Six days later Gherrit stood at the foot of the East Wharf. Cable-drawn carts rumbled past, winches squealed, luggage bobbed along under lift-poles hauled in the wake of passengers arriving and departing. His room was vacated, his friends farewelled, his instructions from Messer Pranik clear, his berth booked, an unheard-of advance of wages secure in his money-belt. He shouldered his bag, picked up a small chest and set off along the bleached timbers.

The East Wharf was reserved for deep sea craft, ships bound for all the ports of the Green Sea and beyond. Coasters had the West Wharf and fishing craft the Small Harbour. Gherrit passed two bluff-bowed three-masters from Hadawa, a Dravish spice clipper, a Fire Islander with its sea-dragon watchful in the oversize crows-nest. He turned on to a finger wharf, crossed to the other side and scanned a notice posted on a battered wooden frame. It announced the Seeking Forgiveness on the Waters, sailing this day for Dnangh, Dtlag, Brahnker, Mer Ammery and the Western Strand. This was his ship.

Gherrit had never left Daruz Alman but he had been around ships since he could walk, had sat on his grandfather’s knee and heard of distant ports and vicious storms and the whims of Selm of the Waters. A seaman’s life had appealed for a time and been reluctantly abandoned when it was clear the skills in craft he had were with numbers rather than wind and wave. He still mused at night about entering as a purser or supercargo, tallying cargo and costs while seeing far shores. It had remained a dream; the closest he had come to realising it was work as a wharf-labourer.

Now he appraised the Seeking Forgiveness with a more knowledgeable eye than most landsmen could bring. Ship-rigged, about six hundred tons burden, with the long aftercastle typical of Brahnak ships, as far as he could judge in reasonable order. The last of the cargo had been loaded and now the crew were battening hatches, sending sails aloft and clearing away the deck clutter of harbourside. Gherrit walked briskly along to the broad gangway and hailed the officer standing at the entry port. Once on deck a steward guided him below to the tiny cabin he would share for the trip. Gherrit was relieved and a little surprised at the accommodation. He had half expected to be sleeping in a hammock and taking his meals on deck. The partners were being, by their standards, very generous.

The contents of the bag were soon stowed in his allotted cupboard and drawer. The chest would fit under the lower bunk. Gherrit hesitated; the chest contained the documents that were the purpose of this mission and also a small bag that held the seals needed to validate the transactions. They were without intrinsic value but a thief was more likely to take a bag than an envelope of papers. After a moment Gherrit took out the bag and added it to a pocket on his money-belt. His tunic was loose enough that the bulge was not noticeable and he thought this more secure. He locked the chest, pushed it under the bunk and went up on deck. Here he found a spot out of the way and watched as the last passengers boarded and the gang-way hoisted in. The mooring ropes were cast off and the ship kedged out into the harbour to await the turn of the tide. A little after noon the captain gave the order, pipes shrilled, hands raced aloft, sails were let fall and sheeted home and the vessel came alive. Gherrit had sailed before, short trips down the coast or out for a day on his grandfather’s fishing boat; this moment, when the planks underfoot took on the motion of the sea, the deck heeled and the whole complexity of wood and rope and cloth and human skill entered its element, this never failed to thrill. The Seeking Forgiveness gathered way, cleared the harbour mouth, dipped a pennant to the temples high on Dar Hill and set course down the gulf.

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Gherrit watched the land recede with unmixed elation. He was free of the overbearing Jurd and his nit-pickery, free of worry about rent, free of counting coppers, free of exchange rates and commissions. Three years of tight supervision and tight budgets fell from him like a constricting garment. He rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck and only just refrained from bursting into song. Instead Gherrit huffed great lung-fulls of salt air and let his stomach anticipate a meal of more than a single dish.

Second class passengers were served dinner in the wardroom at the start of the evening watch. Gherrit pondered his wardrobe and decided to dress his best for this first occasion. He dug out the white pantaloons, loose above and tied at the ankle, the striped shirt and green sleeveless jerkin, clipped on the silver ear-fob that had come to him from his father and gave gave a shine to his boots. When the steward struck the gong Gherrit made his way there along the companion-way to find his place at the long table. He was relieved to see his choice of clothes was appropriate, for the rest of the company was also in their best. The company was ten altogether, although three were absent this evening, taken to their bunks. Gherrit found this a trifle odd – surely there was nothing to upset even the most delicate stomach in this easy breeze and moderate chop?

Introductions over a glass of wine made known Gherrit to Chrysanthemum and Aitonala*, the one a magician and the other a Mistress of the Select Services, to two Haghar merchants returning to Dnangh (both in straight gowns, one red and the other purple) and to a pair of sharp-faced men who declared themselves to be assurance specialists. When Aitonala asked what they assured the reply was “Banks. We assure banks that frauds or other misconduct will not be repeated.” Gherrit introduced himself as a clerk who by lucky chance was able to visit family in the Merllan Archipelago. The magician Chrysanthemum gave him a sharp glance, but only inquired where his family resided. She had, she said, been a student in Mer Ammery. Gherrit replied truthfully that his family came from the western Archipelago.

A steward placed a large tureen of soup on the table and the talk continued over their bowls. Chrysanthemum and Aitonala were returning from a sojourn on the Rai Steppes, the one to her home south of Toul, the other to Dtlag. Aitonala offered a few anecdotes of life on the steppes and was quizzed by one of the merchants on the latest tribal alliances and enmities. On this Aitonala professed ignorance but Chrysanthemum provided a shrewd and obviously informed summary. Over sea-pie and braised leeks the talk went on to the current turmoil in the Brahnzhever, the effects on trade and the encouragement afforded to piracy. Gherrit was able to contribute a few remarks on exchange rates but was otherwise out of his depth and, as befitted the junior of the company, was content to listen and learn.

The meal finished with nuts and fruit. Gherrit took his mug of herbal tea up on deck and admired the sunset on the water. While there he mulled over his companions of the voyage. The merchants were plainly what they appeared, typical Haghar in speech, dress and manners, much concerned with affairs of commerce. Of the others he was less certain. The assurance specialists spoke Pallo with a slight accent, one different from the other, and were of no readily discernible origin; they made Gherrit uncomfortable. Aitonala was typically Haghar in accent and appearance, and her Pallo was good but not wholly fluent. She had several times asked Chrysanthemum for a word. The way she moved, her air of relaxed alertness, her rank in the Select Services, all suggested competence of a high order. Had Gherrit been a maiden in distress he would instantly have placed himself under her protection.

Then there was Chrysanthemum. Clearly a magician of considerable skill, a close friend of Aitonala, her speech that of the country gentry (an accent Gherrit had most often heard caricatured in plays), yet her manners, complexion, features and dress were very far from the pale and haughty aristocrats Gherrit had seen in the streets of Daruz Alman. She had been politely friendly apart from that one questioning glance. Well, perhaps he would learn more or perhaps he would not. His friends had warned him to be wary but none of these people seemed like a threat to him.

*Yes, Chrysanthem and Aitonala from What’s Magic For?