As the boat headed in to the reed-lined shore, smaller boats could be seen wending their way along the coast, fowlers hunting ducks and other water birds and fishermen dragging their nets. The riverboat moved quietly along, and Nakor and Calis were silent for the remainder of the voyage.
Sho Pi awoke as the sounds of the town grew in volume, and by the time the boat rested at the docks, he was standing beside his “master” and Calis. As he was the Prince’s envoy, Calis had the right of rank in departing, but he moved away from the gangway and allowed the other passengers to depart first.
When they at last left the boat, Calis studied the shoreline and the town of Port Shamata. The city of Shamata was separated from the port by almost eighty miles of farmland and orchards. Originally a garrison to defend the southern border of the Kingdom against Great Kesh, Shamata had turned into the Kingdom’s largest city in the south. A squad of soldiers waited for Calis on the docks, and instead of heading down toward the city of Shamata, they would follow the shore of the Sea of Dreams until they reached the river that flowed down from the Great Star Lake. They would follow the river to the lake and then to Stardock town, which sat on the south shore of the lake, opposite the magicians’ community on Stardock island.
Along the docks the usual assortment of beggars, confidence men, workmen, and hawkers moved, for the arrival of a boat from the coast meant opportunities, legal and otherwise. Nakor grinned as he said to Sho Pi, “Watch your purse.”
“I don’t have one, Master.”
Nakor had finally despaired of ever getting the young man to stop calling him master, so he just ignored it now.
Calis laughed and said, “It’s an expression.”
They left the boat and were greeted at the font of the gangway by a sergeant in the tabard of the garrison of Shamata. Like the border barons of the north, the garrison commander at Shamata answered directly to the Crown, so there was little court formality observed in the Vale of Dreams. Pleased to be free of any need to pay a social call on local nobles, Calis accepted the man’s salute and said, “Your name?”
“Sergeant Aziz, m’lord.”
“My rank is captain,” said Calis. “We need three horses and an escort to the Great Star Lake.”
“The pigeons arrived days ago, Captain,” answered the sergeant. “We have a subgarrison here at the port, with ample horses and enough troops to provide for your needs. My Captain sends an invitation to dine with him this evening, Captain.”
Calis glanced at the sky. “I think not. We can ride at least four hours and my mission is urgent. Send your Captain my regrets at the same time you send for mounts and provisions.” Casting around, he pointed to a disreputable-looking inn across the street from the docks. “You will find us there.”
“At once,” said the sergeant, and he gave orders to a soldier nearby, who saluted and spurred his mount away.
“It should be no longer than an hour, Captain. Your escort, horses, and provisions should be here quickly.”
“Good,” said Calis, motioning for Sho Pi and Nakor to follow him into the dockside inn.
A genial setting, the inn was neither the worst any of them had seen nor the best. It was what one would expect from an inn located so close to the docks: fitting for a leisurely wait, but not somewhere one would choose to frequent if better accommodations were available or affordable. Calis ordered a round of ale and they waited for the return of their escort.
Halfway through their second drink, Nakor’ s attention was diverted by a sound from without. An inarticulate cry and a series of monkeylike hootings followed quickly by the sounds of a crowd laughing and jeering. He rose and looked through the closest window. “I can’t see anything. Let’s go outside.”
“Let’s not,” said Calis, but Nakor had already vanished through the doorway. Sho Pi shrugged and followed his master out of the inn.
Calis stood and followed, deciding it was better to see what trouble Nakor could find before he got ton deep into it.
Outside, a crowd had gathered around a man who hunkered down on his haunches as he gnawed on a mutton bone. He was easily the filthiest man Calis had ever seen. It looked—and smelled—as if the man hadn’t bathed in years. Spending time in the fields made one indifferent to the level of fastidiousness required in the Prince’s court, but even among common dockworkers and poor travelers, this man was a walking cesspool.
His hair was black, with touches of grey, and rank with oil and dirt. Shoulder-length, it was matted with debris and old food. His face was nearly black from dirt above an equally filthy beard, and the skin, where it showed through, was sunburned. He wore a robe so torn and ragged it seemed to have more holes than material; whatever color the robe had been was a memory, for now the shreds were stained and smeared.
Years of indifferent eating had left the man famine-thin, and there were sores on his arms and legs.