by Iain Lindsay
Ha. “The gods must be favoring us today, my friends!” Tremaine pretended a confidence that he didn’t feel. Think about death later. Let them think you’re in control. Ara was the eastern-most landmass around the Inner Ocean, and southern Ara was one of the few places where the Protectorate’s control was thin. There would be places to offload this cargo. Places which didn’t care if it was stamped with Izant markers.
A man could get rich in southern-Ara, Tremaine was trying to wring some good out of this disaster – just as the thunder broke and a lightning bolt slammed into his ship.
6. A Generous Mood
Hunting-wolf, Tal hid his glare and kept his head down as he returned to work the next day. That is what I have to be. Just like his father. Quiet. Watchful. Waiting for his moment to strike.
“Talin Nhkari,” the already disinterested voice of the Counter woke him from his dark thoughts. It was early morning and the Eastern Dock team were assembled and receiving their breakfast as they awaited the orders of the day. The boys and girls lounged and laughed along the railings and empty platforms, telling stories or poking fun at each other.
“Coward” someone hissed as he passed through the throng.
“Useless Nhka,” another slur.
Tal shot an angry look to see blonde Olander and pudgy Vestas sneering at him. Beyond them was Kenrath, seemingly not interested in the daily game of tormenting the brown-skinned youth this morning.
“Watch it,” Talin mouthed the words to his tormentors, who only laughed.
“Nhkari!” The Counter shouted again.
“Here,” he stepped from the crowds to see a man in the tight-fitting grey clothes: shirt and breeches with a hint of brass buttons. A head with slick-black hair, and smelling of scented oil. The Counters were richer than the Overseers; they were the bankers and moneymen of the Lords of the Reach.
A wooden bowl of grey slop was thrust into his hands, and the Counter made a tick in a column in his counting book. On the opposite page was a pinned piece of cracked and tired paper.
“Talin Nhkari,” the Counter cleared his throat and read, just as he had done the same for all the other workers before him and would do for the others who were called after him. “Breakfast, Lodging, and the Protection of the Reach tallied on this, the fourth day of tenth moon. Your ticket stands at minus seventeen Ducats.”
“Seventeen Ducats!” Talin burst out. That is ridiculous. Most of the others had tickets standing at minus nine or ten; the money that they owed the Lords of the Reach for the luxury of living in a hovel, not having to fight bandits, and eating grey slop in the morning. Every scrap of salvage that they weighed in was deducted from their ticket, after half of that was given straight over to the Overseer.
“Lazy Nhka!” One of his tormenters behind him was hissing in glee.
The Counter frowned for a moment, surprised that the boy had the audacity to question his calculations. “A Six Ducat fine was added by your Overseer, for ‘egregious complaint’, now begone with you. I haven’t got the time to argue with workers.” The Counter dismissed him before calling out the next girl’s name, giving her breakfast, and totaling up her standing ticket.
“‘Egregious complaint’?” Tal muttered angrily. He didn’t even know what that meant exactly, but was certain it was the fact that he had embarrassed Jekkers in front of the Breakers. But six Ducats? Tal shook his head as he sidled around the throng of his fellows, heading to the back where the casks and crates sat. A hundred pennies to a Ducat. I might make thruppence today, five or six pennies if I’m really lucky. That was almost a year’s wages in one fine, Tal knew, and he would still be losing pennies every day that he ate or slept.
“You got a problem, Nhka?” A cruel, pinching hand seized his shoulder and he was turned to see himself looking up at the leather and canvas work-jacket of the Overseer himself. He had a victorious grin on his face. “Are you disrespecting the Counter? Because I could dock you for that, too.” Jekkers started to snigger, and it was a thin and horrible sound like the hissing of a kettle. “But you’re lucky that I’m feeling in a generous mood today,” Jekkers raised long, spidery fingers to his chest, to tap at one of the many utility pockets sown into his jacket. There was the dull thumping sound of something heavy behind the cloth, heavy and metal. The medallion!
“You thought your little games yesterday would get me into trouble with the Breaker’s didn’t you? Well, you are about to make me a lot of money today, Nhka,” he crowed, daring the youth to say anything, to shout back, to do anything but glare.
Jekkers still has the medallion. He has the strange gold on him, and he hasn’t traded it yet. Tal’s anger focused into a tight beam of concentration. Wait and then strike. Like the hunting-wolf. The pocket was only a few hand spans away from him. He could be quick…
“You should be grateful, Tal.” Jekkers released him finally, before saying in a louder voice so that everyone could hear how humiliated the youth had to be. Twenty or thirty faces turned to look at the little drama, and Tal knew he wouldn’t be able to snatch the medallion from Jekkers and run. “You’re all the same, you lot. You have to beat the laziness out of the Nhka, before they become good workers.” He mused. “And you will be a good worker for me, Tal, because you and that lazy mother of yours are going to be spending a very long time here...”
Tal’s vision dimmed, and the blood pounded in his ears as his rage leapt in him.
“Overseer?” It was Jotni, calling out from the crowd. “Is there no airship today? What do we do?” Tal’s anger subsided a little with the sudden distraction, to see that even the heimr looked almost nervous.
The troll’s plan worked, and Jekkers turned his attention away from humiliating Tal to do the next thing that came naturally to him: bullying his work team. “Not sitting around on your ass’s, that’s what! Get up! Get the dock cleared! Get it swept! Get it scrubbed! I want every trace of windweed cleared from the supports! I want every plank gleaming with linseed! I want the winches oiled! We might have some cargo coming in this afternoon, and I need everything ready for you to unload it to the warehouses. Go on, any more dawdling and I’ll dock the whole miserable lot of you a Ducat each!” The man shouted, clapping his hands as he did so.
The Eastern Docks work team peeled off in every direction. Seniors like Kenrath and Jotni started organizing the grumbling youths. Talin stood where he was, breathing slowly as he controlled his anger, his eyes fixed on the form of the Overseer returning to the office at the top of the nearest warehouse.
Watch, wait. He repeated to himself, over and over. You’ll pay for that insult, Overseer.
Tal kept to the near side of the docks, volunteering to be one of the workers to scrub the well-used planks with wire brushes, sweeping it of the constant wood splinters and shavings, slopping steaming bowls of water heated on the warehouse stoves, before brushing off the worst of the murky water. The sun had climbed over the Susha, but a band of dark clouds were rolling out over the Aratine hills, bringing with them the promise of storm winds. Not yet though, and not for the sun-weathered youths on the Eastern Docks.
Tal worked, and watched. The Nhkari made sure that he would always see the front warehouse and the wooden steps that ran along the outside, up to the small office where the Overseer spent most of his morning. He had no visitors, but he did leave the shuttered room once, to relieve himself over the edge of one of the piers, before picking from the best pies at the disgruntled and bickering food stalls. As he did all these things, Talin noticed that he held under one arm, nestled against his chest, a small metal box. Where else do you keep the most expensive thing you’ve ever even seen?
Then, with apparent nonchalance, the Overseer turned and casually called the Counter over to talk with him. “Counter Reebus, a word with you please?”
“Probably annoyed that there’s no hulk in today,” Jotni arrived with a sigh, rubbing his belly.
“Huh?” Tal looked up from his brushes.
“The food stalls. The
y’re annoyed. Not enough coin here today to make a profit,” The troll appreciated his food, what little he could get of it, looking longingly at the tables of pies and breads. His blue-skinned friend had just returned from the two long piers where he had been leading the younger workers in donning their harnesses, their job to descend the sides of the pier and scrape off the tufts of long, hair-like windweed that always seemed to find cracks to grow in, even up here. In his hand was one of the long wind-scraper poles, taller than he was, with two-prongs of dull metal on one end.
“You don’t want a change? We could use a good climber.” The heimr grunted at where Tal could already see the scraping team manhandling the long poles to reach the tufts of rust and grass they couldn’t reach by hand.
“No.” Tal said quickly, distracted as he tried to decipher what Jekkers and the Counter were talking about. No shoves or shouts for the children and teenagers near them. He must be in a good mood, Tal thought, watching the animated discussion and expansive hand movements – and always that little metal box, wedged into the crook of his arm.
He must be trying to sell the medallion.
“Hm.” Jotni furrowed brows that were permanently furrowed anyway. Many think that the northern heimr are a dull-witted race, but in actual fact, they are just very methodical. “What are you planning, Tal?” He asked suddenly. “You’ve a face full of thunder, and you’ve been scrubbing that same bit of deck for quarter of a watch now. Any more and you’ll wear a hole down to the workhouses.”
Behind his friend the Counter had paused as if in shock, as the rising winds mussed his slick hair. A knowing nod from the Overseer, and a few whispered words. The Counter turned, almost running to his table to pack up his scales and book, grab his expensive green-linen wind cloak, and hurry towards the lifts.
Damn. The Overseer’s got the Counter in on the deal too. They’ll disappear that gold sooner than I can say-
“Jotni….?” Tal whispered. ‘Don’t turn down an act of kindness’ the stocky youth had told him just yesterday. ‘Don’t put a price on friendship.’ Tal motioned for the heimr to crouch down next to him. “What if I told you that there might be a way to make a lot of Ducats. Maybe a way to get off the Reach for good?”
Jotni’s face was, as ever, unreadable next to his. “Go on” he said through his fangs.
“You sure about this?” The heimr looked at Tal with what the youth thought must be a hard glare. Coming from one of his kind, it was positively terrifying.
It was already well past their midday break, and still the Counter hadn’t returned. The line of threating cloud had become a dark blanket over one half of the Susha, orange and dirty brown where it had lost most of its moisture, and instead driving ahead of it the dust of the scrubby savannah. The Reach was starting to howl with the sharp winds, but still the work team toiled, and the Overseer became increasingly more agitated. He started to pace every watch or so around the Dock, the wind buffeting his heavy storm cloak as he found fault where there was none, clipping the heads of the boys and girls under him with stinging swipes.
He must be nervous to get paid. Wondering what’s taking the Counter so long from coming up with the cash. “Yes, I’m sure.” Tal nodded as the wind howled around him, even though he wasn’t sure about anything. Watch. Wait, his father would have done. Tal prayed that he had read the situation right.
Watch, wait, and then…
“Okay Nhka,” Jotni nodded impassively, and pushed Talin Nhkari off the Eastern Docks.
“Argghh!” Talin screamed in terror.
Air rushed past him. Dust caught in his mouth. His stomach leapt. The world became a blur of struts and supports flashing past his vision.
“Argghh!” Talin screamed, not without reason, as he flailed and thrust out his limbs, before-
“Urk!” The rope attached to his leather harness pulled taught, driving a line of pain across his midriff as he swung inwards, under the Eastern Dock platform and straight towards the largest of the diagonal support beams that held the Eastern Docks up. One end of the rope was tied to the underside of the dock’s edge, and from it he pivoted, starting to lose momentum and speed, until-
Gotcha! His hands scrabbled and clutched the heavy support beam and suddenly he was no longer moving but hanging from the underside of the docks.
Tal could swear that the entire Reach would hear his pounding heart as he hung for a second, feeling the winds pull and tear at his clothes. No time to waste. There would already be alarm and anger at what Jotni had apparently done. Talin heaved, pulling his thin body up to the square beam that was thicker than he was, it’s wood bleached white and cracked from the constant breeze.
Where is it? Detaching himself and tying off the rope, he climbed the beam until he came to the next intersection, a thinner bit of wood but strong still, and bolted with heavy metal pins. Move! He ran, hunched against the gale even as his face stung with thrown sand, along the intersection to the farthest side, where a narrow metal ladder was hung, and beyond that, the thick chains of the lift mechanisms. Below him he could see the apex wooden rooves of the warehouses and workrooms below, the air heavy with the sound of clanging and sawing, shouting and arguing.
Talin was a good climber. One of the best in their work team. His childhood here on the Reach had taught him well as he jumped to catch the narrow ladder, hearing its wind-scoured metal protest with a shriek, and pulled himself upwards. He arrived back on the same Docks he had been thrown from, but behind the main warehouse – and the Overseer’s office.
The storm sands were starting to rattle the decking, but that didn’t stop the crowd of his fascinated co-workers congregating around the heimr, eager for a sight of a squashed or impaled Nhka youth below.
“Jotni! What did you do!?” Someone was shouting.
Tal grinned as his plan worked perfectly.
“He’s still down there!” Jotni called, pointing to a complicated knot of beams and ropes above the warehouses below, buying the youth time.
“What is going on down there!” Talin heard the door of the Overseer’s office bang open and the man hurried out and down the steps, cursing as he struggled with his storm coat to shield his face from the gale. It looked to turn into a nasty one.
And with no metal box in his hands this time… As soon as the Overseer’s boots hit the deck, Talin moved along the sides of the large barrels stacked against the wall, keeping an eye on his enemy as he turned up the rickety steps, and ran.
“Out of my way! Get back to work, you scabs!” The voice of Jekkers outside rose to compete with the howling winds and rattling shutters. Talin heard the sudden squeals and squeaks of pain as the man slapped and kicked at the crowd to get to the edge. The Nhkari wouldn’t have long. Seconds.
The youth found himself in the sudden quiet, still airs of the confined Overseer’s office, while outside the winds battered the docks. The office was built into the rafters of the main warehouse, barely big enough for the wooden desk under the shuttered window, a chair, and behind that, a narrow cot bed with dirty blankets.
He sleeps here too? Talin was surprised for a moment, when he considered that Jekkers, for all the wealth that he stole from them lived a seemingly poor life.
“You did what? Come here!” Talin could hear the Overseer shriek at the heimr, and felt a spike of worry. Jotni had said that he could handle whatever the Overseer could throw at him, and that he had faced far scarier masters in the slaver galleys. But still, Talin hoped that ‘whatever the Overseer threw at him’ didn’t also include ‘throwing him off the docks’ as well.
On the table was a stack of papers and some simple leather work. The Overseer apparently liked to maintain his own boots and harnesses. A flask of rare Ausbridge brandy, corked and with a heavy layer of dust, and, hanging under the shelf of clothes an array of tools, chains, and fixings. Disturbingly, Talin saw that many of them were the leather crops of varying sizes fitted with studs, the sorts of implements the Overseer liked to use on his workers when he
was really angry. He had a habit of making and maintaining his own tools for punishment as well, it appeared.
“Ugh.” Talin scanned for the box as the shutters started to hiss with sand-laden winds. Where would he hide it? Under the bed? The youth thumped to the floor, thrusting his hands under the wooden cot to come back just with scraps of canvas, dust, and the old soles of a boot. Not there. The shelf? He tore through the stacks of clothes. No.
Where would I hide the most expensive thing I’d ever seen? Talin thought. He knew that the floorboards below were balanced on the rafters and crossbeams of the warehouse. No way to hide the box under one of them. The roof was the single-skin of wooden planks of the warehouse roof; not up there either.
That left… Talin dove under the table, kicking the chair out of the way to grope in the darkness. Nothing in the corners.
“Ow!” His head banged against something sticking out from under underside of the table wood. Turning, he found a strip of leather nailed underneath, forming a sort of hammock which bulged with the angled shape of the metal box.
Aha! Fierce joy swept through him as he ripped the box from its nest. Dull grey metal with a small padlock over the front. Scarred and discolored, it must have once been some find from a hulk that the Overseer had seen a use for. I don’t have the key – but I have a chisel. Talin rolled out from under the table, as the door to the office banged open, and the Overseer stood, framed against the darkening skies.
“Thief!” His face was twisted with a murderous fury.
Strike! Talin’s eyes were sharp points of hate as he kicked the chair across the room, scrabbling to his feet to search for a way out. There was none. Only through the Overseer.
“Wretch!” Jekkers jumped back from the chair, only to then seize it in his hands and advance on the young man, like he was an animal. “I’m going have to beat the discipline into you, Nhka.”