by Jay Swanson
“Out of my way, old man,” Ardin bristled as he stopped.
The fisherman stood a head taller but Ardin wasn't intimidated. He could feel the warmth churn inside of him as his adrenaline kicked in.
“Just a second, I said.” The fisherman's voice was stern, but far from threatening.
Alisia squeezed Ardin's arm as if to say it was alright.
“You have no idea where you're goin' then do ya?”
Ardin just stared up at the man. He was right about that.
“And I would suggest you not just go wandering through town about now. There's plenty of greedy bastards about like this lot who'd skin you as soon as meet you.” He gestured towards the door with his thumb. “I'd say you need to get out of town, and fast.”
“There's nowhere we can go,” Ardin protested angrily.
“Aye,” the fisherman agreed as he crossed his burly arms. “Nowhere indeed, not by foot at least.”
“We can't go east,” Alisia said.
“Don't I know it,” the big man said. “That's why you're headed south.”
“South?”
“Aye, south,” he said quietly. “You're out of options otherwise.”
“They'll catch us if we try to go south.”
“Not if you sail south, lass.”
The idea struck Ardin as novel. Despite running this far west and having reached a major port city, the thought had never crossed his mind. The name White Shores whispered like a breeze past his ear, but he put it aside as Alisia spoke up behind him.
“How would we do that, exactly?” she asked.
“I'll get you ‘board a cargo ship that's headed to Silverdale. A good mate of mine runs it and will get you there safe.” He glanced up towards the kitchen as a door somewhere beyond it slammed. “But we'd better make good time. I get the feelin' you have more friends a comin'.”
And with that the fisherman turned and walked out into the street. Ardin just looked at Alisia for a moment. Her eyes plead uncertainty.
His chest tightened around his heart as he looked at her, saddened that her brightened mood would so quickly be robbed by the morning's events. Ardin simply nodded and turned to follow the fisherman. He didn't see any other option.
The big man led them up the street a few blocks before turning into a series of narrow alleys. The walls here were damp, almost slick with the sea air and vegetation that grew among the bricks and logs. All Ardin could smell was filth and fish, though it was often difficult to distinguish between the two. The cobblestone road glistened with the rare slits of sunlight that broke through the tightly packed buildings. Men shouted somewhere nearby and the fisherman tensed, slowing in response.
Ardin and Alisia slowed in kind. They could hear waves lapping on wooden hulls as gulls cried overhead. A horn blew in the distance, the sound bouncing across the water and deteriorating among the low buildings. Slowly the fisherman moved to the edge of their alley, beyond which Ardin could see the Fisher's Wharf, its market, and dozens upon dozens of fishing vessels docked beyond.
“Hold on right here,” the fisherman said as he checked the street that ran along the Wharf. “My boat is right over there. I'll be right back.”
And with that he walked out into the early morning market and disappeared.
Ardin and Alisia hid behind a few barrels filled with something that stank worse than the alley. It contributed well to the overall effect of the place. The crowd at the market seemed to ebb and flow, sometimes full to the brim while at others fairly sparse. The large numbers of people made Ardin's throat constrict as his mouth went dry.
Had the old man gone to fetch his friends, he wondered? Perhaps he was wily enough to lure them here so he could get the reward for himself.
The voice began to scrape in his mind. You can't trust anyone. It came to him as if it had been whispered by someone else. Least of all mankind.
No sooner than the thought had passed did the fisherman return, with a large mule pulling an even larger cart. It was filled to the brim with tuna. He called the mule to a halt right in front of the alley so that no one in the market could see.
“Open the side,” he said as he gestured from behind the donkey.
“Where?”
“Three boards down, right by your hand.”
Ardin searched for a minute before finding a nob that had been made to blend into the side of the cart. The hole that appeared as the small door swung aside wasn't much broader than Ardin's shoulders.
“Used to smuggle all kinds of goods in there,” said the old fisherman. “Back in the old days at least. Half the reason we refused to start using trucks here in the North Shore. It'll be enough space for the two of you.”
“We aren't going to your boat?” Ardin wasn't convinced this was the best idea.
“Course not! Look at all these people,” the fisherman kept his voice low. “Best to take you by land. No one'll think twice of an old fisherman taking a load of fish to the Southern Docks. Do it all the time. Gotta ship our goods out somehow.”
Alisia pushed past Ardin and wriggled into the hole, pulling her legs in after as she turned on her side in the darkness. He still wasn't sure, hesitating until she hissed at him to get in.
“But no funny business,” she said with a finger extended back into the light. “Don't you get any ideas, Ardin Vitalis.”
He felt slighted by the reproof, but also a little disappointed subconsciously. He had barely gotten his feet inside before the cart lurched into motion. The door on the side was slammed shut by the passing corner of the adjacent building. To say the ride was bumpy would be the height of understatement, the old wooden cart having no sort of shock absorption to take any of the rattle out of the cobblestone streets.
The space they lay in was barely big enough for one person to lay down on his back, so they lay on their sides in the dark and the heat as the smell of dead fish washed over them.
At various points Ardin thought he might throw up and thus cover the foreign stench with his own. He kept from doing so, however, at the thought of what Alisia would do to him should he capitulate to his stomach's displeasure. He regretted his breakfast very, very much.
“I'm so sorry, Ardin,” came Alisia's light voice, close yet quiet in the noise of the cart.
“Why?” he asked, genuinely puzzled by the unsolicited apology.
“For this,” she said. He could tell she was crying by the sound of her voice. “For all of this. You should never have gotten tied up in it.”
“What,” he asked. “This wonderful world of fish stench?”
She laughed haltingly through the tears.
“No. You didn't have to come along, I could have managed on my own. It's not your responsibility to help me.”
“Sure it is,” he said. “Besides, how would I live with myself if I knew you were out meeting all of these upstanding citizens without me? I'd feel like I'd missed out on a broadening of my social circles.”
She laughed again. “Thanks Ardin. I am glad you were too stubborn to stay behind.”
“Me too,” he said.
And he realized in that moment that he meant it.
“Can I tell you something Ardin?”
“Yeah.”
“I miss my mother. She's all I ever wanted to be, and I hardly knew her before she left me... I don't know how to do this. Any of this. No one ever taught me how to be a Mage.”
“You're doing alright. Though to be honest I don't know what a Mage is supposed to look like either.”
“I'm scared, Ardin...”
He felt like he should say something else, anything, but the words wouldn't come and the more he thought about it the more he became aware that the moment was passing. Finally he managed to blurt something out but it was lost on his lips as the cart lurched to a halt and men started shouting outside.
“Just fish,” the fisherman's voice came through above the din of the street. “No there ain’t no damned contraband. I'm a bloody fisherman, I sell fish. No I don'
t have any... ‘course not! What's the meaning of all of this, then?”
Ardin couldn't hear the other speaker.
“Well lad, I get you have a job to do but I can't have yer men throwin’ my fish about and soilin' em.”
“They're long ruined by the smell of them,” the other's joke audible to Ardin now. He must have moved closer to the cart.
“I don't have a lot of time to deliver them to the Docks, lad.”
The fisherman sounded perturbed, his steady calm waning as his desperation began to mount. Ardin didn't like the sound of things.
“I understand, sir,” the younger voice could be clearly heard now. “But our allies have asked us to find a fugitive, and we wouldn't be performing due diligence if we didn't check every person and parcel making their way off the Delta, now would we?”
“Damn your eyes, boy. You know how long that will take. I can't afford your nonsense.”
“Take it up with the proconsul or the provost, sir. I'm just carrying out orders.”
The door on the side of the cart creaked as it was discovered by the young man's searching hands.
“I'm warning you son, I don't have time for this!”
“And I'm warning you! This is a matter of state security! If you don't stand down you'll spend the week in detention!”
A scuffle sounded outside, the result of the fisherman's response to the young official's threats. Loud shouts sounded among heavy blows, but it didn't last long.
“Don't make this so hard on yourself,” the young man returned to the cart. “Damned stubborn old men,” he muttered under his breath. “Benson, open that smuggler's compartment. Let's see what the old coot is hiding, shall we?”
The door creaked, and light flooded the small space.
TWENTY
“NOTHING IN THERE, sir.” The police officer shrugged as he forced the creaking door shut. Designed to look like the wooden planks that made up the cart, it was hard to distinguish where the door began and ended when it was shut. The cart sat on the southern side of the bridge leading to the South Docks where numerous carts and trucks had been stopped for inspection along their routes.
“Search the rest of the cart, and check for other compartments like that one,” the young man said as he turned to the fisherman.
“Yes, Sergeant.”
Three maritime police officers began searching through the pile of fish, knocking nearly half to the ground in the process. The fisherman cringed as his cart was brutalized by the process. He was relieved, however, that his charges had evaded discovery. He could hear them pulling the planks underneath them loose shortly after being stopped. Putting up a fight had drawn enough attention to allow them to slip out of the cart and crawl to safety.
“You put up an awful fuss for having nothing to hide, old man.”
The fisherman was on his knees, still held by two police officers to either side.
“Le’s jus’ say I feel real strong ‘bout my rights. ‘Sides, look at the mess you made of my fish.”
“Perhaps you shouldn't fill it so full.” The young man seemed bored as he turned back to the inspection. “Anything?”
One of the men on the cart looked up from his search. “Nothing but reek and more reek, sir.”
“Fine then.” The young sergeant turned back to the fisherman. “I still don't trust you. I'm denying access to the Docks for the day. Take your fish back north and sell them there.”
“You can't–”
“You're lucky I don't drag you off for resisting a lawful search!” The sergeant whipped around on the fisherman. “I certainly have a mind to!” He turned to the officers holding him, grumbling under his breath about filthy Northsiders. “Let him up and guide his donkey back north. And you.” He pointed to the shorter of the two. “Walk him back to his boat and make sure he doesn't wander.”
Ardin watched the whole exchange from a stack of crates just within earshot. They had managed to crawl past the mule and the officer holding its reins as they subdued the fisherman. He was grateful for the old man's help, and wished he could say as much. But there was a wall of police between them now and no time to worry about goodbyes.
“What ship did he say we were going to?” Alisia asked from behind him.
He turned, the concern fading from her face as her old determination rose to the surface again.
“I don't know, but it can't be that hard to find.”
They stepped out from behind the crates and Ardin swallowed his words. The South Docks stretched for miles. Covered in crates and cranes, pulleys and carts, the place was teeming with merchants and their wares. Warehouses lined the eastern side of the port while dozens of ships bobbed on the water opposite.
The ships themselves varied in size, but all of them were larger than Ardin had ever imagined a ship could get. How they managed to float seemed a miracle to him. They stood stories high above the docks, and some seemed to stretch forever as they bounced gently off their moorings.
“How do we find one ship in the middle of all that?” Alisia seemed almost as impressed.
“I... I have no idea” he stammered. “We don't even know what we're looking for.”
“I'm starting to wish I had asked more questions when I had the chance,” she said as she started walking.
“Yeah,” he agreed as he followed her down the pier and towards the rows of ships. “I get the feeling you wouldn't have gotten much out of him though.”
They walked in silence for a while, taking in all of the ships and the massive corded ropes that hung overhead. Ardin had scarcely seen buildings this high, and he had certainly never seen a boat so big he couldn't tip it over by himself.
Gulls cried overhead as bells donged lightly along the bay and waves lapped gently against docks and hulls. The giant cranes of the shipyard loomed over the entire landscape in the distance. And in spite of the busy workers hustling from warehouse to ship and back again, the whole place felt peaceful to Ardin.
“Look at that!” Alisia pointed at the rusting hull of an old shipwreck, laying out in the middle of the bay. “What's that doing there?”
“That marks the shale, lass,” a familiar voice came from behind them.
They spun around to find the fisherman standing there, smiling as he breathed in the sea air.
“That was the first ship to miss the mark and beach herself, did it right good too. No tug could pull her free and so there she sits. Any ship that passes to the south of her will share in her fate, so it's a cheap way to warn ships' captains. Not so cheap for the owner of that ship though, I reckon.”
Ardin almost wanted to hug the old man at his reappearance. “How'd you get back here?”
“You see the size of the lad they asked to walk me to my boat?” He laughed. “Which raises the point, we don't have much time 'till he's missed. I best be showin’ you to Donovan's ship before he sets sail. Wasn't lyin' about needin' haste.”
With that he took off down the pier, walking so briskly that Ardin had to make a conscious effort to keep up. The three of them made an odd bunch. Though they drew a few curious glances, they managed to move along unquestioned. Ardin just kept his focus on the fisherman, not wanting to risk looking too out of place. His outfit was doing a good enough job of that as it was.
“That's her, lad.” The old man pointed to a large white vessel a dozen ships down. “The Droning Ingrid, beauty of a ship she is. Old Donovan will take you on for a small fee,” he turned and looked at the pair behind him. “You do have money, don't you?”
“Some,” Alisia said tentatively.
“Don't you worry yourself, lass” he smiled. “I'm not expecting anything from you, and Donovan's a good man. He'll do right by you, on my life. Just tell him duty calls, the Old Guard beckons him to fulfill his oaths.”
Alisia blinked at that. “Are you–”
“Oi! You!” someone yelled from somewhere behind them. The fisherman turned, smile gone from his face as he scanned the shipyard.
“You'd
best be on your way, lad.” He grabbed Ardin's shoulders and looked him in the eyes. “I don't envy your path; but great men are made in moments like these: the moments that will stand to define you. Forget your displeasure, forget your discomfort. Press into them and accept this as your time.”
“Where are you going?” Ardin asked as he passed them by and began walking back up the pier.
“To give you some more time, I think they're just looking for me anyways.” He turned and smiled again, “Remember lad. What's coming will go far better if you accept the inevitable and press ahead. Attack it lad! With joyful fury!”
And with that he turned and strode into the crowd of onlookers that was gathering to see who the police were looking for.
Shouts sounded from the spectators as more officers joined the search. Ardin took that as their cue to go. He turned and grabbed Alisia's arm, walking quickly for the Droning Ingrid. They were only minutes away from safety, a place to hide and a trip out of Brenton. And with that they would hopefully be far away from Elandir's efforts to find them.
More shouts erupted from the crowd that had formed behind them as police started to converge upon and assail the fisherman. By the sound of it, they had their hands full. He had brought them miles through town, risked his own life, and had connected them with an escape route. Ardin wondered why, and who the Old Guard was, but his pondering was cut short by a terrifying realization.
The Droning Ingrid was casting off.
He could see her pulling back from the dock slowly, her horn blasted once to sound the all clear as she put into full reverse and made space with the dock. Ardin and Alisia looked at each other wide eyed and ran. They sprinted, leaving all pretense of belonging behind. The realization that their life-line was pulling out of port hit both of them simultaneously. They rounded the last ship in time to realize that hope was lost, the ship was under way and there was nothing they could do.
Ardin turned, sensing something else going on nearby. Word had spread, they were being hunted along the docks and he knew it. Their last dash hadn't helped in any way.
“What do we do now?” Alisia was in tears, the empty space where the ship had been reflecting her vacated hopes.
