He was winded and soaked through long before he reached the leather way on the ground at the foot of the pillar tree. He saw no one else in the area. The storm and the approaching night had driven everyone else inside. He hoped that it had discouraged all those who had been hurrying after Captain Leftrin as he left. He didn’t want to compete for the man’s attention. He had to persuade Leftrin to come back with him for a private audience and the chance to go over the long list of questions that Malta had scribbled down during the meeting. He knew his wife’s temperament well enough to know that she would not let Leftrin leave until he had answered every one of them!
Reyn hurried through darkness, his way unevenly lit by lanterns along the platform road. The river was up; the floating docks had risen on their stout tethers until the pilings that anchored them were scarcely taller than Reyn was. The moored boats shifted and complained about the wind and rushing water as they rubbed and bumped against the dock and tugged at their lines. The Tarman was long and wide; he would be tied to the outside moorage. Most of the lamps that were supposed to illuminate the docks at night had surrendered to the wind and rain. Reyn had to go more slowly as he made his way along the dock and then onto the moorage gangways.
Luck favored him. He arrived in time to see someone holding a hooded lantern as Captain Leftrin clambered from the dock onto his ship’s deck. “Captain Leftrin! Please, wait! You know me. I’m Reyn Khuprus. I need to talk to you.” The wind snatched at his words, but Leftrin paused and glanced over his shoulder, then lifted his voice to shout, “Come along, then, and welcome aboard! Let’s get out of this storm.”
Reyn was only too willing to follow him. He clambered over the liveship’s railing and followed the captain across the deck. The ship’s galley was warm and snug. A long table dominated the room with benches to either side of it. At the end of the room, a fat iron stove pulsed heat out into the small room. String bags of onions and tubers hung from the rafters, adding their own aroma to a room that smelled of men working in close quarters. Hanging lanterns burned yellow, and the smell of a savory stew bubbled out with the steam from a great covered pot on the stove. The woman who had held the lantern for Leftrin took Reyn’s cloak and found it a hook where it dripped alongside the captain’s.
“Hot tea!” Leftrin proclaimed, and despite Malta’s parting threat, Reyn nodded in appreciation. He was glad to see it was already brewed and waiting in a fat brown pot on the galley table. A mug was quickly set out for the captain, and one for Reyn joined it as the captain poured. Through an open door, Reyn could see the interior of the deckhouse. It was lined with tiered bunks. On one, a big, well-muscled man was scratching his chest and yawning. A smaller fellow lithed himself past the yawner and angled in through the door like a cat to slide into a seat at the table. He gave Reyn a curious glance but then fixed his attention on the captain. Without any ado, he began his report.
“Council didn’t send us any coin, sir. But the one store delivered everything you ordered on credit. And we got most of the other supplies you told us to get the same way; the merchants here know us well and know that if they won’t advance what we need now, when we do have funds, we won’t be coming back to them.”
“Well done, Hennesey, and enough for now. We have a guest.”
Reyn knew that Leftrin was shutting down the crew’s chatter, effectively cutting him off from any knowledge they might want to share until Leftrin had evaluated him and what he wanted. He employed his own gambit. He glanced at Hennesey, obviously the mate, and then back at Leftrin as he said, “The Khuprus lines of credit are as good here in Cassarick as they are in Trehaug, cousin. I am sure that our family would be happy to flex a bit of influence since the Council here is not treating you fairly.”
Leftrin watched him for a long moment. “Surprised you remember me as a cousin.”
Reyn widened his eyes. “Oh, come, there weren’t that many of us annoying the men working on the wizardwood back in those days. You were good at the shaping. I recall there was some talk that your mother might persuade your father to let you follow that trade instead of taking over the Tarman.”
“Only talk. My heart was always with the ship; I actually feared that I’d wind up working wizardwood! And where would I be now if I had, I wonder? Whereas you, I recall, were always fascinated with the uncut logs. Always slipping away to go exploring.”
“I was. And always in trouble because of it.”
“It was feared you’d developed too much of a bond with the city. That you would drown yourself in it . . .”
