I followed the stranger upon an angry and short sign with his hand. Sliding off Baron's Court along Jason's, I couldn't help but wonder at the sight of the city in tonight's starlight. Somehow the city looked different, as did the sky. Swirls of colour could be seen behind the stars, and it was as if the sky dome glowed in itself. There were some differences with the city, too. Margala's next door appeared like a fabulous pearly spire, a good match to its interior, and Brin's workshop definitely reminded of a ship-like form. The castle loomed more impregnable than ever, and the white cliffs beyond stretched farther up than I ever saw them.
My strange companion seemed not to notice any changes, and he urged me on across Guildsman Lane through a couple of backyards into the doorway of Garwn's stable in Horse Fair. We went past the sleeping stable-hand up into the hay-loft, whose contents had been pretty much used up. My companion led me into a corner where a some dark canvas covered the floor.
The master-thief drew at two ropes hanging from the roof, and the canvas lifted up to form a tent where I could light the lamps for my work without being seen from the outside. Good, so I wouldn't have to use my cloak, which already showed slight singes from work for less considerate night customers. I lighted three oil lamps with gilded mirrors, and placed them in small tripods to illuminate my portable worktable -essentially a piece of plank with a miniature anvil nailed to it, and a small charcoal furnace made from terracotta with a tripod to hold crucibles. After completing these preparations I was given a fist-sized pendant, a disk depicting a ship in half-relief. From his raised eyebrow I knew he wanted to hear an appraisal. Still a bit miffed about being addressed as "boy", I set out to impress him. However, taking a closer look, it turned out that it was my part to be impressed. This trinket was old!
The pendant was well-crafted, and while it had recently been polished, there still were thick layers of tarnish in unaccessible seams and edges. The design was different from any depiction I had seen so far, but reminded of Nolosite traders, though sleeker, and oared in addition to lavish rigging on the three masts. Triangular and square sails shaped from mother-of-pearl and backed with silver protruded slightly in half-relief from the background, which was a thin disk of blueish-green opal in a silver circlet. Incredibly detailed silver filigrane work, partly hidden under tarnish, showed accurate detail even in the knots of the rigging when cleansed carefully. The hull was a bar of silver engraved with the planking, at least where the polishing had been done carefully. Thanks to the protruding oars little damage had been done, but a few of the oars had been destroyed. Below the hull there were images of deep-sea creatures carved from big but faulty pearls, their backs encased in a thin layer of silver, too, holding them against the opal backside. A triple wave-line of thin silver ran across the lower third of the disk.
"Where did you find this?" I couldn't help asking, quite against the rules
of No Questions Asked. The stranger just scowled, so I guessed, "Old Karse?"
He shook his head, but seemed to relax a bit. I was on the right track. "The
ruins across the river?" I ventured, reasoning that he must have aquired the
piece hereabouts, or he would have consulted some experienced fence in
Nochet or Jansholm. He nodded slightly, and I viewed him with renewed
respect. Both Old Karse and the God Learner ruins below the Shadow Plateau
were considered haunted, and for good reason, too. It would take an
experienced rubbler to enter, find anything of worth at all, and survive the
supernatural guardians. To retrieve something like this, he must have spent
weeks over there.
I continued my appraisal. "This is an odd design, definitely from before the Closing. Say 700 years old. Silver, mostly, with opal, inferior pearls, and mother-of-pearl. The material only could be sold for two wheels, without the pearl beasties - too fragile already. But a collector would spend several dozen wheels. Why, were it of iron, I'd know a sage down in Seapolis..."
Finally the stranger chose to speak, interrupting me: "I don't care about the price. What do you think about the ship?"
"Strange hull, wouldn't stand the Ritual of Opening more than once. But for
the sea creatures below the waves, I'd have said this is a fancy boat for a
sea like Choralinthor bay, with little or no wave action. The rigging
reminds me of Western sails, or Vadeli, but it is fancier than anything I
have seen afloat. You'd need magic to keep it from capsizing."
"You seem to fulfil the promise I was given. I take it you are from a
shipwright family?"
"By my mother, yes. What does this mean? What do you want from me, if not a
meltdown or an alteration? Do you want me to clean up this toy? Why didn't
you come during the day?" I was growing angry, and again I spoke without
considering to whom.
"I do want an alteration," the thief said, apparently undisturbed by my
disrespect. "Make it seaworthy."
"Make it what?" I stared at him in disbelief.
"Make this ship able to withstand the Closing. You seem to know what to do
about it. Get to work!"
Still taken aback, I examined the ship more closely, carefully removing the tarnish with a foul-smelling ointment distilled from tanners' treat, if I could trust Malabar. The stuff had almost cost me a hand, since Malabar tends to involve any visitor in his experiments, which rarely remain within their crucibles or retorts. Still, he asks fair prices, and I thought I could rely on my reflexes. The ointment was worth every clack, and brushing it in I uncovered the ship's structure. The hull proved to be slim, flat-bottomed, and low of freeboard, with the oars let down from a gallery. There was a main beam running from fore to aft, like one of the dug-outs used by the poorer fishermen all over the coast, and more planks fitted to its side, giving it a smooth and even bottom.
I tried to remember what my uncles had told me of their craft when they were in a good humour, and once more I reviewed the scene of my father's ship passing majestetically through the harbour gate of the City of Wonders, the last I had seen of him and his ship. There was something else, too, but too hard to put into concious thoughts, let alone words. Still, I was sure about one thing: all the current vessels had a keel, and were clinkered, with a steady rise, not an edge like on this pendant. They were wider, too, and likely less prone to capsizing.
"This is going to cost you, sir," I murmured while trying not to inhale the
ointment, but the stranger just shrugged and said "You will find your reward
worthwile, little brother, by my fingers." That was ring-talk, and reassured
me that the Mockers would cover up this work's effort, if not he himself.
Good, I could use some extra money after tonight.
I pulled open my sea sack and grabbed a scrap of parchment, a bottle of ink, and a pen made from a guardian crane feather I had found on the beach of my grandfather's village, five years ago. Then I proceeded to sketch the hull as it was on the pendant, and added the differences I could recall. There was little I could do about the width above the gallery, but below I could surround the hull with a broader body, and a keel. I'd need some of that silver sheeting we used for mirrors...
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