Two blocks into the Dreggar’s Quarter she turned right, up Hill Street. She glanced back down Ferryway out of habit as she made the turn, and her breath caught in her throat. Silhouetted by the light of a street lamp, three tall figures approached. She hitched up her skirts and dashed up the hill, making another turn as soon as she could, not taking time to look back. Another half block and she could cut back to her tenement.
She came to the wider street and paused to listen, wondering if she had imagined things. After a moment she crossed the street, entered the alley and climbed the stair where four single-room apartments crowded above a row of shops. She sighed in relief as she topped the stair and tapped quietly on her neighbor Julia’s door.
“Marci?” Julia’s voice sounded muffled and slurred with sleep.
“Yes, it’s me,” she answered, knowing the woman had probably been sleeping with her back against the door again. She couldn’t expect her to stay up half the night watching her daughter sleep, and was thankful enough that she only charged her a few coppers a day for the service.
The door cracked open and Julia’s homely features filled the gap. She smiled and opened the door fully, letting Marci in.
“How was she?” Marci asked as the door clicked closed. Nan, her little girl, slept soundly alongside Julia’s twin boys, Pip and Daniel. They were all about the same age, and got along famously.
“A little demon, as usual,” Julia said with a tired smile. “I swear, when the three of them get going, they’re just impossible.”
“Well, at least you tired them out.” She paid Julia and lifted little Nan from the bed. The girl barely stirred, a limp weight in her arms. “Thank you, Julia. I’ll drop her off around midday tomorrow.”
“G’night, Marci.” Julia let her out, and she climbed the second flight to her flat, balancing the little girl on her hip and murmuring a quiet lullaby. She worked the latch and entered her tiny apartment, putting Nan on the bed and making her way to the kitchen nook for a cup of water.
The door creaked and she turned, the cup falling from numb fingers as three large men came through the door. As the cup shattered, she filled her lungs to scream, but stopped as the largest of the three lowered the tip of a long knife to the sleeping child’s throat.
“Now, missy, you just be quiet and listen, like,” one of the others said, his tone calm, almost conversational. “We got a li’l business proposition for ya, and if yer smart, you and your li’l daughter’ll be just fine, and ye’ll have a bit ‘o coin in your pocket besides.”
With that knife so near Nan’s throat, Marci was too scared to even speak. She could only nod.
“Good girl. Now you just listen. We got a li’l job to do, and yer gonna help us.”
CHAPTER Seventeen
Shore Leave
The breakwaters of Tsing harbor passed abeam of Winter Gale as the sun ascended to her main yardarm, seven days after their departure from Rockport. By noon the ship rested at a mooring, her crew scrubbing every square inch of her decks and furling her sails as tightly as sausages. They would not get a spot at the quay for at least a day, so Captain Uben would let them go ashore by watches. The crew behaved accordingly, attending to their duties with all gusto, laughing and joking about how they would spend their pay ashore. Mouse became caught up in the fervor, swooping crookedly around the masts and yards, yanking on pigtails and shirt tails and occasionally tying one to the other. His antics were accepted with good grace, if not gentle language.
But of Mistress Cynthia there was no word.
“They say she hasn’t had a bite or a drop past her lips fer seven days,” one of the sailors said to his mate as the hands turned out for their midday meal.
“Aye, and her man Koybur ain’t left her side, neither,” the other agreed, taking his plate and cup to a comfortable nook.
“Never seen the likes,” Boatswain Riley said, joining the men and passing out their ration of grog. “Don’t know how she’ll manage the trip back to Southaven.”
“Mayhap she’ll take a caravan back,” one of the cabin boys speculated around a mouthful of stew.
“It’d take near two month ta get back that way, not to mention the danger of it.”
“Aye. The mountain ogres are up in arms again. They et a whole caravan just last week!” The sailors laughed, though the inference was more accurate than not. The high mountain passes had become dangerous in the extreme.
“She’ll have us duck into port to get her strength back, I’m thinkin’. That’ll bite into her profits a bit, ay.”
“It don’t matter,” Riley said, taking his seat. “When it boils down to it, she owns the Winter Gale, and she’ll do as she likes with ’er. Even if she don’t make a bent copper on this haul, she’s done what she come to do, and that’s hire crew for them new ships.”
“Which ’ad be’er make a bloody profit,” one of the topmen added, raising a chuckle from a few of his mates. “She’s puttin’ a lot o’ eggs in that basket.”
“Near all of ’em, from what I hear,” the boatswain agreed.
“Will ya ask the capt’n if we might pay our respects again?” another sailor asked, raising a murmur of ascent from the rest of the crew.
“Aye, I’ll ask ’im, but don’t expect too much from ’er. The lady’s been through a lot.”
*
When Cynthia finally came onto the deck of the Winter Gale, the sun stood low to the west, and the crew once again stood lined up precisely in their best clothes with their hats doffed. But this time, when Captain Uben asked if the crew might pay their respects, she surprised them.
“Of course, Captain. I would be honored.” Her face shone pale in the light of the setting sun, but her jaw remained firmly set. Mouse whooped in glee and swooped to orbit her head before landing on her shoulder.
“Very good, Mistress.” Uben turned to the boatswain and said, “Mister Riley, if you please.”
The boatswain piped the traditional two note call, and turned to the crew. “All hands, cheers for Mistress Flaxal! Hip, hip—”
Three cheers rocked the ship from beak head to poop, and rolled across the anchorage so loudly, sailors from nearby ships called out as well. Mouse cheered along with them, doing back flips and kicking up his heels. As the echoes died, Cynthia stepped forward, her smile wide and her face showing a healthy glow.
“Thank you, Mister Riley, and thank you all.” She curtsied to them, amazed, now that she really looked at their faces, at how many she recognized from her years of late nights at the Galloping Starfish. “You’ve all been very understanding about my… condition on this trip, and I’d like to show my appreciation. You deserve more, but when we get back to Southaven, I’ll stand you all to a round of drinks at the Starfish.”
Mouse did another back flip on her shoulder and let out a whoop as another cheer broke out, more ragged than the prior three, but every bit as genuine.
“The ship’s launch is at your disposal, Mistress Flaxal.” Captain Uben held out an arm to the boarding port. “If you need anything at all, just send a messenger.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
The launch’s crew swarmed down the boarding ladder to take their places. As Koybur worked his way down, Cynthia looked around the anchorage and caught her breath in astonishment.
“Holy mother of… uh… I mean… my goodness.”
She stood marveling at the number of ships filling the anchorage and lining the quay and docks. Upwards of thirty ships, she guessed. Though there were none of the low xebecs or galleys of the south, there were ships of every other type she had seen, and one that she had not. A massive man-of-war swung slowly on her cable, her towering triple masts and quadruple yards dwarfing every other ship in the harbor. Rows of catapults crowded the upper deck and two rows of ports for heavy ballistae studded her hull below.
“I’d like to sail that through the Shattered Isles,” she commented with a chuckle.
“She’s not likely ever to go that far, Mistress,” Brel
ak said, his tone openly scornful. “That’s his Majesty’s flagship, Clairissa. She don’t leave harbor much, but when she does, it’s fer good reason.”
“I’d love to see her under full sail,” Cynthia said, letting her eyes drift beyond the ships and take in the rest of the vista.
The city sprawled between two tall bluffs, filling the space between them to overflowing. The Imperial Palace dominated the highest point to the north, its golden spires reaching to the sky as if to grasp the heavens themselves. A long beach lay at the base of that cliff, and served the local fishing fleet as a boatyard, the colorfully painted hulls lined up like parrot fish in a market bin. To the south of the beach a great stone quay lined the entire length of the city’s waterfront, broken only at the river mouth where a high bridge spanned the gap. Two heavily built towers guarded that bridge, their crenulated peaks standing like a pair of titanic shoulders.
“I’ve read that the palace and the quay are dwarvish stonework,” Cynthia said, staring in awe.
“Aye, and the towers as well, is what they say,” he agreed.
South of the quay, beneath the other broad bluff, lay the legendary shipyards. A dozen ships could be hauled up on that broad expanse to have their hulls cleaned, painted, or rebuilt entirely. Huge gantries towered at either end to replace or refit masts, and a row of drab workshops lined the base of the cliff.
“You could put Southaven right in the middle of that and nobody would notice.”
“Aye, true enough. You’ll be seeing it up close soon, and if the wind were from the east, you’d be smellin’ it already.”
“Oh, sorry.” Cynthia realized she’d been taking in the sights while everyone waited for her. “Here I stand like a statue! You should have kicked me or something, Feldrin.” She stared dubiously down the boarding ladder, took a deep breath and started to climb carefully down.
*
Cynthia was surprised by the armed constable who met them at the dock and insisted that no weapons other than knives be brought into the city. Brelak knew of the stringent ordinance, and carried only two long daggers, one in his belt and another in his boot. Koybur scoffed and showed the constable his short rigging knife. Mouse spurted a raspberry and made a rude gesture, but the constable ignored him and waved them into the city.
“Any ideas about where we should stay, or do we just find someplace close to the—”
Brelak’s piercing whistle cut her off, and even before she could turn to chastise him for startling her meager lunch right out of her, a hackney pulled up.
“Where to, Mistress?” the driver asked, even as the vehicle pulled to a stop.
“I don’t think we—”
“Midtown,” Brelak answered, opening the carriage door for Cynthia.
“Brelak, I really don’t think we need a carriage.” Cynthia stared at him, a warning in her eyes as she hissed quietly, “I’m not an invalid!”
“You may want to walk two miles uphill on cobbles to reach a decent inn, Mistress, but I don’t care to, and I don’t think Master Koybur could make the trip in two hours.”
“Damned right,” Koybur said, mounting the carriage without pause. “You comin’, Cyn?”
“Two miles, just to midtown?” Cynthia boarded, ignoring Mouse’s giggle of amusement.
“Aye, and that’s not even halfway across the city. Tsing’s wider north to south than she is east to west, but it’s near five mile from the wharves to Eastwall Street.”
“Anywhere in particular, sir?” the driver asked Brelak, deciding the big man would be making the decisions and most likely paying the fare.
“A nice inn. Nothing too high-priced, but not the dregs. Someplace that serves good food. I’m makin’ a point to remember yer face, my friend, so if we get stiffed, I’ll be lookin’ for ya.”
“No need to insinuate, sir. I know just the place. The chef’s my brother-in-law, and if you gauge the size o’ my sister’s backside as an indication of his culinary prowess, he’s the best cook in the whole bloody city!”
They all laughed and agreed to the choice. Brelak hoisted his considerable bulk into the carriage, the coachman cracked his whip and the stout pair of bays trotted up the wide avenue.
The clatter of iron-shod hooves and wheels on cobbles prevented any kind of normal conversation, so Cynthia occupied herself by taking in the sights as they passed, while Mouse yammered and pointed from her shoulder. The air became close and more oppressive as they progressed into the city, and with each block the smell of tightly packed humanity became more overpowering.
Brelak noticed Cynthia’s wrinkled nose, and shouted, “See what I meant about the smell?”
“I’m wishing I hadn’t left your mint oil on the Winter Gale, but I’m sure I’ll get used to it,” she replied. “I don’t think anything could interfere with my appetite right now.”
“The Downwinds might,” he said, making a face as more odors wafted through the open carriage windows. “Open sewers, and naught but a call of ‘look out below’ to warn ya when a chamber pot’s bein’ emptied from three floors up.”
“Lovely,” she said, as Mouse held his nose and emitted a squeal of disgust.
They rumbled along without trying to continue the conversation. When the carriage pulled aside and slowed to a stop, Cynthia looked dubiously out at the façade of the Red Gryphon Inn. It was a three-story structure with a shallow pitched roof of red tile, less than spitting distance from the adjoining buildings. The foyer could have used a coat of paint, and some of the gilt-work on the hanging board had flaked off.
“Here we are!” the driver announced, vaulting down and making a show of helping the passengers exit. “Just tell ’em Tobi sent ya, and I’m sure they’ll do right by ya.” He smiled up at Brelak and held out his hand discreetly. “A silver bit for the ride, sir.”
Brelak helped Koybur and Cynthia down from the carriage and fished the appropriate coin from his pouch, adding a fair tip.
“I’ll be rememberin’ you, Tobi,” he said, smiling down at the man. Mouse knew that tone and ducked under Cynthia’s collar, but Tobi seemed oblivious, simply smiling back up at the huge sailor.
“Most excellent, sir! If you need my services during your stay, just ask my brother-in-law to send for me. I’m at your disposal.” He tipped his cap and vaulted back to the driver’s seat. “Cheers, now!”
The interior of the inn showed them exactly what the exterior suggested: comfortable and clean, but slightly worn, as if the owner were too lazy or uncaring to replace a cracked lamp chimney or paint a chipped door frame. The low, wide desk occupying the entry could have used a good application of oil, and smoke had stained the ceiling above the hanging lamps. But wonderful aromas of well-cooked food and the sound of clattering dishes and animated conversation from the common room suggested that the place sported a loyal clientele. Brelak stepped forward and rang the hand bell.
“If yer here just for supper, go right in and ask Belela for a table,” said a voice from behind the door beyond the desk. The voice had a surly tone, so Brelak answered in kind.
“We are not here just fer supper. We need rooms. Good rooms, and a table fer supper.”
“Oh! Well, then.” The door swung open and a rotund dwarf hobbled out. “Why didn’t ye say so?” One of the fellow’s legs ended at the mid thigh, and was fitted with a wooden post that thudded against the floor as he stepped to the desk and scowled up at the foursome.
“I just did say so, Master Dwarf.”
“So ye did.” He squinted up at the big man, then at the other two. “Two rooms, or three? I like to know a bit about my guests, ye understand. Ye don’t look like a married couple.”
“Married?” Brelak’s dark skin flushed darker, and his fists clenched at his sides while he sputtered out a reply. “Of all the… Why I… O’ course we’re not married!”
Cynthia stepped forward to rescue the tongue-tied Morrgrey, smiling at the short innkeeper. “Maybe I can clear this up. I’m Cynthia Flaxal, Mistress of the Flax
al Shipping Line. We’ll need two rooms, adjoining ones if you have them. One for myself and one for Master Brelak and my man Koybur to share. I’m in Tsing on a hiring expedition, so I’ll be using your common room to interview prospective officers and crew. We were fortunate enough to meet Tobi, the brother-in-law of your chef, who said that you would do right by us.”
“Yer pardon, Miss Cynthie Flaxal, but not everyone’s who or what they claim to be, and ye don’t look like no mistress of no shippin’ line. Ye look like a girl what hasn’t had a decent meal in a month.” The innkeeper’s tone held no animosity, but he was obviously not impressed by Cynthia’s speech.
“Not quite a month, Master...?” She cocked an eyebrow questioningly.
“Me name’s Knorr, and I’m the owner of the Red Gryphon.”
“It hasn’t been quite a month, Master Knorr, but I have been at sea for a week, which has left me quite famished. I assure you, I am who and what I say. If you require a deposit for the rooms, that will be fine, but if you insist on knowing more about your guests, you will have to wait until after dinner. If I am forced to stand much longer without sampling the fare that I am inhaling with every breath, I’m going to faint.”
Whether the innkeeper believed her last claim or not, it brought a smile to his aged features, and he nodded his approval.
“I’ve got one suite that would suit yer purposes nicely, Mistress Flaxal. It’s a bit more than two rooms, but considerin’ you’ll be bringin’ in business with yer interviews and ye were recommended by Tobi, I’ll give it to ye for the same price. It’s got a small sittin’ room that’ll do for your interviewin’. Half a crown per night, breakfast included for all. Lunch’s on yer own, and supper here is our busy time, as ye can see, and it’s an extra silver bit for each guest.”
“That will suit perfectly, Master Knorr. Please book us for three nights, and I may require an extra night or two depending on our success. Three for dinner tonight and we’ll decide later if everyone wants to eat here or sample the variety of your fair city.”
Scimitar Moon Page 18
