The Dragon Caller

by Pauline M. Ross

Zamannah shook his head. “Well, you are too wise to be taken in, friend, but take the greatest care, all the same. And you must pass through the Straits of Ath’roon to get to Mesanthia.”

  “I know, I know, the homeland on one side and the Golden Coast on the other. We have a fast ship, we’ll be through there in no time. You worry too much.”

  “And you worry too little. Go now. Write to me from Mesanthia, and tell me of all the wonders to be found there.”

  Another hug, and then he practically pushed them out of the door.

  At the harbour, theSundancer rose and fell gently on the swell of the incoming tide, sailors swarming all over her to ready her for departure. The wharf was packed with wagons waiting to unload their goods, men shouting, horses and mules huffing, people running here and there with hand carts and ropes. The crane swung back and forth, lifting the nets of barrels and boxes onto the ship. And in the middle of the chaos, Jonnor, red faced with anger, arms waving.

  “What’s the problem?” Garrett said, as soon as he could attract Jonnor’s attention.

  “Such incompetence!” Jonnor said. “I’ve never encountered anything like it. I ordered twenty bags of flour and twelve of oats, and what do they send but the exact opposite. And no water at all! How can a ship sail without water? It’s quite ridiculous.”

  “These supply people often get things wrong, in my experience,” Garrett said with a smile.

  “Perhaps, but I’ve never had a problem with them before,” Jonnor said, his face creasing with bewilderment. “I choose my suppliers carefully, and they’re very accurate, normally. But this is going to delay everything.”

  “Is it possible there’s been some interference?”

  Jonnor’s face changed. “Oh, you think…? Hmm, possible. Where’s Mallek? There he is. Hoy! Mallek!”

  A huge man beside one of the wagons turned his head, then shambled over to them. Jonnor was tall, yet had to twist his neck awkwardly to talk up to him. Garrett would have needed to stand on a box. He could have walked under the man’s arms without difficulty.

  “Mallek, this salted goat—”

  “Jus’ followin’ orders, Ma’er Jonnor.”

  “I know, I know, but—”

  “Not my faul’. I bring wha’s on th’tally stick, see. Ma’er Carryl makes th’tally stick.” He waved the length of wood at them, with its cryptic mixture of notches and indentations and paint marks. “Twen’y o’ sal’ed goat, an’ no bacon nor beef nor no’in’ like that.”

  “It’s all right, Mallek, no one’s blaming you. But I gave Carryl the quantities myself last night, and he’s never made a mistake before. Is it possible that someone slipped you a different tally stick?”

  “No, no, cos Ma’er Carryl gave it me his’elf. Al’ays does. But he were cross about it, cos he ’at to remake it, like.”

  “Oh? Why was that?”

  “Yous sent new numbers, is why.”

  “Ah. How did the new numbers arrive, Mallek?”

  “One o’ yous people – in th’Amontis colours. Brough’ ’em this morning. Star’ed loadin’ an’ all, an’ ’ad to star’ over.”

  “Thank you, Mallek, that’s very helpful, but please take the barrels of salted goats’ meat away, and tell Master Carryl to send the original order, there’s a good man.”

  The giant ambled off and began booming orders at his helpers.

  Jonnor sighed. “I shall have to go all round again, and tell everyone to send what I originally ordered. Those wretched Tre’annatha, interfering! It must have been them, I’m sure of it. Garrett, we cannot get you under way before evening, I’m afraid.”

  “A few more hours won’t hurt,” Garrett said, but he wasn’t sure he believed it. Now that the decision had been made, the sooner they left this place behind the better. He couldn’t say why, but his instincts gave him a sense of urgency, and he’d learnt to trust his instincts. His rational mind told him that the young dragon had gone, the adults wouldn’t be back for a while and as for the Tre’annatha – what could they do to him or to Ruell? Slow them down, perhaps, but not much else. His rational mind told him they were safe enough, but his gut told him to get away as soon as he could, and he’d survived pretty well over the years by listening to his gut.

  But they needed supplies, and even if they could put in at the next port for bacon and whatever else they needed, there was still the matter of the water. They couldn’t go anywhere without fresh water. Garrett sighed inwardly, and resigned himself to a long wait.

  ~~~~~

  “We don’t need no sail-master,” the captain said for about the fifth time. “This is a fleet little ship, we can nip through the straits, no bother. And a sail-master’s expensive.”

  “I’ve got instructions from Jonnor,” Garrett said, also for the fifth time. “He was very clear about it – stop at High Rock and pick up a sail-master for the straits. He’s given me enough money for someone properly qualified, one of the best. We won’t need any help beyond Drakk’alona, so we can drop him off there.”

  “Her,” the captain said. “Sail-masters are usually women. Don’t know why. Well, have it your own way. We’ll be in High Rock in an hour or so. We won’t pay for a berth – just drop anchor in the bay.”

  She turned and strode off down the deck with the confident stride of the habitual seafarer. Garrett hadn’t yet got his sea legs, and clung to the railings as the ship skimmed the waves.

  “Why did Jonnor want us to have a sail-master?” Ruell said.

  “Not quite sure, but he was adamant about it,” Garrett said.

  Surprisingly forceful, in fact. “Everyone who knows what they’re about uses a sail-master, or a convoy-master,” Jonnor had said. “The Straits of Ath’roon have some odd winds, very unpredictable, and the sail-masters know how to make the most of them. Otherwise, you’ll find yourself getting the oars out, and theSundancer really isn’t equipped for much oar work. You’ll need to go to the Shipping Services Office at High Rock, and don’t let them fob you off with some beginner or other. You want a guild member. The guild only takes the best.”

  And since he’d given Garrett a surprisingly large amount of money to pay for it, a sail-master they were to have.

  “What does a sail-master do, exactly, that the ship’s crew can’t do?” Ruell said. “They only adjust the sails, don’t they? I’d have thought an experienced crew could do that just as well.”

  “Some do. The best are wind-blowers,” Garrett said, absently, his eyes on the horizon lurching up and down, as his stomach lurched in sympathy.

  “What does that mean?”

  But Garrett was too busy depositing his last meal overboard to answer.

  It was a relief when they came to the massive headland, the high rock that gave the port its name, and rounded it to enter the calmer waters of the bay. Garrett sat miserably with his back to some coiled ropes and waited for his stomach to settle. In another day or two he’d be fine, he knew, but the first hours on board were always rough.

  TheSundancer wasn’t the most comfortable ship he’d ever travelled on. It was styled after the sword ships used by the Port Holdings of the southern coast, designed to be light, fast and stuffed full of armed defenders. The Amontis version, aimed at wealthy merchants wishing to travel quickly, was fitted out with more cabins, but the luxurious finishing touches hadn’t been completed and everything was still new and rough and untested. So far, the galley hadn’t managed to provide so much as a hot drink, and there was much grumbling about the stale bread, hard cheese and dried meat offered for meals.

  Garrett didn’t care. With luck, they would be at Mesanthia in under ten days, and he’d suffered worse privations for much longer. He was also quietly pleased that Mikah had chosen to come with them, with a hand-picked troop of twenty of his best men.

  “My job was to protect Queen Tella,” Mikah had said with dignity. “Now I’ll do the same for her son.”

  He didn’t quite go so far as to speak about King Ruell, possibly because of
the awkward matter of Tella’s three other children, all older than Ruell, but it was clear that Mikah saw him as Tella’s true inheritor. Garrett had had his differences with Mikah, but twenty-one extra swords were always welcome, and the constant patrols, even on board the ship, meant that he could relax his guard a little. Many of the sailors were from the Windblown Isle, as well, displaced by the dragonfire, and happy just to have another job. The captain and her senior crew were professionals, but Garrett rather liked having so many familiar faces around.

  High Rock was a pretty little town, its whitewashed cottages and gleaming windows sparkling in the sun. TheSundancer anchored beyond the town’s fee-paying boundary, and four of the sailors rowed them ashore. Ruell wanted to see the town too, and Mikah went with them, accompanied by a couple of well-muscled guards.

  At the stone jetty, a pair of uniformed women with stern faces, and armed with stout batons, asked them their business.

  “We’re going to the Shipping Services Office,” Garrett said, in as pleasant a manner as he could manage. He wasn’t sure he liked such officiousness, but he’d learnt years ago that getting snippy with officialdom, even such minor functionaries as these, usually ended badly. There were times for getting into fights, but this wasn’t one of them. He just wanted to get his sail-master and be on his way.

  “For what purpose?”

  He bit back a retort. “To obtain a sail-master.”

  They exchanged glances, and one pulled out a book and began to scratch away with a writing stick.

  “Vessel?”

  “TheSundancer, out of Sand Eagle Bay. Is this necessary?”

  “Objective?”

  “To sail through the turbulence and find the fabled northern continent,” he said blandly. Beside him, Ruell shuffled his feet.

  The writing stick paused, suspended in mid-air, the writer wide-eyed. The other woman glared at him. “Real objective?”

  “Secret mission for the ruler of the Windblown Isle.”

  “Which is what, exactly?”

  “It wouldn’t be a secret if I told you, would it?” Garrett protested in tones of injured innocence.

  “You can tell me or you can tell the justices,” she shrugged.

  “Well, in confidence then, we are going to find a way to restore dragons to the northern coast.”

  They both looked at him, the writing stick motionless, thinking it over. Would they make an issue of it?

  “Next port of call?”

  Garrett tapped his foot impatiently. A dozen amusing replies sprang to mind, but he squashed them. Dancing around petty officialdom was an amusing pastime, but he had no wish to explain himself to the local justices, who tended to have no sense of humour. Besides, he was still filled with a great sense of urgency. He sighed. “Drakk’alona.”

  The older woman nodded, the writing stick scratched away, and the book was closed with a snap.

  “Landing fee,” the older woman said, holding out an imperious hand. “Three silvers.”

  “Three silvers? When we won’t be here above an hour?” Garrett’s outrage was genuine.

  “Oh. In that case, just one silver. Shipping Services Office is the grey building over there.”

  Since it was no more than twenty paces away, the name painted over the door in letters taller than a man, Garrett just rolled his eyes. He put the silver in her hand, and strode away.

  The Shipping Services Office was a heaving mass of humanity, a single large room filled to overflowing with an assortment of people milling about without any apparent organisation. Most of them seemed to be shouting, which didn’t help Garrett’s temper. But Mikah and his henchmen forced a passage for them to the desk with a large label above it:‘Sail-masters and convoy-masters, short and long-term contracts’.

  Behind the desk, a uniformed man with a scowl barked questions at anyone foolish enough to approach, while a harassed woman shuffled papers. There seemed to be a queue of sorts, so Garrett waited patiently for his turn, as first one and then another handed over coins for their sail-masters, receiving a token in exchange.

  “Yes? What do you want?” one of them snapped at Garrett.

  “I’d like to hire a sail-master,” he said, pointing to the sign. “From the guild.”

  “Can’t oblige.”

  “But the two people ahead of me got what they wanted.”

  “That was then. Now, no sail-masters available.”

  “What, none at all?”

  “No.”

  “What about non-guild sail-masters?”

  “Are you deaf? There are none to be had, of any type. If you want to wait three or four days, there might be one available.”

  “I can’t wait that long,” Garrett said. “If it’s a matter of money—”

  “Are you trying to bribe me?”

  “Not at all. Just asking—”

  “Well, don’t. I can have you arrested for trying to bribe me.”

  Garrett ground his teeth. His hand strayed to the hilt of his sword, and he had to force it back to his side, and spread a pleasant smile over his face, as if he wasn’t mad as fire at the petty officialdom standing between him and his objective. He didn’t often wish he had Jonnor with him, but this was just the sort of situation where he would have been useful. Jonnor could smile and sweet-talk people, and in no time he’d have what he wanted.

  And at the back of his mind was the suspicion that these petty nobodies, with their seemingly random officiousness, had been primed to turn him away, as if they’d known he was coming. It seemed just too convenient that the two people in front of him had got exactly what they wanted, yet somehow he was refused.

  He clenched his fist, and it took all his willpower to thump against his own thigh instead of the sneering faces of the officials in front of him.

  Frustrated, he turned away, and the next person stepped up to the desk.

  “Sail-master, if you please.”

  “Certainly. How long for…”

  Garrett spun round, growling. In two strides, he was behind the desk, lifting the hapless official by the neck and slamming him backwards onto the desk. “Certainly?Certainly?How come you have a sail-master forher but not for me, you miserable little squirt? My money’s as good as hers, so I’ll have that sail-master, thank you very much, and I’ll have him right now or I’ll rearrange your ugly face so much that your own mother won’t recognise you.”

  The man squeaked, his eyes practically popping out of his head. The woman jumped up and backwards so fast she knocked over her chair with a clatter. All around them people leapt aside with shocked gasps, leaving a little pool of emptiness around the desk. Mikah and his henchmen unlatched their swords.

  “Well?” Garrett said. “I’m waiting.”

  19: Sail-Master (Ruell)

  Ruell held his breath, and the whole room was silent, waiting.

  Garrett shook his captive, and the man squeaked again. He seemed to be incapable of speech.

  “Answer me, imbecile!” Garrett yelled. “I’m not a patient man, as you may have noticed, so—”

  “Trouble, Garrett,” Mikah murmured.

  The throng of watchers parted, and two burly men in uniforms made their way towards the desk. They were armed only with batons, and Mikah stepped in front of them, one mailed hand raised authoritatively. The guards looked from Mikah to his equally well armed companions, and backed away.

  Garrett, meanwhile, must have realised that the man prostrate on the desk was too terrified to speak, and looked speculatively at the woman.

  “Please!” she said, holding up her hands. “We’re only following orders.”

  “What orders?”

  “No sail-master to outsiders, only to locals or people known to us. Please… we can’t go against a direct order.”

  Garrett grunted, and let go of the man sprawled on his back on the desk. He gasped, clutching his throat.

  “Whose orders?”

  “The Director. New instructions from the Upper Assembly, no idea why.
Only told us yesterday, late on – no strangers to be given any sail-master, no matter how much money is offered. We can’t go against that, can we? We’d lose our jobs, you do see, don’t you? It’s nothing to do with us, truly. We’d give you a sail-master, even a guild one, if you could pay, if it was left up to us, but our hands are tied. Nothing we can do about it. You do understand, don’t you?”

  Ruell smiled in relief. He was used to Garrett’s aggressive tactics to get what he wanted, and until recently he’d never seen him actually hurt anyone, unless they made the mistake of fighting back, of course. Then he could be ruthless. But he’d killed the egg-child without a moment’s hesitation, and Ruell felt he didn’t know the man at all any more.

  But this time his violence had achieved its objective. These two were just minor functionaries, and it wasn’t part of their job to be heroes.

  “I understand, all right,” Garrett said grimly. “Fine, so it’s not your fault, but you could have told me all this right away, and then I wouldn’t have had to get rough with you. There you are,” he said, lifting the man bodily off the desk. He set him upright, and straightened out his rumpled clothing. “We’re all friends now, aren’t we? Oh dear, you seem to have pissed yourself. What a pity. Such nice trousers they were. But before you rush off to find a clean pair, you can tell me where I can find this Upper Assembly of yours.”

  It was the woman who answered. “I’m afraid you can’t. Find them, I mean. They don’t have a chamber or anything of the sort, not like the Lower Assembly. They’re such small numbers, so they don’t hold regular meetings, it’s just whenever they need to, that sort of thing.”

  “So how do I challenge these orders?”

  “Oh, you can’t!” She seemed shocked at the very idea. “No one questions orders from the Upper Assembly.”

  “Hmpf. That leaves us with a problem, doesn’t it?” Garrett said. “I need a sail-master and you’re going to supply me with one, and if—”

  “Oh, thank the Great Mother!” the woman cried out, pointing, and almost laughing in sudden relief. “The Director.”

  Ruell’s heart sank at the sight of her, a middle-aged woman with a sour face, sailing majestically through the whispering crowd, the skirts of her expensive coat flapping, a small leather hat on her head. She wore some kind of a sash, undoubtedly a badge of high office. Any attempt to use force on her would likely see them all thrown into the local prison, at the very least.