Ilse Witch - Terry Brooks [72]
Standing next to him, Rue Meridian was smiling, as well.
They passed through the rocks and into a narrow channel, the skiff rising and falling on the roiling sea. Gulls and cormorants circled overhead, their cries echoing eerily off the cliff walls. Ahead lay a broad cove surrounded by forested cliffs with waterfalls that tumbled hundreds of feet out of the misted heights. As they sailed from the turbulence of the channel into the relative calm of the harbor, the sounds of wind and surf faded and the waters smoothed. Behind them, the lamps that had been lit to guide their way in winked out.
Etched out of gloom and mist, the first signs of a settlement appeared. There was no mistaking its nature. A sprawling shipyard fronted the waters of the cove, complete with building cradles and docks, forges, and timber stores. A cluster of ships lay anchored at the north end of the cove, sleek and dark against the silvery waters, and by the glint of radian draws and the odd slant of light sheaths furled and waiting for release, Walker recognized them as airships.
As they neared the shoreline, the towing ship dropped anchor, and a small transport was lowered with a pair of sailors at the oars. It rowed back to the skiff and took Walker and the Rovers aboard. Alt Mer and his sister greeted the sailors familiarly, but did not introduce the Druid. They rowed ashore through hazy light and swooping birds and disembarked at one of the docks. Dockworkers were hauling supplies back and forth along the waterfront, and laborers were just beginning their workday. The sounds of hammers and saws broke the calm, and the settlement seemed to come awake all at once.
“This way,” Redden Alt Mer advised, starting off down the dock toward the beach.
They stepped onto dry land and proceeded left through the shipyards, past the forges and cradles, to where a building sat facing the water. A broad covered porch fronted the building, with narrow trestle tables set along its length. Sheaves of paper were spread upon the tables and held in place by bricks. Men worked their way from one set of papers to the next, examining their writings, marking them for adjustments and revisions.
The man who supervised this work looked up at their approach and then came down the steps to meet them. He was a huge, burly fellow with arms and legs like tree trunks, a head of wild black hair, and a ruddy, weathered face partially obscured by a thick beard. He wore the bright sashes and gold earrings favored by Rovers, and his scowl belied the twinkle in his bird-sharp eyes.
“Morning, all,” he growled, sounding less than cheerful. His black eyes lit on Walker. “Hope you’re a customer who’s deaf, dumb, and blind, and comes ready to share a small fortune with those less fortunate than yourself. Because if not, I might as well kill you now and have done with it. Big Red knows the rules.”
Walker did not change expression or evidence concern, even when he heard Redden Alt Mer groan. “I’ve been told that by coming here I have a chance to do business with the best shipbuilder alive. Would that be you?”
“It would.” The black eyes shifted to Alt Mer suspiciously, then back to Walker. “You don’t look stupid, but then you don’t look like a man with a fat purse, either. Who are you?”
‘I’m called Walker.“
The burly man studied him in silence. “The Druid?”
Walker nodded.
“Well, well, well. This might prove interesting after all. What would bring a Druid out of Paranor these days? Don’t think it would be anything small.” He stuck out a massive hand. “I’m Spanner Frew.”
Walker accepted the hand and shook it. The hand felt as if it had been cast in iron. “Druids go where they are needed,” he said.
“That must be extremely difficult when there is only one of you.” Spanner Frew chuckled, a deep, booming