“Of course.”
Lerial watches as the sailing galley is released from its cradle and then moved alongside the stone pier. It is a narrow double-ended craft some ten yards long and slightly less than two wide, with benches for twelve oarsmen, a steering oar at the end that is presumably the stern, and a single mast, which is raised and stepped after the galley is tied in place beside the pier. Lerial is conscious of how small the craft is, given the expanse of water between him and Estheld. And how shallow a draft it has, most likely only about a yard.
After a time, Elphred walks from the pier to where Lerial waits, trying to stay out of the men’s way as they prepare. “You wouldn’t be minding, ser, if you were in the bow, and your ranker in the stern with me.”
“It’s your vessel, Elphred. That would be fine with me. How long will it take for us to get to Estheld?”
“There’s not much wind. Might be three glasses. Or we could row the whole way…”
“But you’d prefer to save the men in case we have to depart quickly?”
“Yes, ser.”
“Unless matters change, you can use the sail.”
“Yes, ser. We’re ready for you, then.”
“There is one thing you need to tell your men. I may have to place a concealment over the galley when we get close to Estheld. That means that the Heldyans won’t be able to see us. It also means that we’ll be surrounded by darkness deeper than the blackest night. I’ll be able to direct the vessel, but … no one else will be able to see. I hope it’s not necessary, but it could be.”
“Yes, ser. I’ll tell them.”
Lerial waits for Elphred to brief his crew before he and Toeryn board the sail-galley. When the galley pulls away from the pier, propelled by twelve oarsmen, Lerial is seated on a narrow bench just aft of the bow, his knees tucked under the triangle of polished wood that extends a half yard back from the stem, a spray shield too small for much protection and not wide enough for much motion for his legs and knees. He puts the water bottle between his boots.
Once the sail-galley is well away from the shore and the sail is unfurled and catching some of the light breeze, the rowers ship their oars, and Lerial turns his attention to the Swartheld harbor, where the loading of the merchanters tied there continues at a steady pace. As closely as he looks, he cannot see a single vessel that appears to be unloading. He does note that five of the vessels each fly a dull maroon ensign. When a light gust of wind strikes the merchanter closest to him, he gets a glimpse of what looks to be a green key in the center of the maroon field.
There is only a slight chop to the water in the bay, and Lerial is glad for the limited protection from the sun provided by his visor cap as the sail-galley moves slowly eastward across the wide bay toward Estheld. After perhaps another half glass, Lerial can begin to make out the shapes of the nearer buildings on shore. What surprises him is that Estheld is really not that large a city, perhaps only a large town, even if it has more piers than does Swartheld. There is also something about the piers … something that he should recognize … but cannot.
After another third of a glass, Elphred moves down the center of the sail-galley bending his way around the mast until he is within a yard of Lerial. “How do you want to approach Estheld, ser?”
“What are the possibilities?”
“With this wind—it’s picked up a bit—we could sail directly east from here. We’d be almost a kay offshore. They might not come after us, and we could tack enough to get back to catch the river current that would give us enough speed that they couldn’t catch us. Or … we could head for the shoreline and try to creep in. That could cause a problem because we’d lose some of the wind, and we’d have to row back to catch the current.”
“Could you use the sail to get closer offshore once we near the harbor … if we sail due east?”
“We can, but when we’ve done that before, they send out their fast galleys.”
“We’ll have to chance that. I’ll need to be about half a kay offshore.” Maybe closer. After a moment, he asks. “Elphred … there seems to be something different about the piers at Estheld, but I don’t know enough to determine what it is.”
“They’re cheap. They’re all timber. Most of them were built five-six years ago. A real storm, or a few years, and most of them will fall apart, if you ask me. It’s not the best place for a harbor, either. Deep enough, but too open to the northwesters that hit in the winter.”