From: Joerg Baumgartner (joe@toppoint.de)
Date: Wed 10 Jul 1996 - 20:47:00 EEST
About two hours later I had shaped a new lower hull for the vessel. It was
hard to hammer away in silence, so I rather used the heat from the furnace,
blowing through a small brass tube to direct the heat. I had alwas found
that the easiest way to shape after a model was to use the same technique,
only in the material I had at hand, so I cut little planks out of the sheet
of silver from the box with my materials and fused them carefully onto the
ribs I had formed from thick silver wire. This resulted in a quite realistic
hull, except where the ribs had given away in the heat. Still, my silent
companion who had supervised and even assisted my work all the time seemed
to be satisfied when I fitted the last of my "planks" to the pendant. The
resulting vessel had much more draft than the original one, but I remedied
this by removing the top waveline, and adding it below the others. That way
I also gained two more feet of freeboard, which made this vessel somewhat
believable. I didn't touch the rigging, though, which was just as well - I
doubt I could have reproduced the knotwork even on a decent worktable.
Passing on the pendant, I stretched my back and shoulders. I was cramped,
and wished myself back into Megaid's embrace, none of Margala's girls could
knead your shoulders - or other parts - like her. Since I was lacking her
company, I had to do some of the swordsman's exercises I had been taught
last winter, but only after closing down my workshop, and stowing away the
cooled pieces in their padded boxes.
"I think you did it," the Lanbrili said, without forewarning, after keeping
his silence for the entire working session, making me jump.
"So, what about my payment?" I demanded. He tossed me a bag of coins - two
wheels, and six guilders. A generous payment, to tell the truth, even for
nightwork.
"There's more in for you, if you go to the harbour," he added. "You will
know where to go."
I nodded, biting back my triumph. Of course I'd collect any extras! I didn't
fear any muggers - the Lanbrili knew me, and in two years of tutoring by I
had learned enough swordwork from Berengar of Rhigos to hold off any hiring
crew long enough that the guards would arrive. If Berengar had only refused
the challenge of that thrice-cursed slayer Aldarch Roven-Drax! I could have
become a real blade-master. As usual when I thought of my former patron and
swordsmaster, my hand went to the blade I had inherited from him, after that
fateful duel. The Rhigosite sabre was one of a matched pair, of the best
bronze Caladrian smiths could produce, light enough for the two-sword style
yet tough enough to block even a greatsword - at least usually. Its twin had
broken when Roven-Drax' broadsword went through with unnatural speed and
cruelty, slaying Berengar at once. The money Berengar had left me had
provided a new, locally made blade for its handle, so I could wear a matched
pair, but still the left-hand sword felt different from the original
righthand blade.
The stranger shooed me off while he collapsed the tent. Since I still felt
too much tension, I decided not to return to my room at once, but instead to
take a stroll to the harbour. The Sea Gate would be open by this time, with
the first fishermen departing for this morning's catch and the last crewmen
returning from the less renowned brothels.
The guards were sleepy, except for an elderly sergeant I knew from before.
He was a hardliner Heortlander, the kind of bully who liked to step on
Esrolite, Islander and mixed-blood toes. I had been on the receiving end in
the weaponmasters' court a couple of times in my early companionship with
Berengar, but after a couple of weeks training with the Rhigosite
swordmaster I had been able to stand him off, which seemed to have annoyed
him greatly. Ever since he had liked to scrutinize me, to my (and my
Lanbrili contacts') chagrin. Tonight would be no different, except that this
time I had my workshop with me, and nobody to hide it on... I was about to
veer off and take the back route to Laticia's whorehouse - about the most
repugnant etablissement within the city walls, but the only good cover for a
lawful if tasteless citizen in the streets at this time, when his attention
was drawn to some disturbance upon the quayeside. He shoved his companions
to attention and dragged one of them with him to clear whatever trouble was
brewing. The remaining guard was less eager to cause trouble, and just waved
me through.
The trouble was a ruffle between two foreign sailors and a gang of early
dockers, with old Rhesus Creal once more in the thick of action. The
brown-skinned foreigners wore long flowing robes rather than the usual trews
and tunics, and they seemed to try to shrink into wall before the dockers.
Vadeli. I couldn't stand the creeps, but I knew that beating up a few of
them wasn't the wisest idea - whoever tried often ended up with a strange
curse, or floating in the harbour. Apparently the sergeant was as wise,
unlike Creal who reveled in the sailors' timid pleas for forgiveness. I
slipped off to the far side, where I felt I was expected.
There she lay, a sloop of slender build but sturdy of mast and rigging. I
didn't know why, but I felt drawn to the craft, a gentle tug and warm
beckoning. Its lines were exquisite, but the planking was rough, and the
rigging seemed coarse. Still, it had a familiar touch to it, almost like
home, so I boarded. Not really knowing what I was doing I fetched in the
lines, set the sail and laid off, all the while humming some nursery rhyme
that wouldn't leave my head. I steered the sloop out into the mighty current
of the river, while the fiery swirls in the night sky gave way for the red
and yellow sky dome. As I looked south I noticed a blue streak over the
morning mists slowly rising from Choralinthor's bed, and I knew I could ride
the current faster than ever. Around me, the scene shifted slowly - the
river seemed to swell to a width I hadn't even seen when the tidal wave had
run up Choralinthor Bay three years ago, following an ominous rumble from
the Vent where Fire and Sea had clashed. Now the full might of Lorion seemed
to follow the blue streak, as if the Godking never had blocked his way with
the Lead Hills. Thunder rolled across Heortland from the Storm Mountains,
and a pitch darkness and cold hung over the Shadow Plateau, almost forming a
phantastical spire reaching to heaven, spiting the rising sun orb.
- - to be continued -
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