FERGUS the ferryman had always been told that one day his curiosity would get him into trouble.
His wife was someone who "knew how to mind her own business". She told Fergus he ought to keep his opinions to himself, and, more importantly, keep his questions locked up in his head.
He’d never seen the harm — being a ferryman could get tedious at times, and his customers always seemed to respond well to his questioning. At times Fergus felt he knew more about the happenings of Sarostar than did the High Lord himself. It was amazing how sometimes all it took was a few questions to get the most guarded tongue wagging. A few words of praise or an insightful remark and it didn’t matter who he was talking to — from soldiers to farmers, priests to court officials, they all opened up in the end. Why should Fergus change the way he was? Especially when he had the tips to show for it.
The wife simply tut-tutted and shook her head.
~
THE second Evensday of spring began well. The ice had thawed, and the people of Sarostar were again travelling the river. It had been a cruel winter, and the children had grown tired of root vegetables and old apples.
Fergus plied his trade from one side of the Sarsen to the other, his breath steaming in the chill air. He knew all of the best places to find a customer and quickly picked up three young women in green woollen dresses. There were a growing number of new students at the Academy, and for many it was faster to take a boat across the river then to cross at one of Sarostar’s nine bridges.
Fergus had one eye on the river while the other regarded the girls. The students seemed so young, yet he knew they had learned more in their short lives than Fergus would learn in whatever time the Skylord gave him. They seemed eager to talk, but some of the things they spoke about made no sense to him. Apparently they were very lucky to be studying at the Academy of Enchanters.
Each student gave him two copper cendeens, and by midmorning Fergus was pleased with the amount of gilden jingling in his purse. People who had gone to the Poloplats market early then began to return home, and Fergus was suddenly so busy that he had to put his talk to the side while he navigated the river’s hazards — mainly other ferry boats, for the Sarsen was a gentle mistress.
The wind picked up in the afternoon, and Fergus put his back into the oars and pushed hard against it, spying an older man waving at him. The man thanked him profusely as he settled into the boat. It seemed the other ferrymen had neglected him, upriver as he was. Fergus felt a momentary surge of pride, and not for the first time he thanked the Lord of the Sky that he was a ferryman.
The day passed swiftly, and almost before he knew it, Fergus found himself wiping his brow as he dropped off his last customer. He sighed, but it was a pleasant sigh — his purse was half full, and his family would be pleased when he was able to return home the next day with a boat full of fresh food.
Pushing off, he felt the river breeze blow gently on his cheek and heard the gurgle of the water as it splashed against the sides of the boat. The setting sun was silhouetted against the graceful arches of the Winebridge in the distance. Further still, the Crystal Palace began its evening display, cycling through a multitude of colours — emerald, turquoise, crimson and gold.
This was Fergus’s favourite time of day, when the world seemed to take a short rest; a time for reflection on the day’s achievements and preparation for a night with family and friends.
Fergus was a clever ferryman, and unlike many of his fellows, his small house was located downriver rather than upriver. This meant that at the end of the day he could make his way by steerage only, gently nudging the boat to the left or the right as the current took him along. Tired as he always was, he could enjoy a pipe and watch the sun as it sank below the horizon.
He leaned back against the gunwale and took an igniter from a trouser pocket. Its runes were a little faded but it was Fergus’s most treasured possession, worth an entire month’s gilden. From another pocket he withdrew a wooden pipe and a pouch of redleaf. He tapped some of the hairy leaf into the bowl of the pipe and then carefully put the pouch away. Fergus named the activation rune, and the symbols etched into the igniter suddenly lit up with power; he felt the heat radiating from its tip. Touching the igniter to the bowl of the pipe, Fergus inhaled, and then exhaled a cloud of sweet smoke.