The Magic of Recluce - L. E. Modesitt [26]
“You know wood,” observed the boy minding the display. His brown eyes almost matched his brown hair, and he wore a tan shirt.
“Some. You do any of these?”
“Only the breadboards. My older brother did most of the rest, except the table and the shelves.”
“Your father?”
“Mother. She sells mostly on consignment to Hamor.”
The breadboards were adequate, as were the boxes, but I had been doing better when I had left Uncle Sardit. Only the pedestal table was clearly better than I could do.
“You think you do better work?” asked the boy.
“It doesn’t matter now,” I answered absently. Whatever I did from there on out, it wouldn’t be woodwork.
I left without saying more and walked across the square. The first cloth-draped table was the trader who had been screeching forth about amber. A single look told me that the amber was fair at best, and the silver settings in which most of it was encased were worse.
The trader glanced away from my scrutiny, not even speaking.
The adjoining table was filled with uncut fire diamonds. Even from the spread stones, I could pick out three or four clearly superior to the others. Not bigger, just better. Displaying what I might have called more order. But I couldn’t afford them, and there wasn’t much point in bargaining over a lesser stone, not when I would need funds more than diamonds before very long.
Several tables were vacant, their canvas flapping in the breeze, barely held down by stones.
Further toward the corner closest to the harbor was a tiny man sitting behind a half-dozen small and elaborately-carved ivory figures. Those alone matched the quality of crafts displayed on the north side of the square.
For a long time, I studied the figures. One, that of a young man carrying a dark staff, appealed to me. Once again, I passed on without even trying to bargain. Nor did the trader or carver try to entreat me.
From the square I walked down toward the four long wharves. Each gray stone structure rose out of the dark blue water of the harbor more than five cubits, with a central paved roadway more than ten cubits wide. At the first wharf, the one closest to the harbor mouth and farthest from the center of the market area, was a huge twin-masted and steel-hulled steamer. A thin wisp of smoke rose from the forward funnel. The ensign I did not recognize, but, with the blue-green background and the golden crown, I would have guessed the ship was from somewhere in Nordla.
A half-dozen loading carts, stacked with square wooden packing cases of differing sizes, waited for the ship’s crane to transfer each into an open forward hold. What was in the crates I couldn’t see. I walked down toward the pier. Although there was a small stone booth for a guard, the booth, spotlessly clean, was empty. Nor was there a guard around.
Click…click…My boots nearly skidded on the smooth pavement underfoot.
Whhhsssss…Ahead, steam drifted from the small tractor linked to the loading carts, though they were long like farm carts, each nearly ten cubits in length. The sides were of smooth-milled red oak, held in place by steel brackets.
“Stand clear, fellow.” A woman I had not seen, wearing a set of black coveralls, waved in my direction then gestured toward the ship.
Whhheeeepppp…The crane lifted two more crates, cradled in a heavy mesh net, up off the next-to-last cart. The end cart was already empty.
The woman walked briskly toward me. Dark-haired, she was nearly as tall as I was, and as broad in the shoulders. She smiled. “Must be new in Nylan. Dangergeld?”
I had to nod.
“We’re loading furniture right now. The ship is the Empress—out of Brysta, Nordla Lines. I’m Caron.”
“Is this your dangergeld?” I blurted.
She laughed. “Not exactly. I started as a purser on the Brotherhood ships, but traveling got old. I liked dealing with cargo and making up shipments, handling the cube and stowage calculations—”
Whhhheeee…
“—Excuse me…” She was back at the cart, deftly jockeying two more crates into the net, without seeming to work up a sweat.
Whheeeeppp…
As the net lifted away, Caron returned.