“I do. Is that it?” Lerial has no trouble picking out the merchanting house. Even from more than a block away, it dominates the other merchanters’ buildings, none of which are modest.
As the combined squad rides north on the avenue that also serves as the river road, past the first of the enormous stone piers, each of which extends more than two hundred yards out into the harbor, Lerial takes in the buildings one by one. The first in the block holding Aenian House is older, of gray stone and less than fifteen yards across the front. Chiseled into the stone are the words FINE SPIRITS. Above those words the stone is smooth and recessed, as if a name had been chiseled away. Lerial wonders if Mesphaes has taken over an older merchanting house, of if the building is owned by a competitor who also replaced someone. The next building is of yellow-brown brick, and is twice the size of the spirits building, but without identification, as if to indicate that none is needed. The redstone-fronted House of Aenian is not identified as such, although there is a stone medallion in the middle of the third level, between two windows, consisting of an ornate script “A” encircled by a wreath of leaves, possibly olive leaves, Lerial thinks. A paved lane wide enough for the largest of wagons leads along the west side of the Aenian building, between it and the unidentified structure. The building to the east of Aenian House is also of yellow-brown brick, but with redstone window frames, and is perhaps a third larger than the spirits building and is the last building on the block.
Lerial turns his attention to the piers. He counts almost a score of vessels tied up at the various piers, ranging from a large schooner to an enormous broad-beamed, three-masted square-rigger. He thinks there may be some smaller ships at the piers farther north, but, if so, they are lost behind the nearer ships.
“The harbor fort’s up there, ser,” announces Jhacub, pointing ahead, partway up the slope of a gentle bluff that extends almost a kay out into the bay and forms a huge natural breakwater on the north end of the harbor. It is also at the end of a wide paved road off the avenue that appears to revert to what Lerial now thinks of as the shore road. That shore road does not go out around the point of the bluff, but northwest across its base.
Lerial turns to Jhacub. “Does the shore road continue beyond the bluff?”
“Yes, ser. It goes all the way to Baiet.”
“How far is that?”
“I wouldn’t know exactly, sir. Two or three days’ ride, I hear. Small cove. Fishermen mostly. They port there, but sell their catch here.”
“Do you know why?”
“They say the fishing’s better there, but the selling’s better here.”
They continue to ride along the paved avenue, where the larger merchanting houses have given way to more modest factorages—modest by comparison, since most are built of the yellow-brown brick and are considerably larger than any in Cigoerne, reflects Lerial. It does strike him that all the roofs are of the red tile and he says so.
“Yes, ser. After the Great Fire, the duke’s great-grandsire made it a law. That’s what they say.”
“That makes sense.” Too much sense.
“Yes, ser. Hasn’t been a large fire since.”
The Harbor Post is the largest walled fortification that Lerial has ever seen, not counting Lubana, which really isn’t a post, with walls extending a half kay in each direction, and iron-bound gates inset between stout redstone towers. With its hillside location, Lerial doubts that even Khesyn’s fifteen battalions could take it.
But then, they wouldn’t have to. If they took the harbor, they’d just have to surround it and wait.
“Do you want to look into the post?”
Lerial shakes his head. “We’re just trying to get a better idea of where everything is. We can turn around and head back toward the palace. Can we take the avenue back?”
“Yes, ser. It’s the best way.”
Jhacub’s assessment of the route proves most accurate. The palace boulevard is paved and smooth. Well-appointed if smaller factorages and shops, as well as occasional cafés, line it for perhaps a kay, then give way to modest but neatly maintained single-level dwellings.
About a kay and a half southwest from the harbor piers on the boulevard, Lerial notes another wide avenue joining the boulevard. “Where does that go?”
“To merchanters’ hill. Well … that’s what they call it. It’s where all the wealthiest merchanters have their villas.”
Lerial looks back more intently. There are indeed several large structures on the hillside.
“You can’t see most of them,” adds the squad leader. “They planted the tall trees for shade. There’s a good breeze off the ocean that high, too.”
Lerial nods without speaking.