By the time I was close enough to see that the town was fully walled, I had a good-sized armful of wood. This was fortunate, since the tide was high enough to make it impossible to enter at the shore. The walk had fatigued me, but it had not left me shaking and sickly as even a short walk had done two days past. My body seemed to have finished healing itself, and I was sure that once I had some proper food and water, I would be completely renewed.
Coming along the shore meant that I was approaching the city from the side and would enter through one of the lesser side gates. I had assumed that it would be scrutinized less closely than the city’s main entrance gate, for important people and most travelers would come along the main coast road and so enter the city by its imposing main entrance. The only people who used a city’s side gates were its poorer denizens—fisherfolk and foragers of various kinds. This was all to the good, for my bedraggled appearance would cause less comment in such company.
As I made my way slowly along the stony ground beside the wall, I found myself so thirsty that there was little else on my mind save reaching a well. I had endured thirst constantly since awakening on the west coast, but somehow it had become harder to bear the nearer I came to the city. Nevertheless, before I reached the gate, I forced myself to stop in the shade cast by the wall and set down my pile of wood. I rubbed my sticky face vigorously to remove the salt, combed my fingers through my hair, and plaited it as best I could. I then wove some strands of the spiked grass to bind the wood together. A real wood carrier would also have a woven shoulder pad, but I did not want to waste any more time.
Taking a deep breath, I shouldered the wood and joined those waiting to be admitted to the city. I was immediately relieved to notice that the bent crone at the front of the queue carried wood, too. I entered her mind to confirm that the city was indeed Morganna, but unfortunately she knew nothing of which ships had anchored here. Nor did the two boys behind her, leading horses. Both were grooms for the same stablemaster, and it occurred to me that I could easily pass for one of them if I pushed my hair under a cap, hunched down, and left the city the same way. Behind the grooms, a big man sat on a cart drawn by a bullock. The cart was piled high with ubu and a brown nut, which his mind told me he had gathered some distance from the city. The nut meat was inedible raw, but once boiled, it could be reduced to a mash and used to thicken stews and soups. Directly in front of me were several poor-looking travelers with thin packs, ragged clothes, and pinched faces. A swift probe revealed they were from the tiny farms where people eked out a living along the narrow belt of less barren land that fringed the Blacklands. Their last crop had failed after a mysterious blight had attacked the farms following one of the winds that occasionally blew in from the Blacklands. They meant to seek work and amass enough coin to buy seed and return with provisions before the next planting season. They had come to this gate to avoid the entry tax required at the main gate.
When I came close enough to see the soldierguards inside the gateway, I farsought the bigger of the two but was dismayed to encounter the unmistakable buzzing rejection of a demon band. I cursed my stupidity in failing to realize that the soldierguards would be demon-banded. Hadn’t Brydda told me that all soldierguards this side of the Suggredoon wore the bands?
It was too late to leave the line without drawing attention, and I had to enter the town anyway. I would need to coerce a diversion if there was any trouble. To my intense relief, the guards barely looked at me before waving me through.
There were several wheeled stalls and carts set up on either side of the wide street running back from the gate. The man with the bullock and cart had stopped and was haggling with a stallholder over the price of the spiked fruit. A number of men with creels were selling fish to another stallholder, and I realized that the stalls must absorb a good deal of the produce that entered the city.
I edged through the small crowd examining the fish and produce, managing to anger several people by prodding them with the sticks I had collected. Cringing and apologizing, I wondered how any real wood-gatherer ever managed to move along a crowded street without poking someone in the eye.
Desperate to leave the press of people, I turned into the first street running off the wider gate road, only to find the way ahead blocked by three surly young men playing a game of stick and stone. Rather than coercing them to turn their brutish attention away from me altogether, I took the less exhausting step of channeling their aggressive energy into sneers and threats. I had not felt any real danger, yet I was thankful to come to a square where women and men sat on porches sewing or peeling vegetables with children threading about their legs.
I crossed the square diagonally and entered a lane that headed toward the sea. It occurred to me that selling the wood would not only earn me some coin, but it would also allow me to engage in a conversation that might enable me to ask more general questions, such as whether anyone had seen the Black Ship of late. Of course, I could delve into people’s minds for what I needed, but asking aloud would be quicker and less wearying.
First I needed to find some water, for my thirst was acute. I asked a young woman about a public well, but she spat at my feet and muttered a curse to drive off beggars.
It took another half hour to locate a large public fountain in the center of a busy square surrounded by stalls and barrows. By now my head ached so badly from thirst that I felt ill. Throwing down my bundle, I took up the wooden dipper chained to the fountain, held it under a gush of water, and drank deeply. I dippered and drank two more before forcing myself to stop. I was still thirsty, but I would vomit if I simply drank my fill. I waited a moment and then drank two more dippers. Only then did I notice disapproving glares from the men and women seated about the rim of the fountain. A brief probe told me that I looked too near a beggar to be drinking from any but the beggars’ wells in the poorer parts of the city. Ironically, the troublesome bundle of wood prevented those watching me from demanding to see a beggar’s coin. This, I had learned, was the coin that proved one was not a beggar. In that sense, I thought sourly, the coin was misnamed. Anyone failing to produce a beggar’s coin could be reported to the soldierguards, whereupon the poor soul would be beaten and thrown out of the city. I heaved the wood onto my shoulder again, resolving to acquire a beggar’s coin promptly.
Leaving the tiled area about the well, I crossed a grassy circle to a small cluster of braziers. Blue smudges of smoke gave me hope that I could exchange the wood for coin, but the first seller I asked offered a bowl of shellfish stew in exchange for the wood. My stomach rumbled, urging me to accept, but I dared not risk being without wood or coin. Shaking my head, I said I needed a coin, and the man shrugged and gave me a copper. Relieved to be free of my troublesome bundle, I went straight to a shoemaker’s stall and coerced him into seeing a silver coin rather than a copper, which enabled me to buy a rough pair of sandals and a threadbare but decent cloak from the next stall. I could have made both stallholders see coins where there were none, or made them give me what I needed, but this was safer and required less energy. In truth, I was weak with hunger.
I had two coppers from the cloak seller, and I used one, again transformed coercively into silver, to buy a comb, cheap woolen trousers, and a shirt. I coerced another trader to let me use his changing tent and discarded my rough, salt-stained clothes in favor of the new garments, regretting that I could not bathe first. Once dressed, I used another coerced copper to buy a water bladder, a small knife, and a chunk of fresh onion bread. The latter smelled so delicious that I ate it standing by the baker’s stall. He was a sociable man, and it did not take me long to learn that the Black Ship had not called at Morganna in recent days. Indeed, the baker wondered why, saying that it was more than six sevendays since Salamander had come to clean out the Councilcourt cells and take his slaves to Norseland. I also learned that he knew nothing of the attempted invasion of the Land, which suggested that the Council truly had been kept in the dark about it.
I asked if the Black
Ship might have called at Port Oran and was delighted to hear that big ships never went there because of too many hidden shoals. This meant that I need not backtrack toward the Suggredoon before going farther up the coast.
Bidding the baker a casual farewell, I decided to try to find a horse and ride out of the city as soon as possible. The next settlement along the coast was Halfmoon Bay, a city only slightly larger than Port Oran. I was almost certain that the Black Ship would choose a larger town in which to release its deadly plague, but it would not do to bypass it and find later that I had been wrong. I remembered that Halfmoon Bay had a sectioned wall, which meant that I could simply ride in one side, check the piers to make sure the Black Ship had not been there, and then ride out the other side. If I could leave Morganna within the next hour, I could conceivably reach Halfmoon Bay by nightfall.
I walked, farseeking anyone I passed until I found my way to a public stable. Unfortunately, too many customers and workers provided no opportunity for theft. Rather than wasting time locating another public stable, I decided to try taking a horse from the holding yard of an inn. I had passed several already and had noticed that the smaller ones did not trouble much with attendants. As I searched for a small inn, I sent out a general probe in the hope of encountering any of the Misfits I had sent to the west coast to work with the rebels there. I was not surprised when it did not locate.
At last I spotted several horses in an inn’s holding yard. I was initially disappointed to see two grooms talking to each other, but they were so deep in conversation that I decided to sidle up to the yard’s outer fence and beastspeak the strongest-looking horse among them, a lovely, long-legged mare with a sand-colored coat. As I had hoped, she recognized me as the Seeker as soon as I beastspoke her, saying that it would be an honor to aid ElspethInnle. I was pleased to learn that her owner was a feckless young mistress who would likely remain drinking at the inn until dusk, though it was now barely noon. Indeed, the horse, whose name was Rawen, assured me that her mistress would be so drunk that she would have difficulty understanding that her horse had been stolen, let alone making anyone understand her. The theft of her horse would be reported eventually, of course, but there would be enough of a delay that we need not worry about being stopped.
Asking the mare to wait, I coerced the yard’s sole occupant, a serving girl, to fetch me some bread, cheese, and apples from the kitchen and a simple saddlebag from the tack room. When she returned, I bade her keep watch as I stripped off my new clothes, sluiced myself and my hair with icy water, and used the cloak to dry myself before dressing again. It was a rudimentary bath, but I felt wonderfully clean and refreshed as I carried the food and newly filled water bladder back to the holding yard.
Once there, I saw that one of the grooms had departed. I coerced the other to fetch Rawen’s tack and fill a saddlebag with oats and hay. When he returned, I had him saddle up the mare, and I thrust the food and my few possessions into the saddlebag, buckled it up, and mounted. I was unaccustomed to a saddle, but I could not ride bareback without drawing unwanted attention.
I bade the lad lead Rawen from the yard and dismissed him after erasing all memory of our dealings and inserting in its place the memory of having seen an older man with blond hair and a furtive manner hanging about the yard.
To my relief, Rawen knew the way to the main gate, which she said was much closer than the side gate. In a short time, we were approaching the city’s busy main entrance. I asked Rawen to stop and dismounted, pretending to adjust her saddle as I studied the best way out. A swift probe told me that the six soldierguards on duty here wore demon bands. Five were concentrating on the long line of incoming travelers while the sixth dealt with people leaving the city. He gave only a cursory glance to each, and, reassured, I was about to mount Rawen again when a man leading two horses reached the gate. The soldierguard held out his hand, and the man produced what were clearly the horses’ papers. I was dismayed, and sensing it, Rawen asked what the matter was. I explained as best I could, but she assured me that no one ever asked for anything on the rare occasions when her mistress had taken her out of the city to exercise. This sounded so odd that I asked if I could enter her mind to watch a memory of her last departure from the city. She agreed, and it took only a moment to discover that her mistress was the daughter of one of the city’s more important traders.
I was appalled, but it was too late now to return the mare to her stable, and if I simply released her, she might come to harm. Then I would still have to find another horse, with papers, thereby losing all chance of reaching Halfmoon Bay by nightfall. I might even find myself locked inside the city. All things considered, there was nothing to do but go on boldly.
Once again, my fears proved groundless, for when it was our turn to go through the gate, the soldierguard looked at Rawen rather than me and advised gruffly that I had better be quick if I wanted to exercise my mistress’s horse and return before the gates closed. Under other circumstances, I would have been alarmed that the soldierguard had recognized the mare, but this enabled us to leave without papers. The moment the horse was reported missing, though, the soldierguard would remember me, so I needed to put as much distance as possible between us and the city.
Once away from the gate, Rawen willingly broke into a canter. It was wonderful to ride again, and I was pleased to find that Rawen enjoyed the gallop as much as I did. Mindful of the need to find the null swiftly, I bade her gallop as long as she could comfortably do so, and as we progressed, I conveyed my recent adventures.
We alternated between a canter and a walk, but I had miscalculated the distance to Halfmoon Bay, and it was dusk before we saw the city in the distance. There was little point in entering after dark, so I told Rawen that we would camp near the city. She asked if I might ride her along the sand beside the water, for she liked the sound and scent of the waves. I agreed, and when we reached the sand, I bade her stop, and I dismounted and walked beside the mare. It was pleasant, and by the time we were close enough to the city to make camp, it was quite dark. But even as I removed Rawen’s tack, the moon rose and transformed the sea into a sheet of undulating silver that I stopped to admire. The horse rolled in the sand with voluptuous delight, and then she galloped into the waves, rearing and splashing like a child at play.
After she emerged and shook herself vigorously, she devoured the oats and hay I set out for her while I ate cheese and bread. We both drank sparingly from the water bladder. I had no means of starting a fire, and as it grew cold, I began to worry about Rawen, for she had told me that she had never spent a night in the open. Removing my cloak, I would have thrown it over her, but she suggested that she lie and then I could sit beside her, and the cloak could cover us both.
Lying against her warm belly, I gazed out at the sea, which unrolled its waves like silken rugs threaded with silver. My thoughts turned inevitably to Gahltha, for I had often sat in this way with him, sharing warmth and friendship. Where was he now? I wondered. Back at Obernewtyn or in Sutrium? And what of Maruman?
“You are bound to these beasts?” Rawen asked curiously, for she had seen their images in my thoughts.
“We are friends,” I sent. “But what of you/your friends?”
“An equine owned by funaga does not have friends,” she told me mildly. I asked about her life and learned that she had been bought unbroken as a filly by an owner who had trained her with care and gentleness. After he died she had been bought as a gift for her present mistress. Despite being feckless, it seemed the girl had not been unkind to her horse, for she regarded Rawen as a possession that enhanced her own beauty and value.
I asked how the mare thought her mistress would react to her loss. Rawen said that it did not matter how her young mistress reacted, for her owner was the girl’s father, and he would be furious. This disquieted me, for a furious and self-important trader might complain loudly enough that soldierguards would be sent to hunt the thief. Of course, they would search initially for a fair-haired, furtive
-looking man, but it would not take long for the soldierguard at Morganna’s main gate to give an accurate description of me. And persistent questioning of those who had entered the city might reveal that I had departed in the direction of Halfmoon Bay.
The only way to prevent their finding me would be to enter Halfmoon Bay without the mare. I explained my concern and asked Rawen if she felt able to make her way alone to the other side of the city. I told her that I did not expect to be inside the city for more than a few hours, and when I left, I would summon her. Rawen agreed to the plan, and I decided that we must leave her saddle and bridle. If she was spotted saddled and riderless, she would be pursued as a runaway. It was a pity I could not take the saddle with me to sell, but aside from being too heavy to carry, it was distinctive, and its description might be circulating with that of the mare. I would bury the saddle in the sand, I decided, but the bridle was small enough that I could take it with me into Halfmoon Bay and sell it. With the coin it fetched, I could buy a plainer bridle with which to lead Rawen, more food, a horse blanket, and a tinderbox.
I yawned and was about to close my eyes when I realized that I could send a general farseeking probe into at least part of the city because of the gaps in the wall. I sent out a coercive probe searching for recognizable mind signatures, just as I had done in Morganna. To my complete amazement, I immediately brushed against a mind I knew! I was so startled that I lost contact too soon to identify whose mind it had been, and try as I might, I could not locate it again. But I had not the slightest doubt that I had touched the mind of an Obernewtyn Misfit. Whoever it was must have either been on the verge of sleep or had moved behind a section of wall. The moment I entered the city, I would farseek again. The thought of being able to speak with a Misfit filled me with excitement, and it was some time before I could calm myself enough to sleep.