastian rolled his eyes, then assumed a proper and respectful expression. Ewoud could guess. He'd missed the festivities of port closing. That did not bode well, although just what he was supposed to do with a broken collar bone he could not quite guess. Well, he could taste-test baked goods and sweets, and confirm the quality of the last of the preserves she and the cooks were probably still putting up. He could help with spice inventory as well. Now, how to persuade his mother of her need for his assistance...
"You need a new coat," Tycho said, breaking Ewoud's reverie. "That jacket's pulling at the shoulder seams. So are your trousers. Your mother will have a fit." He sounded resigned.
"Honored Father, sir, Mother used me as a test pattern," Bastian said, winking at his brother. "Perhaps it might help to suggest that I could take any garments that will not serve, as a way to save vlaat. I'm certain I will not grow this winter, at least not that much." When their father did not reply, he ventured, "The sea-dog vest should still fit him."
Ewoud noticed that the cobbles felt colder and rougher than they had before he left. His boots needed to be re-soled as well, and his smalls were rather worn. Two shirts had elbows in need of patching despite his best efforts not to lean in the counter when he wrote. "I'm no taller, sir."
"For which I thank Maarsrodi, because I am not allowing your mother to hang feathers from the door lintel."
Ewoud blinked, then stepped to the side, out of the way of some stray striped-geese determined to elude their herders. The farm woman and her daughter shooed the errant birds back into the flock and urged them on toward the livestock market. "Feathers, sir?"
Bastian snickered. "Marlo Godkurt grew," he held his hands almost a foot apart, "this summer. Lady Godkurt hung strips of cloth and feathers from all the doorways, to remind him to beware after he knocked himself out twice in as many months."
Ewoud started to chuckle, then stopped. It wasn't funny, but it was, wasn't it? A rancid whiff of something distracted him. "That's different, sir." They walked down the road between the spice shops, a chandlery, and an open-rental wares-house. What stank?
"One of the farmers rented the wares-house to use for making soft sour-cheese and fermented cream with herbs. It is dreadfully popular with the fashionable set, alas. Especially fermented cream with garlic. The medikos believe that the herbs and essence of fermentation counter the cool wetness in the cream, for those of a drier nature." His father did not sound excited. "You will find that your mother prefers to duplicate the dishes in her own kitchen, with cooling herbs."
Oh no. Ewoud glanced over and saw Bastian drooping for an instant, then recovering the proper dignity. Oh no indeed. At least dairy season would be ending soon, and all that would be available were properly made cheeses. "Ah, is he keeping the cows inside the walls?"
"No, thanks be to Yoorst and Maarsrodi," Tycho averred. He nodded to a colleague before continuing, "The council and the priests of Yoorst refused to permit it, so he is renting ground in the water-meadows south of the city, and built a shed for the cattle. His men bring the milk into the city in the mornings, as soon as the gates open."
Ewoud started to ask about the cream, then caught himself staring at a matron wearing.
.. Well, it looked like the vests the women to the east wore, but tighter and stiffer, in black with white and red figures woven into the fabric. She eschewed the usual breast-scarf, revealing large and chalk-white—He looked away, down, making sure of his steps on the road as it changed from cobbles to rutted dirt. "An interesting style," his father observed.
"Yes, sir," Ewoud managed, not trusting himself to moderate his opinion. The pain in his shoulder made him more blunt than might be wise, than would be wise, in case the matron were in the household of one of the other merchants of the council.
"Ahem. So," Bastian began after a moment or two. "How many furs did you bring back?"
"As many as I left with. Meester Haakom frowned on us claiming the inferior pelts, and after seeing some of the results of poor tanning, believe me, you do not want me to open my bag and unfold half-rotten furs." They'd found some tucked into an outside corner of a storage building, for reasons no one could fathom, and seeing worms crawling on the things... Ugh. What a waste of mynkha. The stench had rivalled rotten eggs but in its own meaty-fishy way. They'd picked the remains up with sticks and hurried them out of the vlee's walls and then out of the city gate, with the blessings of the masters and the city's peace keepers. No one wanted more miasmas within the walls. Even the Scavenger-born had agreed.
The men stopped in front of the wares-house. "Bastian, go in and warn your mother and Rikila that your brother has a broken collarbone and is a little sore." Bastian opened his mouth to protest, then darted ahead, taking Ewoud's bags with him. "How badly do you hurt?"
"Very badly, sir. The mediko on board gave me some fever-ease, but he did not want to use anything stronger in case we had another storm." Ewoud thought sleeping through the storm sounded like a wonderful idea, but that would make trying to help with the pump or, Lady of Waters forefend, swim a small bit difficult.
"That's what I thought. Broke my collarbone, right side, trying to dodge a staff blow while fighting two-on-one. I didn't." Tycho sounded meditative. "The leg did not hurt as much, as I recall, although I do not recommend breaking either."
"I will endeavor to take your caution to heart, honored father."
Six days passed before Ewoud felt able to move farther than the wares-house office. His parents found more than enough to keep him from mischief as it was, at least when he wasn't sleeping. His mother had studied him, lips pursed, one embroidered shoe tapping the stone tiles of the sitting room floor. "The sea-dog vest will fit, as will the trousers, provided you do not squat down and lift anything. The coat... No. There's not enough material in the shoulders to let them out. And the court tunic and hose will be impossible. Praise be that there's time to make new, since we have the material on hand. Your father says the coat should be longer. We'll see. What did you do to the elbows of your shirts?" The foot tapped the floor more quickly.
"I'm not certain, honored Mother." He truly wasn't. "Unless it was bending my arms over and over sorting and packing the pelts."
"Hmm." Foot tapping slowed. "The seamstress should have reinforced the elbows. I will have a word with her." For the hundredth time at least, Ewoud wondered how a proper household managed to prosper without someone as skilled and budget-minded as his mother overseeing the domestic side of the business. It would be nice to be able to sneak at least one something past her, though, perhaps once a year at most? "First the new coat with sea-dog and I think a touch of black squirrel if your father will permit the indulgence. Then hose and tunic, and I will see about that jacket. Shirts are easier." She nodded once. "The bodies were well enough cared for that the sleeves can be removed and replaced, and ah. That will serve for the older jacket as well." Another nod. "You may go, Ewoud. Do not forget to take another dose of boneflower."
He bowed a little. "Yes, honored Mother." Ick. He preferred the bone broths the cook had been making for him to the tincture of boneflower, lung-leaf, and serpent-tongue root that the physician had left. It tasted like the giant schaef had smelled, and the physician claimed it would re-balance his natures to counteract the exposure to cold and wet as well as speeding bone healing. The concoction did indeed heat him inside, bringing sweat and making his stomach feel as if he'd been nibbling that little red fruit from Chin’mai that he'd eaten once on a dare. Once.
Without any further orders, Ewoud decided to hide in the wares-house office. He needed to look at the account books, if his father would permit, and to catch up on business. Ewoud gritted his teeth and managed the heavy doors one-handed. His father and the journeymen were up in the second and third levels, conducting inventory and sorting late-season orders, so Ewoud perched on a stool and studied the overview page of the most recent ledger. After a moment he found a mage-light and brought it closer, then whispered the standard activation phrase. The little glow on a rod appeared, flickered, and then brightened. The spell's strength had faded. That meant Ewoud's mother had not been in the office recently, because Tycho only used oil lamps. His mother used mage light or oil, whichever happened to be cheaper that season. Who would have thought that a day would come when oil and candles cost more than a mage-light? Ewoud shook his head a little and set to work.
Compared to the ledgers for the vlee, the Galnaar family business accounts were as minnows beside a whitefish. A hundred vlaat here, at most a thousand or so there, mostly through letters of credit and debit instead of coin, Ewoud saw as he skimmed over the summary pages. Granted, basic rough-tanned hides for shoe soles or rough work harnesses and repair leather would never command high prices compared to salt. Ewoud looked at the wall, frowning as he tried to recall if there was a leb-leather. No, yes, yes, there was, but he could not recall ever hearing leb-price for leather invoked in Rhonari. The truly poor wore wooden shoes or pattens over boiled and felted wool made from worn-out knits. Ewoud's own mother and sisters had made house shoes that way once or twice, because it was thrifty. Leather could be a leb-good but did not fall into the same category as leb-bread.
One line in the summary gave Ewoud pause. He considered it, listened for his father, and then flipped carefully through the book to the late summer entries. He ran a finger down the column until he found it. "Tamman, one, trimmed. Two koog, one thin half koog." His eyes watered at the price. He'd never seen a koog coin, just its value in goods. Why had his father entered it under debits alone, rather than as held inventory and a debit? That did explain why the credit balance seemed far lower than it ought to be. And why Bastian had been so eager to talk about thrift and their mother's accounting of clothing. Ewoud heard steps, turned back to the summary page, and whispered to the mage light. It faded away and he set the little metal rod back in the storage box, away from his father's work area.
"Good. Light a lamp, Ewoud. I don't want you going blind." Tycho waved at him. "And sit. If you fall over and break the other shoulder, I might as well rent space in the council hall for the season because your mother will drive me out of the house." Ewoud sat. "No, go make the deliveries, then see about packing those. Otherwise there'll be no room for either of them." The apprentice ducked and hurried out of the office doorway. Tycho lit his pipe with a coal from the tiny brazier under the ink-wells. "What news from the east?"
Ewoud had been thinking about just that. "If anyone tries to sell you ovsta hides, sir, you might reconsider the offer. The animals are giant schaef and smell just as bad." Tycho held his hand level with the top of his desk, one eyebrow raised. Ewoud held his good hand shoulder high and was rewarded with his father boggling at him. "Giant schaef, sir. The easterners make their own leathers. They bark tan very heavily, less brain tanning, and only mage-tan furs and a few unusually heavy leathers. It makes sense, because tanner barks cost perhaps half what they cost here? Less for some kinds, or so I was told, and even the logs are rough-cut into troughs and that suffices to tan lighter-weight skins. The exchange process there is a little different from ours, sir."
"I'd heard the ovsta were larger than our schaef, but not that large. The cheap bark doesn't surprise me. They don't
farm as much as we do, at least not with animal-power. One of the beast-mages told me that the ovsta are bad for plowing, although I do not recall why." Tycho's head tipped to the side as he tried to recall. "Something about their feet? No, it was their dung I think. Not my concern. They have more trees and tree products than we do." Ewoud nodded. He'd heard the same from others, and he'd certainly seen more trees than in the territory of Rhonari.
Should he mention the rumors Meester Wandel had brought in? They sounded so strange, but behind rumor might lurk truth. "Honored Father, Meester Wandel returned to the vlee just after midsummer. He had been far in the south, trading salt and iron goods for textiles, furs, and forest goods." Ewoud shifted on his stool. "He brought a rumor that I have trouble believing, along with news about the harvest and other matters in the south. Ah, Meester Wandel was told that the earth had shaken and churned, closing the mouth of the Moahne and even breaking the bridge at Moahnebrig." His father waited, watching. Ewoud twitched. "Um, he also said that he'd been told it was something from the south and that the king of Liambruu said it showed that the Great Northern Emperor had no rights over the land."
Ewoud's father didn't blink or look surprised. "There is truth behind the rumor. The rising waters threatened the bridge at Moahnebrig, but it has not failed, at least not by the time the last traders came north with news. My factor at Platport was told by men from the south who had sailed from Chin’mai and then up the coast that yes, the river mouth had closed. Rock from the great cliffs filled the river's way. They did not go inland to see how large the block might be." Ewoud heard a little laughter in his father's voice. "I would not go seeking trouble, either. They said that the cliffs appeared lower than before. Since the river will try to find a new way past the rocks, they did not linger. It did explain the strange wave they'd seen in Chin’mai, if the rocks had all fallen in at once."
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