by James Evans
As dawn broke the crew extinguished the lamps and returned them to their chests below decks. They added new sails and soon the barge was moving more quickly, still heading south towards Catshed.
“Not more than a few hours now,” said Banks, standing beside Adrava as she yawned and stretched away the aches of a long night in an uncomfortable bed, “we’ll be in Catshed soon enough and then Smark and Dundaserre will leave us.”
“Oh? I thought they were travelling to Vensille,” said Adrava.
“So did I but apparently Mr Smark has decided to visit relatives outside Catshed so that’s where they’ll be getting off. Can’t say that I’ll be disappointed to see them go; that Dundaserre worries me.”
Adrava looked down the length of the barge to the covered area where Krant was still asleep. Dundaserre was up and bustling, preparing a cold meal for his master and tidying away their things in preparation for disembarkation.
“Efficient, isn’t he?” said Adrava, “and diligent. Exactly what a gentleman would want in a manservant, I imagine.”
“Hmm. Maybe,” Banks sniffed, “but I still don’t like him.”
Adrava struggled for something appropriate to say, something that would fit with her ‘novice priest’ persona.
“We should all strive to love our fellow man,” she said finally, in a voice halfway between confident instruction and desperate pleading, “isn’t that right, Mistress Banks?”
Banks sniffed again.
“Can’t say that I’ve ever seen much evidence of that philosophy working out for ordinary people but I can see how you priests have to keep pushing it. Good luck, that’s what I say, but I’ll still be glad to see the back of Smark and Dundaserre.”
It was mid-morning when the Golden Rose came within sight of Catshed and the barge tied up at the wharf on the eastern bank of the Guiln a little while later. Krant and Gavelis, eager to disembark, had saddled their horses and made ready to leave even as the barge was being tied to the great posts set in the river bank. As Gavelis led the horses over the gangplank Krant sought out Adrava, watching from the railing toward the stern of the barge.
“Miss Naseep,” Krant began, “er, it has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Er.” He stopped, unsure of how to continue.
“And yours, Mr Smark,” said Adrava, stepping into the gap in the conversation before it could grow any more embarrassing, “and I hope I’ll see you again at the temple in Esterengel after we have both returned home.”
Krant smiled, mistaking her politeness for interest.
“Oh, yes, that would be very nice. Well. Until then.”
He bowed and backed away, still unsure how to behave. Adrava waved to him as he stood on the wharf and watched as he led his horse through the crowd and into the town, Gavelis leading the way.
At the gangplank Banks was talking to a merchant, arranging supplies for the rest of the voyage to Vensille. Adrava moved a little closer so that she could eavesdrop.
“Yes, yes, man,” Banks was saying, “the usual quantities. Just get it loaded as quickly as possible - I’m eager to be on my way before noon.”
“Yes mistress, right away.” The merchant scurried off and a little while later two men appeared carrying assorted foodstuffs packed in two large wicker baskets. Banks checked the contents while the men stood on the deck fidgeting. Then she paid the porters and signalled a crewman to stow the food. The porters hurried back down the gangplank and disappeared back into the crowd.
Blucher came up to stand beside Adrava as she spoke with a seller of honey cakes who stood on the wharf with a tray of her produce hanging from straps around her neck.
“Four then,” said Adrava, reaching over the rail to pass down the coins and to take possession of four honey cakes, which the vendor threaded onto a short length of cane. Adrava took the cane and thanked the vendor then turned to Mr Blucher.
“Would you like a honey cake, Mr Blucher?”
For a moment it looked like he would refuse but greed overcame caution and he accepted, pulling the top cake gently from the cane.
“Many thanks, Miss Naseep. Mmm. Very nice,” he said around a mouthful of cake.
Adrava retreated to the bow and sat on the edge of the barge, leaning against the railing as her feet dangled above the river, slowly eating her honey cakes as she watched small boats and barges manoeuvring on the water.
An hour after docking Banks announced that her business in Catshed was concluded and the crew cast-off, punting the barge slowly back into the main stream of the river before raising sail to catch the gentle breeze and resume their journey.
From a doorway at the edge of an alleyway a little distance from the river, Gavelis watched the Golden Rose slip gently back onto the river and sail slowly away. When the barge had passed from sight he walked down the alley to the small square where Krant was minding the horses.
“The barge has gone. Nobody else got off so I think it’s safe for us to go.”
Krant nodded and tugged on the reins of his horse. He followed Gavelis through the town, heading south towards the bridge that crossed the Guiln. When they reached the bridge the central span, which had been raised to allow the Golden Rose to pass downstream, had been lowered back into place and traffic across the river had resumed. Krant and Gavelis walked their horses across the bridge and then continued along the road, heading west away from Catshed.
“We will need directions at some point,” said Gavelis as they passed the last of the small groups of people trudging along the road, “but I think we should head west for a few miles before asking.”
Krant nodded, his attention on the road and the countryside.
“I didn’t recognise anyone in Catshed. Do you think we may have slipped past the watch?”
Gavelis grimaced.
“Maybe. We should be well ahead of them - they won’t have ridden through the night - but we don’t know where they are or which route they’re taking. They’ll probably stick to the east bank where the roads are better and hope to be in Vensille before the Golden Rose. That’ll mean hard riding during the day, especially if Banks keeps sailing through the night.”
“It would be just our luck for the Golden Rose to leave Vensille before the watch arrive.”
Gavelis grimaced again.
“No plan is perfect and this one has lots of risks,” he said, waving his hands at the flies that buzzed around his head, “still, we’re committed now, for better or worse.”
They rode in silence for an hour or so as the road grew gradually narrower and more rutted and pocked with holes. At a small village behind, to Krant’s eyes, an unnecessarily high wall, they stopped briefly for directions.
“Vensille, you say?” said the old man in the village square, puffing his pipe, “There’s a road that heads southward a mile or two outside the village,” he waved vaguely toward the far side of the small square, “but you’ll want to be quick about it. It’s Mid-afternoon already,” he said, looking at the shadows cast by the village hall, “so you’ll have to ride like blazes to make the next village before dusk.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Gavelis, smirking, “we’ll bear that in mind.”
“Oh aye, you do that son,” said the old man, waving his pipe at Gavelis and shaking his head at the all-knowing wisdom of the young, “just make sure you’re behind the walls before dusk.”
“What do you make of all that?” said Krant after they’d passed through the gate in the village wall.
“Just an old man rambling to anyone who’ll listen and spouting nonsense to frighten outsiders. But a night in the forest doesn’t really appeal so we should push on to the village.” Gavelis kicked his horse into a canter and Krant followed.
By early evening they were still riding through the forest and Krant was starting to get a little nervous. He hadn’t camped in the wilderness for many years and his previous experiences were not ones that he remembered fondly. Gavelis too seemed keen to reach the next village and together they rode on,
pushing their horses hard as they dared while the sun sank toward the horizon.
As dusk fell they crested a hill and looked down into a shallow valley of fields and orchards and penned animals. Ahead, only a couple of miles away, was the village and they kicked their horses into a gallop at the sight, thundering down the road as the day’s light failed. They slowed when it became obvious that the gate had been closed. Gavelis walked his horse to the gate and banged the flat of his hand on the heavy timbers.
“Hallo!” he called in a loud voice.
A shutter in the gate opened and a face peered out.
“Travellers? At this time of night? What do you want?” scowled the face.
“Just looking for somewhere to spend the night,” said Gavelis, “there’s only the two of us.”
“You’re late. We’ve shut the gate. Don’t open now till dawn.” The shutter slammed down.
Gavelis thumped on the gate again.
“You can’t leave us out here, man. Just open the damned gate and let us in.”
There was silence for a few seconds then a man swore quietly before the bar slid back and the gate opened.
“Come on then, if you’re coming. Don’t hang around.” The man peered nervously along the road from behind the gate and he slammed it shut again as soon as they were both through. He dropped the bar back into place then turned to look at them as they dismounted.
“Where’ve you come from then? Bit late to be travelling, ain’t it?”
“We’re heading south,” said Gavelis quickly, cutting off whatever Krant had been about to say, “but we misjudged the distances. Do you always bar the gate at dusk?”
“South, eh? And yes, we always bar the gate at dusk. Won’t be opening it again till dawn.”
“No, you said. You’ve had trouble, then?”
The man looked at them again.
“You’re not from round here, I can see. We like to keep things safe, that’s all. You need lodgings?”
“Just for one night. We will be on our way tomorrow,” said Gavelis.
“Try Mistress Kemp, the house on the corner,” the man pointed along the street to one of the few two-storey buildings in the village, “she often has space for travellers.” He ducked his head toward them before shuffling off down an alley. Gavelis waited until the old man disappeared into a hovel built against the wall. The squalor that some people would tolerate just to live the right side of a wall or river or border never ceased to amaze him.
He turned around and hurried down the street. Krant was walking his horse towards the house on the corner, looking around him as he went.
“There’s nowhere to stable the horses,” whispered Krant, keeping his voice low even though they were alone in the deserted street, “what do we do?”
“There’s a trough and rail over there,” said Gavelis, pointing, “so let’s tie up the horses, strip their saddles and feed them then worry about lodgings.”
“What, just leave them in the square?”
Gavelis sighed.
“It’s a small village, everybody knows everybody else. If the horses aren’t there at dawn we’ll raise hell with the Mayor until he rousts out the villains. Come on, I need something to eat.”
The next morning, still tired after a poor night’s sleep in a cramped room on rough straw pallets, Krant and Gavelis collected their horses from the rail and left the village, following the road towards Vensille.
“We’ll have to stop soon, sir,” said Gavelis after an hour’s riding, “so that we can feed and water the horses. Might be a good idea for us to walk for a few miles, just to give them a rest.”
Krant grunted and slid from his saddle. Ten days ago the idea of riding anywhere had filled him with dread; now it seemed normal and walking - walking! - was the unusual activity. They spent an hour eating a late breakfast and resting while the horses cropped grass in a clearing beside the road, then they continued on their way, heading for the next village on the route.
For two more days they travelled south, spending a night in a barn, much to Krant’s disgust. The narrow track that wound through the forest and linked villages and farms grew gradually wider and busier as they travelled south. With every mile they saw more activity: farms, towns, orchards, meadows and, outside the first town large enough to warrant the title since leaving Catshed, a gallows with three long-dead corpses swinging gently in their cages.
“Highwaymen, do you think?” asked Krant as they rode by.
“Hmm. The one on the end looks a bit small for an outlaw. Justice is harsh, here, and probably not very just.”
Krant shivered and kicked his horse to a canter.
“I’m glad we’re not stopping here,” he said in a low voice, looking warily at everyone they saw as they followed the track that ran around the outside of the town walls.
Two hours later they reached the coast and turned east to follow the post road along the cliff tops. The road wound past fishing villages built around small harbours and smallholdings raising animals and crops. Eventually, with traffic on the road growing steadily busier, the spires and towers of Vensille came into view.
They sat their horses for a few minutes at the edge of the road, taking in the view. The city sat in a wide coastal plain and from their vantage point at the end of the cliffs they could look down across the fields and villages that were spread out before them. Beyond the fields the walls of Vensille stood tall, towering over the hovels and low buildings that clustered around the city gates and along the roads.
“Vensille, I presume,” said Krant quietly, somewhat surprised to have finally reached their destination, “it’s bigger than I’d imagined”. The city walls lacked the flags and pennants common to Imperial cities but the scale of the fortification was undeniably impressive. The towers and gate houses soared above the plains.
“Yes, sir,” said Gavelis, slipping back into his valet persona, “this is Vensille, the greatest of the coastal city states and the biggest walled city within at least two hundred miles.”
“It will be a relief to finally enjoy a little civilisation again, Gavelis.” He paused, then said, “Is it safe to use our real names again?”
“Yes, sir, I think so.”
“Well then, let us hurry on down and introduce ourselves to the ambassador.”
And together they rode down from the cliffs and, at long last, into the city of Vensille.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
THE VOYAGE FROM Catshed to Vensille was entirely uneventful; more than once Adrava found herself pacing the decks of the barge to stave off boredom or simply to get a little exercise. She spent time with String, feeding and grooming her, or chatted with Banks or Blucher or the crew. Each day she would retreat to her cabin to ‘meditate’ for an hour or more whenever she felt the need for a little peace and quiet or when the maintenance of her priestly persona became too much of a burden. More than anything she wanted to find Marrinek but running a close second was the need to throw off her disguise and once again be herself.
The evening before they arrived in Vensille she once again dined with Banks, although this time they ate a simple meal together in the privacy of Banks’ small cabin. After the main meal, as the barge continued downstream, they sat at the table drinking red wine from a small barrel that Banks produced from her locker and eating cheese they’d picked up in Catshed.
“So,” said Banks, leaning back in her chair, “are you going to tell me your real name?”
Adrava paused, wine glass halfway to her lips, and looked Banks straight in the eye.
“My real name?” she said, lowering her glass to the table.
“The priest thing,” said Banks with a friendly smile, “it’s a good act - you’ve fooled everyone else on the boat including Blucher and Smark - but it doesn’t wash. What are you up to?”
Adrava pushed back from the table, preparing herself in case Banks was asking out of more than innocent friendship.
“What gave me away?”
“Litt
le things. You’ve travelled, although you don’t talk about it very much, and that’s unusual in a ‘young’ priest. You’re talented but you don’t really use your power and I can’t gauge your strength. You only bless people or give thanks for food or invite prayers when you think someone is watching, which is also strange for a priest.”
Adrava was silent for a few seconds.
“No,” she said finally.
“What do you mean ‘no’?”
“I mean that I’m not going to tell you my name. I’d like to think that we might become friends, over the years, but for now the less you know about me the safer we’ll both be.”
Banks looked highly dubious.
“Really? You’re so tainted that even knowing your name might put me in danger? I don’t believe it.”
Adrava shrugged, not really caring if Banks believed her or not.
“I said I was travelling to see family in Vensille but that wasn’t true. Well, not quite. I think my husband is in the city, somewhere, and I very much wish to find him.”
Banks’ scepticism, now at truly epic levels, showed openly on her face.
“Oh well if you really don’t want to tell the truth then don’t, but such a transparent lie is an insult.”
Adrava shook her head sadly.
“I haven’t seen him for almost two years but a report reached me suggesting he was in Catshed a few weeks ago. If it was true, and people I respect certainly gave it credence, then Vensille is a logical destination for him. Catshed is just too small, too provincial, too far from money and power for him to stay there for any length of time but there’s no way to know for certain until I get to the city.”
