XXV
On threeday morning, before leaving for breakfast, Lerial turns over his most soiled uniforms to one of the palace staff, a youth barely grown, and proceeds to the family dining room, where he breakfasts by himself, since Rhamuel is nowhere to be found. Because the arms-commander was thoughtful enough to leave five of his personal squad, they serve as escorts when Lerial and his half squad set out for the headquarters post once more, taking a circuitous route heading southwest of the palace and then circling back to the shore road before riding north to Afritan Guard headquarters.
Although Lerial is getting a better feel for Swartheld each day, he cannot say that increasing familiarity is leading to a greater appreciation of the city, for all of what is for sale. He is reminded of the array of what is indeed for sale when, on one of the less-frequented streets, they ride past a building that displays open windows with both men and women in filmy garments that leave almost nothing to the imagination, and some of those “men” and “women” look to be barely out of childhood. Lerial cannot repress a shudder.
Everything, indeed, is for sale.
Once Lerial reaches Swartheld Post, he inquires, almost offhandedly, as to whether the arms-commander has arrived, only to learn that Rhamuel arrived early and soon departed for the Harbor Post. Lerial needs little time with his officers—less than a glass—and is soon ready for another and longer exploratory ride around the city before returning to the palace. He thinks about taking a very long route back to the palace, one that winds up the merchanters’ road and back, but decides that would serve no purpose but to satisfy his own curiosity, and might well create problems without improving his understanding and knowledge of Swartheld. Instead, he decides on taking the shore road north.
As he and his combined squad ride out of the old post and head north, Lerial can see that one of the cafés that had been closed in the morning on previous days is now open. He turns and looks back, grinning, at Strauxyn, who rides beside Fheldar. “I see you’ve encouraged one of the cafés to stay open.”
“Yes, ser. They have good pastries. We didn’t see any harm in sending a ranker or two over and suggesting they might earn a little more if they opened earlier.”
“And you’re giving the men breaks to enjoy those pastries.”
“Yes, ser. They can’t go alone, though.”
“Good thought.”
“The permanent cadre at the post are enjoying that, too, ser,” adds Jhacub.
Just beyond the open café, Lerial notices a modest cloth factorage, but he does not see any shimmersilk on display. Too dear? The prices he had overheard his father, Altyrn, and Maeroja mentioning to him years earlier suggest that few cloth merchants might carry the shimmersilk. Or perhaps they simply fear displaying it?
When they pass the harbor piers, Lerial cannot help but notice that there are less than half a score of ships tied there, the fewest he has seen in the days since he arrived in Swartheld. Not only that, but several of those at the piers appear to be making preparations to cast off. Is it because the masters of the departed vessels have seen something, either at Estheld or on the river? Or something else? That possibility concerns him. You need to keep watch on that.
That part of the shore road that runs northwest across the base of the broad point or peninsula on which the harbor fort is located affords a gentle slope, one that is not too taxing on mounts and one that would not be that difficult for wagons. Beyond the point, the road swings closer to the shore, but is a good two hundred yards back from the water and a good five yards higher.
After riding another kay and seeing nothing of great interest, just small plots of land and cots, pastures, and scattered small woodlots, Lerial is about to order a return to Swartheld proper when he sees what looks to be a small harbor in the distance to the north, possibly five kays or more away, with buildings and a mound of some sort behind them. Smoke rises from one of the structures. “I thought there weren’t any harbors between here and Baiet.”
“There aren’t, ser,” replies Jhacub.
“What’s that up there in the distance with the pier?”
“That’s the tileworks … well, I guess they make more than tiles there.”
“Do you know which merchanter?”
“No, ser.”