The Fall of Lostport

by R. J. Vickers

  “Haven’t you heard?” the big man said. “The road washed out! It could be days before they repair it.”

  Laina shared a wary look with her father. “In that case,” he said hesitantly, “I suppose we could put you up in the hall. But we do not have enough bedding for fifty-odd men. You will have to make do with whatever we find.”

  “Shall I inform the kitchens?” Laina asked softly.

  “Yes, thank you,” her father said. “If you can, send for your cartographer friends. We need as much help here as we can muster.”

  Laina did not trust Barrik to follow her orders, so she sent Nort into town to fetch Swick and Jairus. In the kitchen, the fire had burned itself down to a smoldering pile of embers, and the usual warm aroma of baking bread and simmering stew had been replaced with the mildewed smell of rain. The entire kitchen staff was clustered about the door to the dining room, the cook Mylo perched on a stool, and all were listening carefully to the argument that still raged beyond.

  “What are you all doing?” Laina asked. “Have you decided to take a holiday?”

  Mylo harrumphed. “Those imbeciles plan on raiding our stores. We’ve been hiding food all morning.”

  Laina was impressed in spite of herself. She had not expected to see such initiative in her father’s staff. “Well, that’s excellent, but now we have to feed that mob. Something cheap, if possible. They might be here a while.”

  “So we heard,” Mylo said grumpily. “Did you want to help, milady? We found a bag of flour that was starting to go rancid and maggoty; that would fill them up well enough, without wasting valuable stores.”

  While one of the scullery maids stoked the fire and Mylo began assembling odds and ends for an enormous cauldron of stew, Laina hurried about the kitchen fetching water, yeast, and the rancid flour for her bread. As a child, Laina had spent countless days lurking in the kitchen, listening to the gossip and helping out in any way she could. Along the way she had learned to cook any fish and wild vegetable that came into her hands, and to make the soft, brittle-crusted bread for which Mylo was famous.

  “Is it true you vanished last night?” one of the kitchen boys asked mischievously.

  Laina added a dash of salt to her bowl and began slowly incorporating the flour into the pillowed, half-risen bubble of starter yeast. “Not exactly,” she said. “I was out for a ride yesterday, and did not return until late at night.”

  “But you went to Port Emerald, right?” the boy said.

  “Just to the gypsy camp.” Laina did not wish to elaborate further; Mylo and his crew were notorious for spreading gossip. A few of the younger kitchen workers had family down in Lostport, and they had the uncanny habit of knowing news long before it reached Laina’s or her father’s ears.

  With a clatter, Mylo dumped a whole basket of dried peas into the cauldron. “I heard a story that you were spending plenty of a time with a young man—a foreigner, no less, one of the odd-looking ones from Varrival. Have you forgotten your father’s promise to Prince Ronnick so quickly?”

  He was just teasing, Laina knew, but she still wished she knew where the story had come from. “You should choose your sources more carefully,” she said lightly. “Whatever my father might say, I have no intention of marrying that awful prince. And Jairus is just the assistant of the man I’m taking lessons from.”

  “Oh, of course,” Mylo said, winking. “Here, try this.” He squeezed between two barrels of sour ale and handed Laina a spoonful of broth.

  She sipped it and blinked in surprise. “Is that a new spice?”

  “Coriander. Newly imported from Chelt. In some circles, it’s said to be an aphrodisiac.”

  “Oh, shut up.”

  Before long, Nort returned with Swick and Jairus, all three completely drenched.

  “Thank goodness you’re here,” Laina said. “Did you see that mess in the dining hall?”

  Swick nodded, wiping his face and his grey hair with one sleeve in an attempt to dry it. “What do you expect us to do about it? We could fight them, if you’d like, but they would win.”

  Laina snorted. “That’s helpful. No, my father just needs people to watch his back. He’s afraid the men will turn violent. I say he needs to hire soldiers to guard the manor.”

  Jairus frowned at her. “He certainly needs protection. But where would those soldiers come from? Whitland. I have a suspicion that Whitland might have given its architects a different set of orders than your father might like.”

  “You think he’s ordered the men to steal from Lostport?” Laina asked in a low voice.

  “Among other things,” Swick said. “Though I haven’t been sitting in town and counting every new arrival, I have a bad feeling these foreign laborers now outnumber Lostporters. Which means that, given half a chance, they could stir up a fair bit of trouble.”

  Leaning toward Swick, Laina lowered her voice still further. “And what does that mean for the pair of you? You’re both foreigners as well. Do you stand with Lostport?”

  “As long as you remain opposed to Whitland,” Jairus said. It sounded almost like a threat.

  After a moment’s discussion, Swick decided to join Laina’s father in the dining hall while Jairus helped Laina in the kitchen. Laina could see Mylo casting pointed glances in their direction, but she ignored him for the moment.

  The moment Nort and Barrik stepped away to assist Mylo, Jairus accosted Laina in a fierce whisper. “You should not go out on your own! It is hardly safe. I hope the mess today has demonstrated just how unruly these men are.”

  “How did you know about that?” Laina snapped.

  “Your guard mentioned it. He says you have been confined to the house. Which is a good idea, I should think.”

  “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself!” Laina hissed. “You’re no warrior. What makes it safer for you to travel the road than me? Unless you think all those men are just waiting for the chance to rape me.” She punched the dough and folded it with unnecessary vehemence.

  “It would not be unheard of,” he said, frowning at the dough. “I am merely concerned for your safety. As is your father, and everyone else who knows you. You are acting in a way that disregards the reality of your situation.”

  “You mean because I’ve just ruined everything for Lostport?” Laina ripped the dough in half and pounded one of the lumps into a misshapen oval.

  “No! I mean that you are a Lostporter surrounded by a sea of discontented Whitlanders; that you are one of the only women in this forsaken kingdom, and a beautiful one at that; and that, as the heir to the throne, you are too valuable to risk your life with such foolishness.”

  Laina was taken aback. “I can’t rule. You know that. And I thought, just days ago, you were begging for my help. Would you rather I sit inside and darn socks while you and Swick risk yourselves for our plan?”

  Jairus’s eyes were bright with passion, though he managed to keep his voice low. “My lady, I cannot imagine you ever stooping so low as to darn a sock. But you are too intelligent to match yourself against these men in strength alone. That is a losing proposition.”

  “What would you have me do?” Finally satisfied with her loaf, Laina threw the bread onto the bench to proof and grabbed another hunk of dough.

  “Scheme with me. The story of Port Emerald has grown out of hand. How might we stop men from coming to Lostport? And how could we persuade these new arrivals that the greater prize lies in returning home?”

  Laina shook her head. “We have to deceive them. But how?”

  Jairus did not respond. Though he clearly had never handled bread dough before, he watched Laina and stepped in to help as best he could. Mostly they worked in companionable silence, though every now and then one would offer a suggestion.

  “The men are after jewels,” Laina said softly. “But the jewels have no true value here. What if they found as many jewels as they needed and were then offered a chance at wealth back home, something they could not pass up?”

&n
bsp; “Something like manor houses?”

  “Or even purchased nobility,” Laina said.

  Before long, the cook began sending out small portions of food—fruits and bowls of hot porridge—to keep the men satisfied until the larger meal was finished. From the voices that drifted into the kitchen whenever the door was opened, Laina gathered that the men were still negotiating with her father.

  “There are not enough jewels for this many men,” Jairus said. “Your father, I believe, is counting on the wealth that will flow into this town from the establishment of a number of wealthy families. Large gemstones will turn up frequently enough, but unless they are split into worthless shards, they will not keep the men satisfied.”

  “Is it possible to manufacture convincing fakes?” Laina asked, quieter than ever.

  Jairus hesitated a long time before responding. “Yes,” he said at last. “Using my people’s knowledge of glass-working, it is possible.”

  Chapter 12

  I t seemed like a year had passed by the time Katrien and Amadi finally sailed up to the docks marking the Twin Cities. The first ship, crossing north along the coast, had been spacious and well-appointed; as the only women aboard aside from the captain’s wife, Katrien and Amadi had been assigned a luxurious suite of rooms. Even so, Amadi had fared badly on the rough seas, and had spent much of the first quarter asleep or vomiting. Katrien had been content to watch over Amadi, still tormented as she was by the abuse she had faced at the hands of the Whitish guards. The bruises on her wrists took days to fade, and every time she glimpsed them she felt dirty. Though Lostport had once driven her nearly mad with loneliness, it now felt like a welcome retreat from the political turmoil of Whitland.

  The rivership they had moved to from there was far smaller and less comfortable. Given the choice between sharing the bunkroom with the men and sleeping in the hold, Katrien had chosen the hold, and they had laid their pallets down beside mountains of boxes and sacks of unknown merchandise. Amadi had been whiny and difficult throughout the first voyage—hardly reproachable, given her illness—but despite the shoddy accommodation on the second boat, she quickly cheered up once she recovered. Before long she was the favorite of the men aboard, always flirting and teasing and, in her own sly way, winning information and favors from them.

  “Do you see that, Amadi?” Katrien asked, beckoning the girl to the front rail of the rivership.

  “Oh! It’s a tower!”

  Four towers were glinting in the afternoon sunlight, marking the heart of Dardensfell’s capital.

  “Indeed,” Katrien said. “That is one of the Twin Cities. Here we will change to another ship, and erase any trace of our ever having traveled from Whitland.”

  “How much farther is Lostport from here?”

  Katrien leaned on her elbows and gazed down the river beyond the approaching cities. “A very long way. Our voyage has barely begun.” She wished she could join Faolan immediately. Even the quickest news took half a span to travel; anything could have changed since she and Amadi had left Whitland. Perhaps the project had been abandoned, or perhaps it was already complete. There was no way to know.

  It was sunset when their ship finally made berth on the Darden side of the river. The rivership captain gave his Whitish recruits strict orders to reappear by noon the following day, and then turned to Katrien and Amadi.

  “Are you continuing on with us?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Katrien said. “We have business here. Thank you for everything.”

  The man waved away her gratitude. “Do you have somewhere safe to spend the night? You’re free to stay aboard until tomorrow, if that would be easier. These streets aren’t the nicest after dark. Plenty of foreign river traffic flooding into the ports and causing trouble.”

  “We appreciate your concern,” Katrien said. “But we really must be off.”

  Putting one hand on Amadi’s shoulder, she led the girl down the gangplank and onto the noisy dock. There were people of every race thronging the docks, some scrubbing algae from their rivership hulls, others trying to beg passage, and still others shouting and shoving their way through the crowd with crates of goods on their shoulders.

  “Maybe we should have taken his offer,” Amadi whispered, clinging to Katrien’s arm. “Where are we supposed to spend the night? These men don’t look very happy. I’m scared.”

  Katrien gave Amadi’s shoulders a brief squeeze and then forced the girl to detach herself. “Where is the brave, impertinent young woman who charmed all those Whitish officers? These are men like any others. Appear weak, and they may take advantage of you. Hold your head high, and they will assume you have money and influence that indicate you are not worth crossing.”

  Immediately Amadi obeyed Katrien; her entire demeanor changed with her improved posture, and her expression grew solemn and intelligent.

  “And have no fear. I know exactly where we can stay the night. I stopped here before, remember? This inn is of great repute, and the owner is wary enough of Whitland that he would not spread word of my presence even in the unlikely chance that he recognized me.” She glanced up and down the riverside before ducking between two low-roofed buildings. “Besides, we won’t be anywhere near these uncouth sailors.”

  Just two blocks from the water, the city changed noticeably. The land sloped up, giving the cobbled streets better drainage and a far better smell, and the cluster of dark, slumping warehouses, taverns, and brothels gave way to finer stone buildings with a careful eye for style. Even in the growing darkness, the lamplight revealed elegant white embellishments and carved doorways. As before, it struck Katrien as odd that a kingdom of warring, nomadic horse-masters could be responsible for such a sophisticated city. It was as strange as if Lostport had decided to build a great walled city of stone in the midst of the rainforest.

  Katrien had just spotted the main street leading directly away from the water when Amadi tugged at her sleeve. “Did you see that?” she whispered.

  Katrien stopped and frowned in the direction Amadi pointed. It was a glass shop with a bulky brick chimney at the back, indicating the presence of a workshop behind the store. For a moment Katrien could make out nothing in the shadowy eaves of the storefront, but then she noticed three men standing just at the door. Two wore the unmistakable white uniforms of Whitish soldiers, and the third was a chestnut-skinned Varrilan.

  “He just hit that man!” Amadi whispered.

  Katrien took her arm and pulled her into the shadows of another building, where they could observe without being seen. “I don’t have to remind you how dangerous these men can be.”

  “Your shop is not registered with the High Throne!” one of the soldiers barked. “This is an illegal operation.”

  “You are not customs officers,” the Varrilan said furiously. “This is not your concern. My shop is located in Dardensfell, and as such, it is registered with the Darden throne. If the rules are changing, your king should have the decency to send word before deploying soldiers to harass civilians. Unless you have a different mission here?”

  “We are on our way to assist in the construction of Port Emerald,” the second soldier said. “But that does not prevent us from carrying out royal authority along the way.”

  “I can call the Darden guards on you,” the Varrilan said.

  The first guard slammed his fist into the Varrilan’s nose so hard that Katrien heard the cartilage snap. Blood began dripping down the man’s lip into his mouth; he spat at the guard, splattering his white uniform with red. Then he straightened and looked the guard in the eye, his shoulders squared proudly. “This is not your city. You have no authority over me.”

  “We can burn your Varos-damned shop to the ground. You and all your slimy rat-cousins can go back where you came from. We don’t need bloody Varrilans breeding and robbing us and spreading their filth through all the holy kingdoms.”

  “Get off my doorstep,” the Varrilan said in a low, threatening tone. “Or you’ll wish you never set foo
t in Dardensfell.”

  Instead of retreating, the soldiers each grabbed one of the man’s arms and thrust him against the wall. The shopkeeper tried to kick out at them, but his flailing feet seemed to make no impression. One of the soldiers kneed him in the stomach; when he doubled over, dropping to his knees, both soldiers took turns kicking him where he lay. The man did not cry out, though Katrien could tell from his labored breathing that he was in agony. Remaining motionless in the shadows, mute and unable to help, was the most difficult trial she had ever faced. Twice Amadi struggled against Katrien’s grip as though wishing to fight off the soldiers herself, but Katrien wrapped both arms around her and held her fiercely.

  At last the soldiers tired of their sport. Their uniforms were ruined beyond recall—one was spattered with blood all across the chest, and the other had a dirty hole in the knee from where he’d fallen. Standing and brushing themselves off, they turned down the street toward Katrien and Amadi and sauntered back down toward the docks without a backward glance. If Katrien was any judge of men, these two would spend the night taking out the last of their pent-up rage on a pair of whores.

  Once she judged it was safe, Katrien stepped from the shadows and approached the Varrilan, who lay curled on the ground as though he did not trust his joints to reassemble themselves in the correct arrangement if he dared move. Despite her former eagerness, Amadi hung back.

  “Sir?” Katrien said quietly, kneeling before the man. “Can you hear me?”

  He raised his head and peered at Katrien, blinking groggily. A line of blood, already drying, trailed from his nose to his chin, and one eyebrow was nearly lost beneath a darkening bruise. “Did you see that?” He sounded concerned.

  “Yes.” Katrien took the man’s hand and helped him into a sitting position. “I am sorry I could not have helped. I have already tried matching my strength against a Whitish soldier, and it proved itself utterly futile.”