Thalen, Eli-anna, and Tristo had been waiting in Tar’s Basin for about a week, long enough both to recover from the rigors of their journey down the coast and to worry over whether a vessel would ever pull into this tiny excuse for a harbor. They ate in the general store cum tavern, which called itself “Everything You Desire,” and received permission from the guard of the one warehouse to bunk down on the piles of goat hair stored near the dock. The people of Tar’s Basin assured them that a ship would stop, sooner or later. Tristo whiled away the time by playing games with the village children, though Thalen preferred to keep to himself.
On a chill and windy day, while the sun played hide-and-seek amongst gray clouds, Eli-anna spotted the shape on the horizon first. Thalen watched as the speck grew bigger and more substantial, turning into a midsized trading ship that unshipped its oars and tied up at the wharf.
“Island Song,” called Thalen. “A word with your seamaster, if you please.”
The seamaster came down the gangplank to join them on the wharf. He was a stout and grumpy man. “Well, what’s your pleasure?” he asked.
“I’d like to book passage for my two companions and myself.”
“Book passage to where?”
“Where are you headed?”
“Back to Slagos, our home port.”
“Perfect. That’s where we want to go.”
“We ain’t a passenger ship. We have no staterooms.”
“We’ll bunk with the crew.”
“What about the woman? She with you?”
“Not in the way you mean, but we’ll look after her.” Thalen knew that any sailor who dared molest Eli-anna would get the surprise of his life—that is, if he managed to escape with his life.
“We ain’t a passenger ship,” said the seamaster. “I keep saying this, but no one ever listens. Put us out something awful to take you aboard.”
Thalen had sold Dishwater, Sulky Sukie, and Cinders to the liveryman in town, after receiving many assurances that Culpepper would see to it that their horses found good homes. Thalen’s money pouch was heavy with coin. He threw the pouch at the seamaster. The man hefted it, opened it, and opened his mouth to whine that the funds it contained weren’t sufficient.
Thalen’s temper flared. He hadn’t gone through all this fighting, lost so many friends, starved and thirsted and saved the Free States, only to bandy words with a greedy lackwit. His face grew taut, and his hand moved toward the hilt of his rapier.
“I have given you enough to make this worth your while, twice over. I will brook no further discussion.”
“You look like rough characters,” said the captain, stepping backward. “I’ll have no trouble on my ship, I’m warning you. On Island Song, I’m in command.”
“Right now we stand in Tar’s Basin, not aboard your territory. But even here there will be no trouble,” said Thalen, pinning him in a fierce stare, “as long as you agree to take us to Slagos.”
“Hmmpf.” The seamaster hefted the pouch again, and avarice won out. “We’ll shove off after we off-load commissioned cargo and upload the fleece. Cool your heels here awhile on the dock, Master Impatience.”
While the sailors took care of those chores and refilled their water casks, the seamaster drank the morning away at Everything You Desire. Two of the mates grabbed the chance for a hot bath in the bathhouse while the crew, in rotation, was given leave to come ashore for a few hours.
Thalen slipped back to the stable, to bid one more—now final—goodbye to the horses, even though he knew the visit would just make him sad. Dish huffed into his hand, and Cinders leaned her heavy head on his shoulder. Sulky Sukie showed her teeth and pulled away when he tried to stroke her.
Afterward, the Raiders had no choice but to wait idly on the weathered dock. Thalen threw a handful of little pebbles at a piling, testing if his aim was true. Eli-anna, who had never before been to sea, drew in on herself with trepidation.
Once the Song’s cargo was stowed securely, the first mate bought all the crew fresh rolls from the tavern and invited the would-be travelers to come aboard. “We need to shove off with this high tide,” he explained. “I’ll fetch the captain.” He ordered the sailors to ready their oars and prepare to depart.
Just as the three Raiders stepped from the top of the gangplank onto the deck, they heard the noise of horses, galloping fast. Two stunning mounts came into view on the High Road, bells in their tails jingling. Their riders were an older man and a stripling lad.
“Wait! Wait!” yelled the man. “I mean, ‘ahoy’! Ahoy, Island Song!”
The seamaster and mate, and most of the townspeople, came into the street to see what caused such a commotion.
“What in tarnation are you?” asked the seamaster, fairly drunk.
The townspeople, however, recognized the strange figure. When he dismounted, twenty-odd villagers all gathered round him as if he were a celebrity, all talking on top of one another.
“Peddler, haven’t seen you in a long time!”
“What news?”
“Where’s your cart?”
“Where’d you get that beauty of a horse?”
“Who’s the boy?”
“Did you see my brother on your way east?”
“Hey, did you hear if my girl had her baby?”
Peddler smiled at the villagers and patted a few shoulders, but he didn’t answer their questions. He approached the swaying captain with a genial smile.
“Caught you just in time. And I remembered the word ‘ahoy’! Sir, we need to sail on your boat.”
“Sure,” said the seamaster, wrinkling his nose and throwing his arms open in a wide gesture. “Come aboard. Join the floating circus. Come one, come all. Already got me a one-armed freak, a Mellie whore, and a ruffian; why not a jingling peddler and his suckin’ bumpkin?”
Like a cloud blocking the sun, Peddler’s cordiality vanished. He struck the man a backhanded blow across his face, a blow of such force that the seamaster, unsteady to begin with, lost his footing and fell down in the dirt.
“We rode so hard to catch you,” said Peddler to the drunk on the ground. “You will keep a civil tongue in your mouth.
“Culpepper.” He turned to the stableman, who was out in the street along with everyone else. “Will you rest and feed Sunbeam and Sundrop for a few days, then turn them loose? They know how to take themselves home to their stable. Hold on to their tack for me?”
He stroked the larger horse’s nose a moment before grabbing a saddlebag. He flipped a gold coin to Culpepper. “Oh. Saw your youngest sister two nights ago. She and her family are thriving. She sends her love.”
“That’s swell news, Peddler,” said Culpepper. “Don’t worry about your horses.”
Peddler smiled and addressed the boy, “Come along, Gunnit. We made it, just in time.”
The yellow-haired man and yellow-haired boy walked up the gangplank a bit warily. Peddler stopped halfway, turned around, and shouted to someone in the crowd near the horses, “Darrott! The babe was a boy. Healthy as can be. Mother and father are busting with pride.” A cheer went up from several throats.
Thalen had watched these events with great interest. When the new passengers reached the safety of the deck, he offered his hand. “I suppose I am the ‘ruffian.’ Actually, I’m Thalen of Sutterdam, and these are my companions, Eli-anna of Melladrin and Tristo of Yosta. We are the ones the seamaster was complaining about.
“That”—Thalen inclined his head toward the captain, who was being helped to rise by his mate—“was very well done.”
“Ah, fellow voyagers!” said Peddler, his tone switching in an instant to effusive friendliness. “Well met! Well met indeed! I go by ‘Peddler,’ and I’m pleased to present my young assistant. This is Gunnit of Cloverfield. We are both completely at your service.”
In a lower voice he said, “Could you be the folk responsible for that fire in Femturan a short while ago, hmm? I am so very pleased to meet up with you.”