by Jaxon Reed
-+-
The wagon train made its way through lush green fields, bountiful enough to keep the port fed even without shipments of food from the outside world. Fret walked in front of the train with Dudge. The sullen Puffin took the lead, his head and shoulders slouching. On occasion a farmer in the fields looked up to gaze their way and wave a greeting.
At last they reached Osmo, the only dwarven city above ground and Norweg’s lone port. A stone wall faced the land side, some thirty paces high. Its ramparts were unguarded, though.
Fret said, “I half expected another toll at th’ city gates.”
Dudge smiled and shook his head. “Nay, th’ walls an’ gates ha’ been unguarded since almost th’ beginnin’. Osmo was founded in 931, bu’ me great granpaps Mudge built it into wha’ it is today. He worried ’bout attacks from th’ sea. Th’ wall serves t’ stop an army from goin’ inland more so than preventin’ somethin’ out here from comin’ into th’ city.”
They passed through a great stone arch and portcullis, then through the thick walls, reaching the city proper without seeing a single guard.
Dudge increased his pace to draw alongside Puffin. He said, “They’ll be takin’ th’ cargo t’ th’ dockside warehouses, while you an’ me will go find Rak.”
Puffin nodded, barely acknowledging Dudge. He maintained course on the main street and headed for the docks. Dudge decided it would be hard to get lost in the port city. Going forward led to the sea, going back led to the rear wall. The road they came in on seemed wide and accommodating to traffic, and appeared to cut straight through the middle of town.
Their way had been paved with bricks, along with every other street. He glanced down an alley between two buildings and noted with some satisfaction that the alley’s surface was paved as well. His grandfather had been known as Mudge the Great, and everything had been built to last in those days, a tradition the dwarves were proud to continue.
The buildings were mostly made of stone, no doubt quarried from the Tantamooks. Looking up, he noted their roofs were made of green copper tiles. These had to be imported from the Sandstone Kingdom, far to the south, where the humans with almond-hued skin lived. They were the only region specializing in the tiles, and finding them on buildings this far north cost a considerable amount, as transporting them in bulk could be expensive. Every building as far as Dudge could see sported a green copper roof, another mute testament to the city’s wealth.
The buildings away from the docks were all sized for dwarves, doors and windows proportional to their height. As the merchants steadily drew nearer to the docks, many of the buildings grew larger, built to accommodate human visitors such as sailors, traders, and the occasional adventure-seeking traveler.
Everyone they met on the streets gave them a curious glance, but otherwise stepped out of their way and let the procession continue unhindered.
The populace seemed a friendly lot, Dudge thought, although they minded their own affairs. He noted many wore bright scarves, ornate hats, and finely worked leather shoes that were probably made for human children.
Such foreign knick-knacks were doubtless a result of all the ships coming in, he thought. But the sight of so many manmade items worn by dwarvenfolk surprised Dudge. By the look on Fret’s face, he seemed amazed as well.
At the city’s center, the thoroughfare opened out into a large open space, a combination park and roundabout for traffic. At the very center, a 50 step high granite statue of Mudge the Great stood, one arm raised and pointing toward the sea, the other toward the Tantamooks. Vendors hawked their fare to humans and dwarves alike from around the statue’s base.
On the left, facing in toward the statue, stood a large columned building of sparkling white stone. Dudge recognized the architecture of authority.
He drew up beside Puffin again and said, “Rak be in th’ Hall, mayhap?
Puffin nodded and said, “Aye, mos’ likely.”
Dudge turned to Fret and said, “Forward should lead t’ th’ quays an’ warehouses. Ask if ye need directions. Don’ let them charge ye too much to store th’ casks. Find a nice inn fer yerself an’ th’ lads an’ I’ll meet up with y’ later.”
Fret nodded, motioned the others to follow him, and the procession continued making its way toward the docks. Dudge and Puffin turned and walked to the steps of the Great Hall.
The edifice impressed Dudge. Sleek white columns fronted a massive hardwood doorway, tall enough to accommodate even the largest of humans. Inside, dwarves sat behind elevated desks so they could meet human sailors and traders at eye level.
Puffin ignored the hubbub of commerce and continued further into the building, until at last he led Dudge to a staircase in the back going down. The building’s basement opened out into a proper dwarven cave. Here, the bureaucracy focused strictly on dwarves. The ceilings were too low, the furniture too small, and the lighting too dim for fully grown humans. For the first time in weeks, Dudge felt at home.
Puffin led him into the far reaches of an underground network of tunnels and rooms. In the back, deep underneath the building, they came to a final large cavern. The walls were lined by desks and dwarves busy writing and reading manuscripts. On the far wall, a thick oaken door stood with a large brass ring attached.
Puffin approached, knocked on it respectfully, and they heard a muffled voice shout, “Enter!”
Dudge nodded at Puffin and said, “Thankee. I’ll go on alone from here.”
Somewhat reluctantly, Puffin nodded and turned to leave. Dudge pushed on the brass ring and the heavy door swung slowly inward.
An older, red-haired and -bearded dwarf looked up from behind a large desk with an annoyed glance. He sniffed at the site of Dudge and his dusty clothes. Dudge smiled to himself, and remembered he had not yet had a chance to clean up.
“An’ who may you be? I dinna ha’ much time fer ye.”
Dudge decided to dispense with the formalities since they were in private. He flashed his signet ring at Rak and sat down without asking in one of the wooden chairs in front of the desk.
“I be nay me father, but I be here under authority o’ th’ Council.”
Rak’s eyes widened in surprise at the ring, then narrowed again as he reassessed the situation.
He stood and gave a formal bow from behind the desk. He said, “Yer Highness, I was nay expectin’ ye. Nobody in Ore Stad tells me anythin’.”
Dudge made a dismissive gesture, then motioned for Rak to sit again. He said, “It be true yer the farthest point o’ authority in me father’s realm. Nearly 60 years ago, I recollect he raised th’ gate fee t’ one gold. Ye shoulda seen th’ stink tha’ made in Ore Stad. Th’ merchants were nay happy. Th’ farmers e’en less so. I sat through two days o’ petitions. Jus’ but a wee bairn I was then. An’ it’s been one gold at th’ Tantamook Gate fer wagon trains o’er half a century now.
“Imagine me surprise when I get t’ th’ famous gate an’ find th’ toll ha’ gone up. Five gold yer man Puffin said. Woul’ nay take no fer an answer. Five! An’ I thought to meself, I dinna recall Father nor th’ Trade Council raisin’ th’ toll fivefold. Nay, I dinna recall that at all.”
Dudge stopped and waited for Rak to respond. He felt rather happy with his opening remarks. He had not accused Rak of anything. He had not expressed outrage, which was certainly justified, and he had not asked questions. Dudge had simply made a quiet statement. Now he waited to see how Rak would respond.
Rak sat back in his chair. Dudge noted it was a finely wrought piece of art, made of much rarer wood than the ones in front of the desk. Perhaps it too had been imported from a distant land.
Rak’s eyes never left the prince’s. Dudge seemed to sense the quick sifting and sorting of thoughts behind those eyes. Finally, Rak said, “These be tough times, yer Highness. I erred in nay discussin’ me plans t’ raise th’ toll wi’ th’ Council. All our increased amounts will be forwarded to th’ Treasury with a full acountin’ o’ th’ books. Be assured o’ that, ye
r Highness.”
Dudge said nothing for a long moment. Silence filled the air, pregnant with tension.
Finally Dudge said, “What clan be ye in, Rak?”
“I be son o’ Mak, Clan Slag.”
“Hm. Same as Puffin.”
“Aye. He be me cousin.”
“Same as Lok.”
Another tension-filled silence.
Carefully, Rak said, “Aye. We be nay happy th’ evil wizard were of our clan. But he were. Many years ago, ’twas.”
“An’ how were he related to ye?”
“Lok were me uncle. Me pa’s side.”
“So. Yer father’s brother was Lok.”
Rak nodded slowly, eyes unblinking and never leaving Dudge’s.
“Who did ye bribe on th’ Council t’ become Portreeve of Osmo, Rak?”
Dudge noted a tiny flicker of lightning flash behind Rak’s eyes, perhaps one of suppressed anger. Otherwise, he gave no outward indication of acknowledging the slight.
“I ha’ served yer father, His Majesty, an’ th’ Trade Council fer seven years. Th’ duties an’ fees ha’ always been sent t’ Ore Stad on time.”
Dudge stood suddenly. Rak’s head jerked up in surprise, he stood up awkwardly a moment later.
Dudge said, “I’ll be lookin’ at yer books. All ledgers fer th’ las’ seven years.”
The color drained from Rak’s face. Pale white skin peeked through his red beard.
“Me main cypher be gone fer th’ day. I kin have it fer ye in th’ mornin’.”
“Nay. I’ll take th’ books wi’ me now.”
Dudge turned and walked toward the heavy wooden door. Rak hurried after him. Dudge pulled the door open and walked out of the room and into the bureau. The prince turned to the desks lining the walls to his right, and walked over to one with a heavy shelf of books behind it, Rak following close behind.
He flashed his signet ring at the surprised dwarf sitting at the desk and said, “I am Dudge, second son o’ Nudge, o’ th’ Clan Ore. I be here on Council matters. Be these th’ main records o’ th’ port?”
The startled dwarf nodded, then belatedly stood up and bowed, awkwardly. Every other dwarf in the room followed suit, chairs scraping as they all stood and bowed.
Dudge ignored them, save for the dwarf with the books. He looked older than the others, and considerably heavier. He trembled visibly, his head bowed low.
“Be ye keeper o’ th’ books?”
Without looking up the fat old dwarf said, “Aye, yer Highness.”
“I need th’ ledgers fer th’ last eight years. Since Rak became portreeve an’ th’ year afore.”
The old dwarf turned to the sturdy wooden shelf behind his desk, filled with thick brown leather-bound ledgers. He pulled down the last eight and held them out to Dudge, his hands shaking.
“Thankee.” Dudge tucked them under his arm and walked away. In the middle of the room he stopped and said, “All you may return t’ work.”
Rak hurried after him as Dudge reached the hallway. He said, “Yer Highness! We ha’ nay gone o’er those books an’ accounted fer everythin’! There may be errors!”
Dudge stopped and turned. He said, “Iffen th’ numbers square wi’ th’ revenue ye been sendin’ t’ Ore Stad, ye ha’ nothin’ t’ worry ’bout.”
He paused holding Rak’s eye for a long moment. Then he said, “Iffen th’ numbers be off considerably, iffen fer instance they indicate five gold tolls when th’ Council ha’ only seen one . . . then ye shoul’ worry.”
He turned around again and headed out the room. Rak gave his red beard a nervous tug, then wiped away a sudden surge of sweat on his brow.
-+-
Dudge found his party in the Tin Hammer, one of the few inns catering to both dwarves and humans and a favorite of merchants trading with shipmasters.
Fret explained to Dudge that they retained several casks, since they had a surplus, and had bartered with Pywot, the inn’s owner, by offering him a few.
Pywot happily agreed, especially after discovering Fret was the son of Barley, whose brewing reputation was widely appreciated even in this far corner of the realm. The innkeeper had fed the newcomers supper by the time Dudge found them. Then Pywot promptly made his money back by selling mugs of his new beer to the other guests.
Pywot brought Dudge a plate of mutton and cabbage and a mug of beer. Dudge thanked him and wolfed down the food, stifling his hunger.
He sat on the dwarven side of the common room, with smaller tables and chairs. The other side featured furniture sized for humans, but at the moment only half a dozen or so men sat around a couple tables, talking softly.
Fret came over holding his own mug of beer. He sat down at Dudge’s table and said, “It took some hagglin’ wi’ th’ warehouse owner. We finally got th’ beer stored away, though. I hope Bartimo gets here soon. This town be turrible expensive.”
Dudge smiled and pointed his fork at the ledgers on the table. He said, “I may be able t’ trim some o’ th’ expense soon. Iffen me suspicions be correct, these will show th’ portreeve ha’ been stealin’ from th’ Crown fer years.”
Fret looked down at the ledgers and stroked his beard. He said, “Iffen he be that rotten, likely he has two sets o’ books. One fer surprise inspections, one wi’ th’ real amounts.”
Dudge’s smile faltered. He said, “I be glad yer honest, Fret, son o’ Barley. Ye’ve got a devious mind. But nay, by th’ looks on everybody’s faces when I took ’em, these be th’ only ones.”
He swallowed a bite of mutton, then set his fork down and picked up the most recent ledger, marked “3158.” He thumbed it open it to the last entry.
“’Ere we go. Five gold from th’ merchant group comin’ through th’ gate las’ week. I bet th’ Crown’s profits fer a year he reported t’ Ore Stad only one gold. He be pocketin’ th’ other four.”
Fret drained the last of his mug and said, “Aye, this be a filthy town. A’ leas’ th’ innkeeper seems honest.”
“What clan be Pywot from?”
“Hm? Clan Marble he said. Why?”
“Jus’ askin’. I be nay in a trustin’ mood towards Clan Slag at th’ moment.”
-+-
Pywot had a heavy lockbox on the ground floor. Dudge questioned him about it at some length. Had anything ever been stolen out of it? Had anyone ever made a complaint about items gone missing from it?
After several minutes of this line of questioning, Pywot said, in a somewhat exasperated tone of voice that managed to remain respectful to the prince yet still convey annoyance, “Yer Highness, iffen an innkeeper be stealin’ from his guests, he dinna live very long.”
Satisfied with that answer, Dudge turned the ledgers over to Pywot, who promptly locked them up then showed Dudge to his room.
Like the Great Hall, the Tin Hammer was divided into two areas. Above ground was sized for humans, and a network of tunnels led to rooms below ground for dwarves.
Pywot apologized profusely at his lack of space. It bothered the innkeeper that his first royal guest would be sharing a room with Fret.
“We ha’ plenty space in th’ yuman quarters, yer Highness. Iffen ye don’ mind large beds an’ such, I kin put ye upstairs.”
Dudge waved aside the innkeeper’s concerns and said, “Dinna worry ’bout it. I been wi’ these lads on the’ road fer days now.”
He plopped down in the bed on his side of the room and didn’t wake up when Fret came in soon after.
The following morning at breakfast a young dwarf ran into the common room bringing news of not one but two ships pulling up to the quays.
“An’ one o’ them,” the excited lad said in a loud voice that carried through the room, “be a naval ship! Wi’ a battering ram an’ archery windows an’ boardin’ ladders an’ grapplin’ hooks!”
The news delivered, the boy ran out the door to find someone else to share with.
Fret and Dudge exchanged a glance. Dudge said, “Mayhap th’ twins be onboar
d th’ merchant vessel.”
They set out from the door of the Tin Hammer soon after, with all the wagon drivers accompanying them. Most had not ventured far from the inn the evening before, and everyone wanted to see the naval vessel. Aside from a couple of old timers, none of them had been to Port Osmo before, nor seen a human ship. Nor a human. Or, for that matter, a ship.
The score of dwarves wandered down the streets toward the docks, taking in the sights of the green copper-tiled buildings and maroon brick-paved streets. Most everything was built larger now, in consideration of human visitors.
Quite a few sailors roamed the streets, many of them evidently fresh off the newly arrived ships. They walked around equally amazed at the sights. They stared this way and that with their white linen tunics and breeches and weather-beaten faces, often stopping to gawk openly at the dwarves passing by.
“A bit crude, some o’ these fellas,” Fret observed. “Not too many wearin’ shoes.”
“Common lots,” Dudge said. “Minimal magic. I wager someone tol’ ’em t’ behave, else they’ll lose their hides t’ th’ whip.”
Fret nodded. “Makes sense. Could break a trade deal, iffen they caused trouble.”
Dudge nodded toward some of the port guards standing in clusters and watching everybody. The number of guards here near the quays was considerably more than in Osmo’s dwarven quarters near the back of the city.
He said, “Nay trouble th’ guards kinna handle.”
At last the street widened, and angled sharply downward. A large brick-paved area spread out and down to the water, with quays made from the same stone blocks found in the rest of the town. They stretched out like rocky fingers into the bay.
Two ships were tied up, the larger one obviously the naval vessel. A throng of humans stood in the middle of the area between the two ships, sailors from both talking, trading gifts, handing over letters for mail going in different directions.
Fret pointed to the right of the crowd and said, “Look! Th’ twins and th’ bairn. I dinna see th’ thief. Bu’ they be talkin’ t’ Greystone an’ Lord Trant!”
