City of Dragons
“Is that load there on the dock all we have coming?”
Hennesey all but snarled at being interrupted at his tasks, but he pulled a rolled manifest from a leather tube at his belt and unfurled it. He ran his eyes down it quickly. “The crates that Tillamon Khuprus sent down were just loaded, and she came aboard herself right after them. Looks to me like two merchants haven’t delivered yet. No, one, here comes the shipment from Lowson now, and I’m glad to see it. Lamp oil should be in that one, and six folds of heavy canvas, not to mention spare oars.”
“What else is still to be delivered?”
“Oh, it’s a mix, from Contority’s River Supplies.”
“Anything we can’t live without?”
Hennesey raised an eyebrow and then scanned the manifest more closely. “Well, Bellin won’t be pleased to leave anything behind. Let’s see. More tea. We have some, but Bellin said we needed more. Fish hooks. More blankets. Two bows and several dozen arrows. More tobacco and coffee. No one would be happy to leave without those. And—”
“If they get here before you’ve finished loading the stuff from Lowson, then go ahead and take it aboard. If it isn’t here, forget it. We managed this long, and we’ll have to manage for the rest of winter. As soon as that dock is empty of cargo, we’re leaving.”
“Might be too late to do that quietly.”
Leftrin turned his head to follow Hennesey’s gaze. In many ways, Cassarick was still a young and raw settlement, and their constabulary reflected that. Becoming a City Guard was regarded as a temporary career, one taken up because there was no more profitable work available or because one lacked the skills or reputation to gain better employment. The guards moving unevenly down the docks reflected this. There were five of them, identifiable by their green trousers and tunics. Two looked very young and seemed agitated. One of the men was a graybeard with a bouncing belly and a pike in his hand. None of them looked happy about his current assignment, or particularly familiar with the moving docks and the traffic on them.
“Get it loaded, and be ready to cast off at my word. Tarman, old friend, you be ready to help if we need it.”
Behind the guards came Trader Polsk and another Council member. Polsk carried a document case. She was puffing as she hurried along. Leftrin didn’t leave his deck but moved aft as far as he could to meet the oncoming delegation. They would probably stop to look up at him and talk, buying his crew a few more precious moments to get cargo aboard. As he passed Skelly, he asked in a low voice, “All crew and passengers aboard?”
“Except for Big Eider. But he’s right on the dock there, helping to load, and can jump for the deck in an instant.”
“Good. Be ready. Warn our passengers.”
“Sir.” She pattered away down the deck.
Leftrin put a smile that he didn’t feel on his face and sauntered aft, his thumbs tucked into his belt. As he had hoped, the guards skittered to a halt at the sight of him and formed a rough semicircle to look up at him. He looked down at them, not speaking, his expression one of mild curiosity. When Trader Polsk hustled to join them, he transferred his gaze to her but did not speak, leaving the burden of setting the tone of this confrontation to her.
She was out of breath and her words came out without much force. “Captain Leftrin, you have not responded to the missives that the Traders’ Council has sent you.”
He raised one eyebrow in puzzlement at her charge. “Well, no, I suppose I haven’t. But I’ve been rather busy today and thought I’d best make sure of my schedule before trying to arrange a meeting time with the Council. Seems like everyone is after a piece of my time.” He cocked his head and appeared to make a mental reckoning. “Would an evening meeting six days hence work for the Council?” He leaned his forearms on the railing and looked down on them as he spoke. All reasonableness and affability.
Polsk looked down the dock to where the loading was proceeding. “You appear to be making preparations for departure!”
He glanced in the direction of her interest. “Just loading our supplies, Trader Polsk. Loading a ship takes time, you know; cargo has to be inventoried, and the ship has to be ballasted to adjust. It’s not a thing to rush. A riverman learns to make the best use of every free minute, you know. And between you and me, it’s a wise captain who keeps his crew occupied at all times. Otherwise you can’t know what sort of mischief they’ll be getting into. Tavern brawls, public drunkenness, and whatnot. You know how sailors are.” He grinned at her conspiratorially and saw a shadow of uncertainty pass over her face. Had she been sent down here on a wild rumor? Had the Council overreacted and made her look foolish?