Blackveil
Page 116
AMBERHILL’S VOYAGE BEGINS
It was a fine morning, this first day of spring, with an offshore breeze stroking the waters of Corsa Harbor and the sun glancing off the waves. The tide was in and Captain Irvine oversaw the loading of cargo into the bowels of his vessel, Ullem Queen, bound for Coutre Province. Amberhill watched as some of his own possessions were loaded, but Yap supervised more closely, chivvying the porters not to drop anything.
Amberhill stood on the wharf, striking an aristocratic pose and wearing a mask of boredom amid the noise and confusion of four vessels loading and unloading at once. He did not deign to step out of the way for bustling longshoremen, sailors, merchants, fishermen, or anyone. They all had to go around him.
As he watched he absorbed details—cormorants bobbing alongside ships at anchor, harried porters bearing everything from squawking chickens to bales of tobacco to the various vessels tied to the wharf or tossing items down to sailors waiting in longboats below. A sailor without an ounce of horse sense tried to pull a balky stallion across a gangway to one of the ships. The stallion bellowed his dismay and with a toss of his head unbalanced the sailor at the other end of his lead rope who fell off the gangway and splashed into the harbor waters.
Coins exchanged hands, and purses were lifted by grubby waifs from oblivious passengers milling on the wharf. He caught a young pickpocket by the wrist as the boy reached for his own purse. The waif gazed up at him with large, frightened eyes. Amberhill gave him a curt shake of his head, then he released the boy, who scampered off in search of easier pickings.
Overstuffed merchant carts jammed the wharf, bearing crates and sacks and barrels and hogsheads of goods. Amberhill was less fascinated by the cargoes than by the merchants themselves. Most were finely dressed, soft-looking, and did not lower themselves to assist with transferring cargo to or from ships, but rather left the dirty work to subordinates and made notations in ledgers. All except one.
That merchant tossed aside his well-tailored longcoat and rolled up his sleeves to help unload a schooner to fill a wagon with spices, sugarcane, and what appeared to be exotic fruits. The sailors on board the ship were tanned. Amberhill guessed that this vessel had been trading in the Cloud Islands.
The merchant himself was not tanned, so likely had not gone on the venture himself, but it did not stop him from taking a heavy hogshead and hoisting it up to another man atop the wagon. This was no soft merchant, but he was no common laborer either, for he exuded an aura of command as he ordered his people about and joked with them. They deferred to him in all ways and showed him no insolence. And there was something more about the man, something . . . familiar.
Amberhill caught the bulky shoulder of a passing longshoreman. “Who is that man?” he asked, pointing out the merchant.
“Not from around here, eh? That’d be Stevic G’ladheon, biggest merchant around.”
Amberhill let the longshoreman go and grinned, thinking this an opportunity he could not pass up. He of course had been well aware of who Karigan G’ladheon’s successful father was. Those who dealt in the business world of the realm could not help but know of him. What made him even more noteworthy to Amberhill’s mind was that Stevic G’ladheon was a self-made man. Very admirable.
Amberhill casually strolled down the wharf, carving effortlessly through the throngs. As he approached, he observed Stevic G’ladheon was square of shoulder and contained the energy of a young man, but a slight silvering at his temples revealed his age.
Amberhill wondered how he should introduce himself, and was lost momentarily in an imagined conversation: “How do you know my daughter?” the merchant asked, and Amberhill was so tickled by all the possible clever responses that he almost laughed aloud. He was not under the impression, however, that Stevic G’ladheon was the sort of man to be trifled with.
He readied himself to greet the merchant, but a ship’s bell clanged and Yap was at his elbow.
“Sorry, sir,” Yap said, “but Cap’n Irvine is ready to get underway and says ya must board, or he’s leaving without ya.”
“Wait a moment, I want to—”
“Passenger Amberhill!”
Amberhill glanced over his shoulder, the mate glowering over the heads of the crowd at him. Then he returned his gaze to Stevic G’ladheon, who looked right back at him.
“You Amberhill?” the merchant asked.
Amberhill, startled, nodded.
“Then you’d better get yourself on that ship. Captain Irvine maintains a rigorous schedule, especially with the tide turning, and he won’t wait for lingerers.”
“Um—” Amberhill began. A glance back at the ship revealed the crew readying to haul in the gangway.
“Sir?” Yap said urgently, tugging at his sleeve.
Amberhill wanted to say something, anything, to Stevic G’ladheon, but he’d vanished—just like his daughter was wont to do. Then he spotted the merchant aboard the vessel he’d been helping to unload, talking to a customs official.
Of all the damnable things! Amberhill thought. To be denied the opportunity to initiate a conversation with one of Sacoridia’s most respected merchants and the father of an enigma. Amberhill wondered how much he knew of his daughter’s powers or about mystical black stallions, but the bell clanged more insistently.
Ah, well, he thought. Opportunity missed.
He pivoted and hastened across the wharf to the Ullem Queen. The gangway had been retracted and the ship was separating from the wharf. He and Yap leaped the gap to the ship. Amberhill managed easily, but poor Yap less so. He dangled from the railing, feet scrabbling against the hull. Crew grabbed his arms and hauled him on deck. The captain scowled at them both from his position up by the wheel.
It was a fine morning, this first day of spring, with an offshore breeze stroking the waters of Corsa Harbor and the sun glancing off the waves. The tide was in and Captain Irvine oversaw the loading of cargo into the bowels of his vessel, Ullem Queen, bound for Coutre Province. Amberhill watched as some of his own possessions were loaded, but Yap supervised more closely, chivvying the porters not to drop anything.
Amberhill stood on the wharf, striking an aristocratic pose and wearing a mask of boredom amid the noise and confusion of four vessels loading and unloading at once. He did not deign to step out of the way for bustling longshoremen, sailors, merchants, fishermen, or anyone. They all had to go around him.
As he watched he absorbed details—cormorants bobbing alongside ships at anchor, harried porters bearing everything from squawking chickens to bales of tobacco to the various vessels tied to the wharf or tossing items down to sailors waiting in longboats below. A sailor without an ounce of horse sense tried to pull a balky stallion across a gangway to one of the ships. The stallion bellowed his dismay and with a toss of his head unbalanced the sailor at the other end of his lead rope who fell off the gangway and splashed into the harbor waters.
Coins exchanged hands, and purses were lifted by grubby waifs from oblivious passengers milling on the wharf. He caught a young pickpocket by the wrist as the boy reached for his own purse. The waif gazed up at him with large, frightened eyes. Amberhill gave him a curt shake of his head, then he released the boy, who scampered off in search of easier pickings.
Overstuffed merchant carts jammed the wharf, bearing crates and sacks and barrels and hogsheads of goods. Amberhill was less fascinated by the cargoes than by the merchants themselves. Most were finely dressed, soft-looking, and did not lower themselves to assist with transferring cargo to or from ships, but rather left the dirty work to subordinates and made notations in ledgers. All except one.
That merchant tossed aside his well-tailored longcoat and rolled up his sleeves to help unload a schooner to fill a wagon with spices, sugarcane, and what appeared to be exotic fruits. The sailors on board the ship were tanned. Amberhill guessed that this vessel had been trading in the Cloud Islands.
The merchant himself was not tanned, so likely had not gone on the venture himself, but it did not stop him from taking a heavy hogshead and hoisting it up to another man atop the wagon. This was no soft merchant, but he was no common laborer either, for he exuded an aura of command as he ordered his people about and joked with them. They deferred to him in all ways and showed him no insolence. And there was something more about the man, something . . . familiar.
Amberhill caught the bulky shoulder of a passing longshoreman. “Who is that man?” he asked, pointing out the merchant.
“Not from around here, eh? That’d be Stevic G’ladheon, biggest merchant around.”
Amberhill let the longshoreman go and grinned, thinking this an opportunity he could not pass up. He of course had been well aware of who Karigan G’ladheon’s successful father was. Those who dealt in the business world of the realm could not help but know of him. What made him even more noteworthy to Amberhill’s mind was that Stevic G’ladheon was a self-made man. Very admirable.
Amberhill casually strolled down the wharf, carving effortlessly through the throngs. As he approached, he observed Stevic G’ladheon was square of shoulder and contained the energy of a young man, but a slight silvering at his temples revealed his age.
Amberhill wondered how he should introduce himself, and was lost momentarily in an imagined conversation: “How do you know my daughter?” the merchant asked, and Amberhill was so tickled by all the possible clever responses that he almost laughed aloud. He was not under the impression, however, that Stevic G’ladheon was the sort of man to be trifled with.
He readied himself to greet the merchant, but a ship’s bell clanged and Yap was at his elbow.
“Sorry, sir,” Yap said, “but Cap’n Irvine is ready to get underway and says ya must board, or he’s leaving without ya.”
“Wait a moment, I want to—”
“Passenger Amberhill!”
Amberhill glanced over his shoulder, the mate glowering over the heads of the crowd at him. Then he returned his gaze to Stevic G’ladheon, who looked right back at him.
“You Amberhill?” the merchant asked.
Amberhill, startled, nodded.
“Then you’d better get yourself on that ship. Captain Irvine maintains a rigorous schedule, especially with the tide turning, and he won’t wait for lingerers.”
“Um—” Amberhill began. A glance back at the ship revealed the crew readying to haul in the gangway.
“Sir?” Yap said urgently, tugging at his sleeve.
Amberhill wanted to say something, anything, to Stevic G’ladheon, but he’d vanished—just like his daughter was wont to do. Then he spotted the merchant aboard the vessel he’d been helping to unload, talking to a customs official.
Of all the damnable things! Amberhill thought. To be denied the opportunity to initiate a conversation with one of Sacoridia’s most respected merchants and the father of an enigma. Amberhill wondered how much he knew of his daughter’s powers or about mystical black stallions, but the bell clanged more insistently.
Ah, well, he thought. Opportunity missed.
He pivoted and hastened across the wharf to the Ullem Queen. The gangway had been retracted and the ship was separating from the wharf. He and Yap leaped the gap to the ship. Amberhill managed easily, but poor Yap less so. He dangled from the railing, feet scrabbling against the hull. Crew grabbed his arms and hauled him on deck. The captain scowled at them both from his position up by the wheel.
