Joel Shepherd - Tracato

Sasha stretched back, hands in her hair. “It’s so frustrating. Every side has a piece of the puzzle, yet they refuse to share.”

“Sasha, you should meet with Lady Renine,” Alythia insisted. “You have heard only ill of her since you have been here, where everyone hates her. You will be astonished, I promise you. She loves everything about Rhodaan that you do, as does Alfriedo. And she despairs at the inaction of the council.”

“’Lyth,” Sasha said, “I’m not about to take sides in this.”

“I’m not asking you to. On the contrary, you could be the perfect neutral mediator. Someone who can bring the sides to talking, instead of fighting.”

Sasha stared across the library. She could not help the terrible feeling that she would be betraying her nation. The Army of Lenayin was marching to war against Rhodaan, and here she would be trying to help Rhodaan put its house in order.

Lenayin and Rhodaan were not yet at war, she told herself. Sofy was yet to marry. Larosa and Lenayin were a poor match, anyone could see it, and if those two sides came to blows in a fit of mutual outrage at the other’s appalling behaviour, Sasha would not be surprised. The die was not yet cast, and until then, her loyalties, and indeed her duty, lay with Kessligh.

The Torovan maps called it Panae Achi, or Harbourtown, but the locals called it Reninesenn, or Renine’s Town, in Rhodaani. Errollyn walked the cobbled streets, past wagons loaded with cargo, and wholesalers crowded with buyers. The haggling spilled onto the streets.

Blackboots chatted easily with a barber before his shop, cleaning a razor on his smock. A tavern did a rowdy business of sailors and dockers. In front of a bakery, women piled fresh bread into a handcart.

The Civid Sein liked to paint Tracato’s divisions as entirely of class, the wealthy against the poor, but Reninesenn showed otherwise. Noble families had always controlled the trade in Tracato. Today the old ties lingered, and the Dockside folk had not embraced the idea of a future without the nobility, preferring instead the old ties of patronage and wealth. Noble families owned most of the ships and nearly all of the warehouses, and any merchant or trader looking to move goods had to establish good connections.

Errollyn did not sense any hostility toward him but, equally, he knew he should be careful what he said.

Questions on the docks took him to a tavern opposite a grain warehouse, where carts crowded three deep, and men heaved heavy sacks onto waiting shoulders. Errollyn walked straight to the barkeeper, past tables of loud-talking men.

“I’m looking for Duchess Teresa ,” he said to the barkeep, who waved him toward a table by the windows. Errollyn saw a table of sailors, rough looking yet not quite as disreputable as popular myth. Some had good coats, though hard wearing, and many wore braids in the fashion of seafarers. All looked as though they’d bathed in the last day or two.

“Welcome, sir!” said one man in Torovan as Errollyn approached the table.

“I thank you,” said Errollyn.

“And what can I do you for?” Conversation at the table ceased, yet Errollyn sensed no ill will. Serrin business on the docks was common and, for the most part, welcomed.

“I’m looking to buy raw silver and gemstone,” said Errollyn, hooking his thumb into his belt by a money pouch. “I’d heard the Duchess Teresa was in the business this run?”

“Ah,” said the man, “I was the quartermaster for that run, but I’m afraid we’re all pledged to other customers; my apologies, sir.”

“Not at all. Might I buy the table a drink and ask of the conditions of trade?”

“Absolutely!” beamed the quartermaster, and his mate pulled Errollyn a chair from a neighbouring table.

Errollyn asked the usual questions, of wind and currents, but also of Larosan naval activity and what news of ships lately sunk or in action.

“So you’ve been in Voscoraine then?” he asked the quartermaster.

“Oh no, sir,” said the sailor, sipping the ale Errollyn’s coin had bought. “Poscadi.”

“I wasn’t aware there was good silver and gemstone in Poscadi.”

“A new mine,” the sailor replied easily. “Up in the northern Ameryn hills.”

“Council won’t allow us in Telesian ports anyhow,” said a second man. “There’s a war on, you know.”

“Telesia has not declared for one side or another, the last I’d heard,” said Errollyn.

“And the Torovan army’ll be marching straight through Telesia on their way to Larosa,” said the sailor, waving to an acquaintance who entered the crowded inn. “Excuse me, I spy a friend. Thanks for the drink.” He got up and left.

“I heard they charge a tariff to enter Poscadi these days,” said Errollyn, edging his chair aside as more sailors crowded onto a neighbouring table. It was hard to hear above the din of conversation. “Three per cent of cargo value, what impact does that have on the silver trade there?”

“That’s a terrible thing,” the quartermaster said. “Damned inspectors, they overestimate our cargo value then pocket the extra for themselves. I’ve made barely enough to feed my children on this run, the next won’t be any better.”

Errollyn talked until the man’s ale was nearly gone, then thanked him and his companions and left, to empty-mug salutes from the sailors. But he already knew what he wanted to know. The Duchess Teresa had been in Poscadi Port in Ameryn. He knew from many conversations with Petrodor sailors that the Poscadi Port harbour tax had recently gone up to five per cent, not three, giving the quartermaster another chance to whine about how high his expenses were, if he’d known about it. The quartermaster had definitely not been in Poscadi Port recently.

That left Voscoraine, in Telesia. Telesia remained an independent kingdom, having at various times been a part of Torovan or Algrasse. Now they attempted to maintain neutrality, being greatly dependent on Saalshen and Rhodaani trade, yet squeezed on land between neighbours determined to wrest the Saalshen Bacosh away from Saalshen’s influence by force. Telesia’s port of Voscoraine was not far by road from Larosa and Sherdaine. The Rhodaani Council had barred Rhodaani flagged vessels from berthing there, knowing the port to be full of Larosan agents, and fearing a trade of spies, or the loss of vessels. For the Duchess Teresa to have been in Voscoraine Port would have violated the Council’s order. They must have remained there a long time, to simulate the time it would have taken to reach Ameryn.

Further questions directed him to a laneway, in search of the Duchess Teresa ’s captain, the man the quartermaster had professed not to know. The building was clearly a brothel-red lanterns hung between cramped tenements. Errollyn entered, and pushed past several drunken sailors in the hall. It opened onto a main room, where girls dressed like noble ladies coiffed and preened-another of Tracato’s strange tastes, every ale-drenched, salt-stained sailor wanted to bed a noble lady.

“My, my,” said the madam, leaving another customer in female hands to come to Errollyn, looking him up and down. “Dear sir, welcome. Can I interest you in…”

“I’m looking for someone.”

The madam sighed. She wore much jewellery, all fake. “I should have guessed, you serrin never did appreciate the business.”

“That’s because we fuck for free,” Errollyn said drily. “I was told the captain of the Duchess Teresa might be here?”

“My customers’ business is strictly confidential,” said the madam airily. Errollyn pressed a large coin into her hand. “Second floor, the third room on the left,” she said, pocketing the coin.