A Voyager Without Magic

by Guy Antibes

  “Can we go in?”

  Desmon shook his head. “By invitation only. See the guards? They carry a list of the day’s permitted visitors.”

  Sam could see guards were checking those who wished to enter. He’d seen the same thing in Baskin, but to enter the city or the king’s palace. He looked up at the side of the hill. It looked even steeper close up than from the port. Baskin had court language, and Carolank had gated hills. He wondered if all cities and ports were so unique. They strolled through twisted city streets and entered a busy square.

  “In here, but you’ll have to tie Emmy up at a hitching post.”

  Sam looked at the restaurant. It looked presentable enough. He nodded as he fastened Emmy’s leash to a hitching post. He’d done the same with the dog more than a few times since he’d had her. “Stay,” he said to her in Vaarekian.

  The two of them entered and were shown to a table.

  “Do you have any idea what the food is like?” Sam asked.

  “Lots of sauces,” Desmon said. “Most of the meat is boiled chicken or boiled pork. The meat is served in soup or smothered in sauce. Either way, the bland taste is immersed in flavor.”

  Desmon smiled, more to himself, when he described the food. Sam was prepared for the taste to be peppery hot. He had been the victim of misdirection plenty of times by his fellow constabulary apprentices and by regular constables during his time in Baskin. He resigned himself to small portions.

  The serving maid finally got to them. She handed them the menu written on a chalkboard.

  “Quaint,” Desmon said.

  The sailor seemed different off the ship. He acted more like a bureaucrat than a man who worked with his hands. Sam wondered which one was more like the real Desmon.

  “You aren’t Carolankians.” The woman said it as a statement.

  “I am from Toraltia, and my friend is a Wollian,” Sam said.

  “Just off the big ship?”

  Desmon gave Sam an odd look, so the boy didn’t respond.

  “The Twisted Wind,” Desmon said. “We are in for repairs for a few weeks.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Is that so?”

  “We were caught in an awful storm,” Desmon said, putting the extra accent on the awful. “The captain said we limped into port.”

  She nodded. “Look over the menu. No specials today.”

  “Something mild. Chicken?” Sam said to a nodding server. “Tender stomach after the voyage from Baskin.” He avoided looking at Desmon when he ordered.

  Desmon smiled broadly when he handed the menu over. “Whatever is best at this time of day,” he said, slipping a note in the woman’s hand.

  “Our best,” the woman said as she wrote their order down on a different piece of paper. “Water or ale?”

  “Ale,” Sam and Desmon said at the same time. Captain Darter had warned Sam not to drink Carolank water.

  Their order of ale didn’t take long. The woman delivered ale in tall glasses with bulbous bottoms. It made it hard to drink. Sam took a sip and decided he would make do with just sips. The ale was potent. Desmon drank half his glass. The man probably had a better tolerance of alcohol than Sam.

  Sam looked around the dining room. He noticed that Desmon had spotted a tall person with the dark skin and the wide nose similar to Desmon wiping mugs behind the bar.

  The sailor got up. “I’ll be right back.” He walked over to the bar and conversed with the bartender who gave a pencil and paper to Desmon. After writing on the note, the two pressed their hands together. Sam guessed it was a Wollian thing.

  Desmon returned and sat down. “A fellow countryman. Couldn’t you tell?”

  “I could,” Sam said. “He is a spy like you?”

  Desmon cleared his throat. “Maybe.” He looked across the room. “I hope that is our meal.”

  Sam figured that the arrival of their food would give the Wollian a chance to change the subject. The serving maid put a plate in front of Desmon and a steaming bowl in front of Sam before presenting them with dining utensils. Sam looked at Desmon, but his friend had already filled his mouth and begun eating.

  Sam’s chicken stew had a clear broth, but that could still mask a spicy dish.

  Desmon began to gag and mumble as he swallowed. “Small bites are best,” he said hoarsely, draining the rest of his ale.

  Sam tested the broth of his stew with a sip. Although it was a bit spicy to his taste, he found it rather tasty. “You might want to switch with me,” Sam said. “I’ll take another bite, first.” Sam found a piece of chicken and some vegetable. He shrugged after he swallowed. “You might find this less troublesome.”

  Desmon shoved the plate toward Sam. “Watch out.”

  Sam took a tiny bite. Whatever bothered his friend, didn’t bother him, but Sam had to admit it was spicier than the chicken stew. He took another forkful and found an offending taste. Sam discreetly put it back on his fork. A little red slice of something had exploded in his mouth. Sam picked his way around the dish of pork and enjoyed what he ate, leaving a little pile of red peppers of some kind on the side.

  The peppers had done their job of diverting talk of the passed note while they ate, but when they finished, Sam asked Desmon about the note again. “So, is the bartender a Wollian spy?”

  “He is Wollian,” Desmon said, not quite answering Sam’s question. “I met him the last time I put into Carolank. I’d prefer not to say any more.”

  It really wasn’t Sam’s business, anyway. “I still have a problem. I don’t have any Norlankian money. I can pay with Toraltian coin.”

  Sam heard Emmy’s bark.

  “See what is wrong with Emmy. My treat,” Desmon said, pulling at his purse.

  Sam ran outside. A man crawled away from Emmy, his eyes on the dog’s face, his face showing fear.

  “It’s all right, Emmy,” Sam said in Toraltian. He went to her and scratched behind her ears. He could feel the tension drain from the dog and the man. “I hope you weren’t trying to steal her.”

  “No,” the man said, waving his hands at Sam. “Why would I do that?” His tone of voice didn’t convince Sam that the man was innocent.

  “She didn’t bite you,” Sam said. “Did she knock you over?”

  “With one nudge.” The man rose, brushed himself off and left through the crowd of onlookers.

  “He tried to steal your dog, boy,” a woman said. “It is a she?”

  Sam nodded.

  “So big. He even kicked the dog to get her to stand. He was lucky,” a man said.

  “She is well-behaved, but knows her own mind,” Sam said.

  “A good dog, she is,” an older man said. “Can I pet her?”

  Sam nodded. Soon a crowd of onlookers patted a patient Emmy. Desmon came to Sam and Emmy’s rescue.

  “You wanted to get some Norlankian money?”

  “I do,” Sam said.

  “I think I know where there is an exchange,” Desmon said.

  Sam nodded to the crowd and untied Emmy. Both of them followed Desmon down the street. They were soon skirting the bottom of Persimmon Hill.

  They didn’t have to walk far before they came to a formal commercial district surrounding a square fronting another gate leading up the hill. A bank was in the middle of a block of what seemed to be professional offices. It reminded Sam of buildings around the Royal Recorder’s office in Baskin. Sam walked into the bank while Desmon sat on a bench close to a fountain. Emmy’s leash was long enough to let her lap up some water. He hoped the dog’s stomach was up to the task.

  The bank looked like the one bank Sam had entered during his time in Baskin. Better-dressed men sat on elevated platforms above those who worked for them. It appeared the nobles-on-a-hill theme permeated the banking industry, and Sam guessed he’d see much the same thing everywhere in Carolank. It all looked silly to him, just like he thought it silly that nobles had to speak a different language in Baskin.

  He focused on seeing if his Carolank letter of credit was vali
d. The document didn’t state an amount. At least his fare to Tolloy was paid in full, so if he didn’t have any funds, he could always stay on the ship like Banna Plunk.

  “I have a letter of credit,” Sam said to the next available clerk. He slipped it under a barred opening.

  The woman on the other side sniffed the page. He wondered why she did that. She held it up to the light and told him to wait. After showing it to another clerk, she reached up and handed it to one the elevated managers.

  Sam thought they would be managers. He couldn’t hear what they said from the counter, but the woman returned.

  “This is a royal document. Are you a royal in Toraltia?”

  Sam shook his head. “I had an audience with the king and was personally asked to leave Baskin. The king’s agent presented me with letters of credit for the ports I would be visiting on my voyage to Tolloy,” Sam said.

  She nodded. “You can draw a modest amount.”

  “What is a modest amount?” Sam asked.

  The woman went back to the elevated manager and returned. “The equivalent of 100 Toraltian lions.”

  One hundred? Sam thought. A princely sum and not something he would want to carry around in a strange city. “I will take two lions, but broken down into smaller coins in a purse that I can carry. Can you do that?”

  The woman seemed to relax. Sam wondered, if he had asked for 100 lions, the most expensive gold coin traded in Toraltia, it would have harmed the bank? The manager descended from his perch to personally hand a fat purse to Sam.

  “It is our pleasure to serve such a distinguished person.”

  Sam had to repress a laugh. He had been exiled instead of being executed, and here he was treated like a noble. “I am on my way to Tolloy. The ship has put in the harbor for repairs.” He bounced the purse once in his palm. “These coins will get me through the next week, won’t they?”

  “You don’t gamble, do you, young sir?”

  Sam shook his head. “Gambling is not for me. Not when I don’t know the games Carolankians play,” he said.

  “Your purse should be enough to live on, plus a reasonable amount left over for souvenirs. Models of the Nine Hills are very popular with visitors.”

  Sam smiled. “I will seek them out.” He had no desire for a model of a hill packed with noble houses, but he suspected the man lived on one. “Thank you for your help. Can I have the letter of credit back?”

  The man colored. “Ah, it is for one use only, I’m afraid.”

  Sam gritted his teeth. It didn’t say that on the document. “Could you show me how you knew that?” Sam couldn’t see where the letter of credit said such a thing.

  “Certainly. Wait here, please.” The manager conferred with the woman who helped him at the window and brought back the document. “Look at the paper.”

  Sam held it up to a window and saw additional instructions including the 100 lion credit and that the credit was good for one withdrawal only.

  “Is this standard practice?”

  The manager nodded. “It is in Holding. What they do in Wollia or Polistia, if you are going all the way to Tolloy, is a mystery to me.”

  Sam managed a smile. He didn’t feel like he had been swindled. He had two lions’ worth of coinage if his purse. That would last him for months in Baskin, and he imagined it would do the same in Carolank. “Thank you.” Sam gave the man a little bow and left the bank.

  “Did they give you any money?” Desmon asked.

  “Two lions’ worth.”

  “That is a gold coin in Baskin?”

  “The largest,” Sam said.

  “Your king is a generous man.”

  Less generous than Sam had originally thought because Sam didn’t know about the one-time nature of the letter of credit. He might have given up some of the money he’d need to start life as an exile. At least that life was worth as much as 100 lions withdrawn one time, except Sam had two lions of that amount. He’d have to look at the other letters of credit to see what limitations they had.

  “He is. I told the manager I would look at models of the Nine Hills.”

  Desmon made an ugly face. “Really?”

  “I didn’t say I’d buy one!” Sam said, smiling.

  Chapter Eight

  ~

  S am lay in bed reflecting on his long walk with Desmon and Emmy the previous day. The models of the Nine Hills were garish and lived up to Desmon’s pained face. With another meal, not quite as spicy as his first, he was glad to get back to the ship, and Banna seemed to be glad Emmy had returned.

  His musings were interrupted by a knock on his cabin door.

  “Up, assistant purser,” Captain Darter said. “I have work for a snoop!”

  “I’ll be up in a few minutes,” Sam said. He jolted to his feet and washed his face before getting ready. He appeared on deck wearing his assistant purser’s coat.

  The captain stood with some local people close to the gangplank. On the dock, a crowd had gathered not far from The Twisted Wind’s berth. Captain Darter beckoned Sam over to the group.

  “This is your investigator?” a uniformed man asked the captain.

  “Sixteen years old, and he already has a year of successes under his belt,” Darter said, inflating Sam’s age just a bit, ”including solving a murder on my ship on our leg from Baskin to Carolank.”

  “For whom did you work in Toraltia?”

  “Dickey Nail was training me as an apprentice constable. Faddon Bentwick recruited me,” Sam said. He pulled out his constabulary token. “I was given this when I left Baskin.”

  The man took the token and looked it over. “This is genuine.”

  Sam nodded as the man returned the device. “I’m not particularly experienced, but I learned how to process a crime.”

  The man snorted. “Process a crime. You make it sound like a science.”

  “Part of snooping is, and part isn’t,” Sam said.

  “I’m supposed to work with the kid?” the man said to the captain.

  “If you want a representative that will help with the investigation, yes,” Darter said.

  The man looked Sam over. “Commander Rett Eshing of the Carolank City Guard. We don’t call our men constables in Carolank.”

  “The Investigative Division is part of your guard?” Sam asked.

  “It is, and I head it. I’ve met Bentwick before. Describe him.”

  Sam did so and gave the man the names of Bentwick’s wife and daughter. “I have a letter of recommendation if you wish to see it.”

  “I do,” Eshing said.

  Eshing wasn’t going to take Sam’s word on anything, it seemed. He retrieved his letter, and while he did, Sam wondered what the investigation was all about, and why Captain Darter had to provide one. He stood as Eshing read the entire letter. Eshing returned it.

  “I guess you are who you say you are. Bentwick thinks highly of you.” Eshing looked at Captain Darter. “I suppose he will do. We can go down to the dock.”

  Sam followed everyone down after stashing Bentwick’s letter in his coat. Eshing nodded to the guard to clear part of the dock.

  “We will climb down.”

  At the water’s edge, a dead man was wrapped with dark green pollen, bound to a dock support. Sam noticed that he was above the water line. Now he could see the dock floated on large covered pontoons that ran its entire width. The dead man’s feet touched the top surface of the pontoon.

  Sam took off his spectacles and looked at the victim. He wore a badge that said ‘Harbormaster’ attached to the uniform coat.

  “This is the Harbormaster?”

  Eshing looked at Sam. “How do you know that? We haven’t unwrapped the victim yet.”

  “I have my own way of examining the victim. He’s wearing the harbormaster’s badge,” Sam said, still looking at the body. “No blood on the front, but there is blood pooled at his feet. Maybe he was stabbed in the back.” Sam walked around and nodded. “It looks like he was stabbed multiple times, but th
e piling is in the way for me to know for sure.”

  “We might as well take him down, now. The boy already knows more than we do.” Eshing looked at one of the guards. “See if the harbormaster is missing.”

  The guard began to struggle to cut the pollen.

  “I can help with that,” Sam said, pulling out his wand and twisting a gold tip on the end. He used the wand to divide the wrapping on the victim’s side. It didn’t take long before the guards could peel back the pollen. “Don’t throw that away,” Sam said. “We have a pollen expert on board. That is unusually tough pollen. I’d like her to take a look at it.”

  “Your snoop is a very young pollen expert, Captain,” Eshing said.

  “I’ll take a sample right now if you don’t mind,” Sam cut a palm-sized square off and asked the Captain to pick it up and give it to Banna.

  “Allergic to pollen?” Eshing asked, a smile finally reaching his lips.

  “It is allergic to me,” Sam said, regretting saying the words as they tumbled out of his mouth.

  Eshing only grunted. “I’ll have one of my men escort you to the nearest guard office when we have the body laid out properly. It isn’t far.”

  Sam looked at the body one more time without his spectacles. The manacles that held the harbormaster’s wrists had disappeared. Sam looked at them more closely with his spectacles off. “Don’t throw these away,” he said. Eshing looked peeved by Sam’s instruction. “Please,” Sam said.

  A few minutes later, Sam and Captain Darter stood at the gangway looking down at the four guards sent to watch the ship.

  “Why are we involved?” Sam asked.

  “An anonymous letter to the council that rules Carolank said that we were responsible. Commander Eshing knows better, but he has to fulfill the wishes of the council. We are stuck in Carolank until the murder is solved. You are my only real hope of pushing the investigation along.” She grinned. “You shocked Eshing by your performance below the dock. That, and Bentwick’s recommendation, give us some credibility.”

  “What about the repairs?” Sam said.

  “Jordi is responsible for the materials, but he has to be escorted by two guards everywhere he goes. It seems that you will be the only person free to move around Carolank unescorted.” She frowned. “And this is my home port.”