The Mage's Daughter 2: Book Two: Enlightenment

by LeRoy Clary

  “Sayed was telling me some of it. He sounded positive.”

  “The captain told me. If only half of what he shared is true, we will enjoy ourselves.” Sara watched the darkness of the land, the white water near the bow, and then she turned and looked up to the wheelhouse where Sammy was probably standing watch. “Time for us to go hang our hammocks.”

  The crew’s quarters were generally kept dim, the only light filtering down the hatch from the mess hall, which always seemed to have a lamp turned soft. As Prin scuttled down the narrow stairs and readied herself to climb into her hammock, she paused. There were eyes on her. She spun and found Jam pretending to sleep.

  He didn’t fool her. He had been watching, but as she settled in her hammock and closed her eyes, a question came to her. How did she know he watched? Was it instinct or some mage power she knew nothing about?

  But that was the root of her problems. She didn’t know what she should know, and what she didn’t. As a young girl, she should be aware certain things, but as a sorceress, there were other lessons she needed. And then there were the things that only a mage should know. She didn’t know one from the other, and that would certainly bring her problems one day. Threatening Jam with a throwing knife would too.

  The bos’n woke them earlier than normal. Instead of the usual breakfast and division of chores, they were handed a flat, fried cake stuffed with cheese and pointed to the door to the deck. She stepped outside and nearly stumbled in surprise. The ship had entered a long, narrow harbor, one side the shoreline and the other barren rocks that formed a barrier protecting it from the sea.

  Ships were tied to piers, and the Merry Princess was dropping her sails. Two longboats with four men apiece, all with long oars, were already pulling on ropes tied to the ship, one at the bow and the other the stern. The longboats pulled the ship to a pier with practiced ease.

  The crew of the Merry Princess leaped to tie her to the bollards with the largest ropes Prin had ever seen, and soon the ship was secure. The bos’n ordered the boom for the sail rigged as a crane, and in no time the first crates with green splotches of paint were lifted to the pier.

  Prin watched for any place she could help, but the crew of the ship was trained, as well as that on shore, and she felt she was getting in the way more than helping. Longshoremen and wagons lined up to haul away the cargo to a warehouse where it would be sorted and turned over the rightful owners. Anything with a green splash of paint was lifted by the crane and set on the pier.

  Because she was inexperienced and had been ordered out of the way several times, Prin climbed into the hold and began inspecting the crates she and the bos’n had marked. All had been lifted out of the hold and placed on the pier or the top deck waiting to be transferred.

  “Checking up on me?” She spun, thinking she was alone. Jam stood in a corner, hands on hips.

  “No, I was just making sure we got all the green marked crates unloaded.”

  “It’s my job to put the slings on, and yours is to scrub the deck when I make it dirty.”

  “Jam, I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I was just trying to help.”

  “Sure, like you always are when my dad can see you so he can come back and tell me how much better you are. Well, I never wanted to swab decks for a living. I belong on the bridge. Get out of here.”

  She saw no way to reconcile so she turned and almost ran to the ladder. But on the way, a spot of green drew her attention. It was a splash of green, and she remembered making it. The edge where the paint was sat in shadow.

  “Jam,” she called.

  A block of wood sailed past her head. He screamed, “Out. And don’t come back!”

  It was either dodge another block of wood he was reaching for, or leave. She climbed the ladder. This is the way you want to do it, Jam?

  There were only a few crates on the pier waiting to be unloaded, so she helped as best she could, thinking about the other crate still in the hold the entire time. Not telling was as bad as making the error in the first place. No, it was worse. She would have to tell the bos’n, but then all hell would break loose again. Jam would never work with her, and they had a long voyage together.

  The new crates were loaded aboard, and a quick meal was served. She tried to get Jam’s attention, but he ignored her. After the meal, they were paid a few copper coins by the bos’n and given the afternoon and evening to enjoy themselves in town. All, but Jam. She managed to ease up to the bos’n and whispered, “Jam missed a crate in the forward hold.”

  “I’ll handle it. Say no more.”

  In the crew quarters, Sara grabbed their pointed hats clean dresses, and they pulled the brims of the hats low to protect from the intense sunlight. They bounced down the gangplank to the pier and their first foreign port. As they stood at the foot of the pier, they looked up to the city together. The walls were clay, all painted a dull brown, or the clay dried that color. The roofs were red, also baked clay, the tiles and the roofs almost touched each other as they overhung above the narrow, twisting streets.

  Beyond the red roofs were the mountains, appearing so close they could walk there in half a day, but both agreed that might be an illusion. Inside the city were none of the usual farm animals. A few dogs barked, but they saw no goats, sheep, cows, or chickens. The streets were cobblestone, the same tan color as the walls.

  In contrast, colorful banners hung from windows, on poles, and stretched across the streets. Behind the small windows were cheerfully colored curtains, but the people wore simple clothing similar to that she and Sara wore. But to decorate the drab clothing, the men wore brightly colored shirts or scarfs, and often conflicting colored hats, while the women tried to out-color each other with stripes, solids, and hats of all shapes and sizes.

  The brilliant sun accounted for much of their dress. The hats were almost a necessity, and as Prin neared the first buildings, she noticed the thickness of the walls, the tiny windows, and small doorways. All windows and doors were closed. She felt her underarms grow damp, and the reflected sunlight from the walls made the street feel hotter.

  Sara navigated them through the narrow streets where the overhanging roofs provided shade. The soft breeze off the water cooled them slightly. She noticed many, if not most of the two-story buildings had gaily painted doors with small signs attached to the wall beside them. At first, she believed the signs to be names or numbers, but as she moved closer and saw them up close, she found they were pictures. The images were stylized drawings, very simple and indicated the businesses within.

  The streets were twisting and narrow, and as they walked side by side, whenever a pedestrian came the other way, one of them had to give way by standing sideways because only two could pass at a time. However, each time she or Sara moved aside to allow the passage of another, a comment of thanks followed, and the men touched their hats in appreciation.

  A man came into view, his shirt violet, and his hat red, a combination that somehow complimented each other. He was younger, his beard trimmed so short as to be almost invisible, but his dark hair hung to his collar. He also wore a friendly smile directed at Sara.

  “Excuse me,” Prin said. “We’re new to Donella, and I was wondering what the small signs beside the doors are for.

  “Welcome,” he said, pulling to a stop and adjusting to standing on the same side of the road as them so others could pass. “They tell you what’s inside. See this one? A table and chair. It is a place to sit and eat.”

  “I’d have thought it a place where they sell tables and chairs,” Prin quipped, drawing a disapproving look from Sara.

  But, the man laughed. “You’re right, I never thought of that.”

  “So, if we’re hungry, we knock?”

  “No, no. The sign is an invitation to enter, but you do it quickly, so the heat does not flood inside, especially during the midday. If they are not open for business, the door will not open.”

  Prin beamed. “Tell me what other signs are?”

  “A sort of o
val with a flat bottom and lines above is bread baking. A needle with thread through the eye is a seamstress. A hammer, a carpenter.”

  “Or, a seller of hammers?”

  He laughed again. “I am used to the signs and have never thought about what a stranger might think, but know this. The sign is an invitation, and if you enter and find it is not selling what you wish, just ask the shopkeeper. They will not be upset that you entered the wrong one. Now, I really must be on my way.”

  Prin called to his back, “Thank you.”

  Sara said, “You have a way about you. I’d have never asked that question, or those questions, especially from a hunk of beautiful man like him.”

  “Then how would I find out what I want to know?”

  Sara paused, and a slight frown furrowed her brow. “You’ll understand in a few years. This is the first time I’ve managed to put a few things about you together. What you just did is what will make you a great queen.”

  Prin felt herself blush. To deflect the statement, she said, “Let’s go explore.”

  “And open any doors we come to.”

  They continued up the hill, thinking it would be easy to walk back down to the ship. Prin smelled a bakery well before finding the sign. She opened the door and motioned for Sara to enter first, then she followed. A beefy man watched from behind a counter where baked goods were laid out for display.

  He said, “You came by ship today?”

  “How did you know? By our dresses?”

  “No, because of how you entered my bakery. The sun is hot. You let my cool night air escape while you were being polite to your sister. Here, you open, enter and close, all in one motion. Do not hold a door for another.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s how we do in our city.”

  “And it was impolite to me, and to any who follow you into my shop later. I am not angry, you understand? I am trying to explain.”

  Prin said, “And I appreciate that.”

  He grinned, “And here I thought you only thirteen or fourteen.”

  Sara chuckled, “She has that effect on people.”

  “So, what will it be?” he asked.

  “Be?” Prin asked.

  “This is a bakery. I sell baked goods, so what will be your desire? Or did you only stop in to enjoy the free aromas of my excellent cooking?”

  Prin said, “I like meat pies. Do you have anything like that?”

  He waved an arm at the end of the display, “Baked or fried?”

  “I’ve only had baked. Which are better?” Prin asked.

  “Are you a diplomat sent from your country to mine to test our goods? I prefer the fried for myself.”

  “Then, fried it is,” Prin said as she cast a satisfied glance Sara’s way.

  Sara asked, “What other shops are near here?”

  “What would interest you?” he asked as he selected two fried pies and handed them across the counter.

  “Maybe a bookseller? I have the task of trying to teach a stubborn little girl the basics of reading and writing.”

  “I am not stubborn.”

  That brought a belly-laugh from the portly man. Then he said, “Follow the road up the hill past the first intersection. Turn left at the second, and then about four or five doors down on your left will be a scroll on the sign.”

  Prin said between mouthfuls, “This is splendid. How about a place to buy the kind of heavy trousers sailors wear?”

  “After you find the bookseller. I think there’s a place a few doors down from her.”

  They left, as if in a rush, and Prin felt the blast of heat strike her outside. She hadn’t noticed how cool the inside of the bakery had been. The ovens must have been located out the back of the building, she realized, and as hot as it felt, they probably didn’t need a fire to cook bread. She chuckled at her small joke.

  The pair went up the hill, looking at every sign, at every doorway and tried to figure out what business was inside. Most were self-evident. A hat, a knife, and a shoe were obvious. Others were not. At the second cross-street, they turned and watched the doors on the left until they came to the scroll. This time, Prin pulled the door quickly and almost leaped inside, Sara stayed at her heels to close the door to the jangle of a small bell.

  The room was cooler, much cooler, and smelled like an old friend. The aged paper, leather covers, and whatever else, welcomed them as much as the meat pies they’d eaten. The room was not large, but the walls on the two sides held books on shelves, floor to ceiling, and a two-sided set of shelves lined the middle of the room. A small set of stairs in the rear led to the second-story.

  A tiny woman appeared at the top of the stairs and called, “I’ll be down in a few. Just help yourselves.”

  There were two straight-backed chairs. Prin selected one and sat, trying to read the words on the book spines and failing. She picked a book at random and opened it. The words were nothing she recognized. She held it out to Sara.

  “Another language.”

  Prin replaced it and selected another. The first word was The. She had found a book and instantly read the first word and a feeling of accomplishment flooded over her. The following word was unknown, and she couldn’t sound it out, but the next word was, is. Two out of three. She replaced it on the shelf and took the one next to it.

  The small woman limped down the stairs and went directly to the other chair and settled heavily into it with a sigh. She formed a soft smile and asked, “What are you girls looking for?”

  Before Sara could answer, Prin said, “Books about horses. With drawings.”

  Sara caught the woman’s eye. “For beginning readers.”

  The old woman pointed to the far end of the left wall, near the bottom. “If you’ll look there, I may have one or two.”

  She had four. Prin was ecstatic. Until she’d escaped with Sir James from the Earl’s castle with a dozen or more men chasing after them, she’d never been on horseback. Now she wanted to learn all she could about them. Two had pictures on many pages, but larger writing than the others.

  Sara considered those two and looked ready to return them in favor of the others that had far fewer pictures and smaller writing with larger words. Then, she relented and agreed to all four. Sara later located a book on herbs and healing for herself, and one on sailing ships. It also had pictures but included explanations that both could learn from, and the men on the Merry Princess might also enjoy it.

  They left and went to the shop the tiny woman had told them about where a tailor had trousers favored by sailors of all sizes, already sewn. He took only a short time to hem the pants to length, two pairs for each. He suggested the pullover type of shirts many of the men of the Merry Princess wore, and they bought two more for each.

  The tailor suggested shoes from a vendor nearby. Sailors liked them because they didn’t slip on wet decks and they dried fast after a rain. The filled their arms with their purchases and headed for the cobbler.

  “We’re lost,” Prin said.

  “No, the cobbler’s shop is lost, but our ship is right down there,” she pointed over the rooftops.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Not entirely,” Sara laughed.

  Prin opened the next door at random and entered quickly, Sara at her heels, making a game of entering. A jeweler worked at setting a brilliant green stone in a mesh of silver. He didn’t look up until finished the delicate procedure he worked on. He said, “Thank you for allowing me to finish uninterrupted.”

  “We were looking for a cobbler that makes shoes for sailors and became lost. That’s beautiful, by the way.”

  “Again, I thank you. It will hang nicely on a chain and will be striking. Want to buy it?”

  “Oh, I could never afford that,” Prin said.

  Sara cast her an odd look, but she ignored it as he said, “If I could afford to, I’d give it to you as a gift because you have such a discerning eye. Now, you’re not really lost, you just found the wrong shop. You need to go out and turn right until you
reach the next street and turn right again. You will be there.”

  Instead of leaving, Prin said, “Your city is strange.”

  “Indeed, it is. Want to know why?” he wore the charming smile of a natural storyteller.

  Prin nodded.

  “Being perched here on the edge of the sea as we are, invaders arrive regularly. Always have. However, with the narrow, twisting streets they cannot bring whole armies into the city unless they split them up into small groups, and then they get themselves lost or attacked by our defenders. Besides, all the buildings look the same on the outside, don’t they?”

  “Well, yes, I guess they do.”

  “Can you guess which belong to the wealthy and which to the poor?”

  She thought for a second and shook her head.

  “Neither can they. A common enough trick in many seaside cities. Displaying wealth outside your home is a sure way to invite invaders inside.”

  She laughed and called a friendly goodbye as they went back outside. Sara said, “Only you can get lost and make a new friend like that—besides learning something most travelers here will never know. There is something else you should be aware of. When we opened the door and came out so fast, I saw someone duck around the corner. Someone watching us.”

  “A highwayman or thief?”

  “I think it was Jam. Don’t make it obvious, but when we turn the corner up ahead, look at me as if you’re going to say something.”

  “But Jam is restricted to the ship.”

  “So, said his father,” Sara said coldly.

  Turning the corner, she glanced past Sara and found Jam ducking into a doorway. “It’s him.”

  They said no more as they looked for the sign with a shoe. Finding it, Prin pointed, then seeing something far more interesting, she said, “Sara, look!”

  The door after the cobbler’s looked like any of the thousand doors in Donella--with the exception of four or five small, limp, wrinkled pink dots that had settled on the front step. They were not floating and were not bright and lovely. They appeared dull, and looked to be almost dead, their life-source spent.