L. Modesitt - Natural Ordermage

“Gangway!”

Rahl stepped back as the deck crew hurried in his direction, setting himself aft of the quarterdeck and against the bulkhead outboard of the ladder to the bridge deck.

As he waited for Galsyn to summon him to work, Rahl turned and studied the pier where the Diev was tied. It was not only more than six hundred cubits long, but a good hundred cubits wide, and there were wagons and carts everywhere. Already, several wagons were headed toward the Diev, and two vendors with handcarts were rolling them toward the gangway.

“Silks, silks…the finest silks from Atla…”

“…the finest wools from Recluce and Brysta…”

“Spices…brinn from Candar, brinn and astra…”

“Tools…iron tools, Hamor’s finest from the works at Luba…”

Rahl glanced toward the foot of the pier, where two vessels larger than the Diev -not the smallest of ships from what Rahl could tell-were tied up. So many street and cart vendors pushed around the wagons that he wondered if the teamsters driving the wagons would have to push through the crowds to force them away from the ships. While Nylan had peddlers and vendors, the numbers and variety were nothing compared to those on just the one pier where the Diev was tied.

“Clear the forward hatch,” ordered Gresyrd. “Power takeoff for the crane.”

Before that long, the first wagon-bearing lettering on the side that proclaimed “Nylan Merchant Association”-rolled to a halt forward of the gangway, directly opposite the forward hatch.

At that moment, Galsyn appeared on deck, carrying a large leather folder and the portable writing board. He walked over to Rahl and handed him the writing board. “Stand by. It will be a little while.”

The captain made her way down the ladder, then glanced at the purser. “Everything ready?”

“Yes, Captain. Declarations and current manifest.”

Liedra nodded and walked to the section of railing that had been swung back for the gangway. Mienfryd joined the captain there, wearing his black blade.

“The manifest?” asked Rahl quietly.

“Sometimes, the tariff enumerators ask what else you have on board. They’re not supposed to, but…” Galsyn shrugged. “That’s another reason why Mienfryd stands by the captain. It’s a symbol, but it helps. Most of the time.”

Rahl didn’t ask about what happened when it didn’t work.

“Here come the enumerators,” murmured Galsyn. “Just stand here.” He stepped forward so that he was just slightly back of Captain Liedra’s shoulder on the opposite side from the ship’s champion.

Rahl watched. The two officials who walked up the gangway wore short-sleeved khaki shirts and long, matching trousers over black boots. Their belts were black, but the insignia on their collars and shirts were crimson.

“Captain Liedra.”

“Inspector Salyx,” returned the captain.

“You have your declaration ready.” The inspector spoke in Temple rather than Hamorian.

Galsyn handed the tariff declaration to the unnamed inspector who had not spoken. The inspector studied it, then handed it to Salyx.

“The tariff looks to be ninety golds, subject to verification, Captain.”

Even though he had seen the tariff calculation, and checked it for Galsyn, Rahl still found himself amazed at the amount. Ninety golds-and that was just an assessment of roughly one part in a hundred, although for some goods the tariff was one in a thousand, and for some, it ran as high as five parts in a hundred. Rahl doubted that his father had netted ninety golds in the last ten years, and the Diev probably made more than ten trips a year, if not more.

The captain handed an envelope to the inspector. “A letter of credit against the ship’s account, held in the Exchange through the Nylan Merchant Association.”

“A pleasure, Captain Liedra.” The inspector signed the bottom of the declaration, then handed it to his silent assistant.

The assistant produced a circular device that fitted over a portion of the signature on both sides of the paper. He squeezed the handles, then removed the device. Rahl could see an embossed pattern across the signature as the assistant gave the declaration back to Salyx, who in turn handed it to Liedra, who passed it to Galsyn.

Then the inspectors nodded, turned, and walked down the gangway.

“See to the passengers, purser.”

“Yes, ser.”

Rahl wondered if he was supposed to help off-load passenger baggage, but Galsyn just handed him the leather folder he had been carrying, and the declaration, and said, “Wait here. It won’t be long.”

Rahl waited.

The first passenger to leave was a bearded dark-skinned man whom Rahl did not recall even having seen on the voyage, but he might have been ill or violently seasick, because his eyes were reddish, and he looked pale behind the color of his skin. A faint miasma of chaos clung to him.

Valdra Elamira did not look at Rahl as she left the Diev. Neither did her bodyguard.

The wool factor Alamyrt actually stopped for a moment. “I wish you well in Swartheld, and perhaps our paths will cross.”

“Good fortune to you, honored ser.”

“I’m certain it will be.” Alamyrt laughed, then turned and walked down the gangway, carrying a large satchel-like case.

Once the last passenger had left, Galsyn turned back to Rahl. “We need to get on with tracking the unloading, Rahl.”

“Yes, ser.”

The off-loading continued until slightly after twilight, when the piers cleared of wagons and vendors. From what Rahl could tell, the vendors tried to sell until it was almost dark, with their warbling and piercing cries, which had become even more insistent, then hurried away. At that point, the gangway was swung up and the railing closed.

Rahl looked to Galsyn. “We’re not leaving, are we?”

“No. It’s just the captain’s way of reducing temptation. No one gets shore leave until we’re off-loaded,” Galsyn said. “Not anywhere in Hamor. She says she doesn’t like being shorthanded. More likely she doesn’t want to lose good sailors.” With a smile, Galsyn left Rahl by the railing.

The younger man stood there, looking out on the pier, feeling the warm air filled with scents he could not identify moving past him, and hearing the sounds of a strange port rising and falling around him in a rhythm he could sense, but not describe.

More wagons arrived on the pier opposite the Diev not long after dawn on threeday, and Rahl sat on a stool by the railing and wrote down the cargo items as they were off-loaded and as Galsyn checked each item and called it out.

“Fifteen bales of raw wool, ship’s consignment…”

“Thirteen kegs of scarletine, shipper’s consignment…”

“Two barrels of quilla flour, ship’s consignment…”

Rahl’s fingers were almost numb by midafternoon, when the last goods had been transferred to one of the wagons on the pier. He was also sweating from the heat, even though he and Galsyn had been shaded from the direct sun by a square of old canvas stretched between a frame of ancient poles.

“Better grab your gear, Rahl,” called Galsyn. “Teamster won’t wait.”

Rahl dashed for the cubby where he’d slept for the past eightdays, scooped up his pack, and headed back out to the deck.

The captain and Galsyn were waiting for him on the quarterdeck, just short of the gangway.

Liedra extended a small cloth pouch. “Here’s your pay. It’s not that much, but it should help.”

“Thank you, Captain. I appreciate it.” Rahl was well aware that she didn’t have to pay him anything. He quickly tucked the pouch into his belt wallet. “I really do.”