Joel Shepherd - Tracato

Sasha disembarked after Errollyn, with Alythia behind. Soldiers and gathering dockworkers on the pier stopped whatever they were doing and stared. And not at her , Sasha noted.

The man in the red coat finished his business with the captain, who turned and made his way back up the plank to his ship. Sasha expected Councilman Dhael to announce himself first, but he stepped aside for the three Rhodaani soldiers. They thanked Dhael, conversed briefly with the red-coat, showed him a tattoo each had on their upper arm, and passed. The Steel were respected in Tracato, if even a councilman should step aside for them.

Dhael then introduced himself. The red-coat barely glanced at his face, made a mark on the parchment he carried flat on a writing board, and waved him and his retainers on. Dhael spoke with the senior-most of his retainers, striding down the pier without a glance behind. Sasha could just smell Alythia’s annoyance.

“ Ur nahrom ?” the red-coat asked Kessligh. “Your name?” Sasha reckoned that was. She’d learned a little Larosan over the last six months in Petrodor.

“Kessligh Cronenverdt,” he said, and continued in Torovan: “This is my uma, Sashandra Lenayin, her sister Alythia Lenayin and our companion Errollyn Y’saldi.” Sasha winced inwardly. Errollyn never used the second name. It meant things that most humans did not understand. Here, it was formality.

“I shall ask them their names in turn,” said the red-coat dismissively, also in Torovan. He peered at Kessligh, apparently unimpressed. There was little politeness about him. “Prove that you are Kessligh.”

“Prove that I am not.”

The man’s nostrils flared. “Here in the great city of Tracato, all are answerable to the Council of Rhodaan and the High Table. Their appointed officers wear red coats, like mine. You shall answer my questions, or you shall not be allowed entry. Prove that you are Kessligh Cronenverdt.”

“He could chop your fucking head off,” Sasha snorted in Lenay. “That’d prove it.”

“He could indeed,” responded the red-coat in flawless Lenay. Sasha blinked. She’d not expected any in this part of Rhodia to understand her. “But it would not gain him entry to this city.”

“Dear Lords, Sasha,” Alythia exclaimed in exasperation, also in Lenay. “You’re such a mindless unsophisticate, I can’t believe you’re my sister.”

“Me neither,” said Sasha, in Saalsi. Alythia frowned, uncomprehending.

“You speak Saalsi too?” the red-coat asked Sasha, also in Saalsi.

“Better than you, I’m certain,” Sasha replied in the same.

“I quite doubt that, young lady-all the red-coats of Tracato are schooled in the language of our serrin friends since childhood.” Sasha stood sullenly. His Saalsi did seem rather good. “You certainly do have the reputed appearance of Sashandra Lenayin…but these things are known to many, and could be imitated.”

“Our languages too?” Sasha asked incredulously. “My tattoo? I’ll show you that too if you like!”

“Sasha…” Kessligh began, with weary impatience.

“This is ridiculous!” Sasha exclaimed. “Who the hells else would we be? What kind of honourless people go about asking others to prove who they are?”

Errollyn put an arm about Sasha’s shoulders to restrain her, and leaned forward. “Excuse me?” he asked, back in Torovan. “I’m rather tired and I’d like to lie down. If this is going to take a while, could I just go on and leave them?”

The red-coat looked amused. “Of course, serrin sir. Whenever you please.”

“Oh that’s great!” said Sasha. “Serrin get to enter whenever they please, and the rest of us must…” Errollyn muzzled her with a strong hand.

“I couldn’t take her with me?” he asked the red-coat. “She’s quite sweet with me, she only barks and growls at strangers.” Sasha struggled to remove his hand, but it wasn’t easy-Errollyn’s right-handed grip came more from bows than swords, and had ferocious power.

“Master Errollyn,” said the red-coat, “I do believe I recall you from Council sessions. How many years has it been?”

“Nearly three,” said Errollyn.

Sasha finally freed herself, though it took both of her hands to do so.

“And you can vouch for these others?”

“For Kessligh, Sashandra and Alythia, yes. I’m quite sure I haven’t been deceived as to their identities, by this one least of all. She’s far too annoying to be anyone else.” Alythia laughed like that was the funniest thing she’d heard in weeks.

The red-coat smiled grimly. “Very well. I shall require your marks on this paper, and you must report to a council officer before sundown tomorrow. Failure to do so shall be taken as admission that your stated identities are false, and the Blackboots shall be alerted.”

“Thank you, Errollyn,” Alythia said graciously as they walked down the pier. “If we’d left it to Sasha, I’m sure we’d have all spent the night in a Tracato dungeon, at best.”

Sasha let them talk, stalking angrily ahead. The decking felt as though it were still heaving beneath her, and it was a curious sensation indeed to take long strides and be certain that the boards were, in fact, not moving. The pier was wide: two horse-and-carts could easily have passed, making it possible to unload two large vessels simultaneously.

Fronting the docks were mostly warehouses, grim and silent, and guarded by militia men who Sasha guessed might be hired swords. There was little of the life and bustle of the Petrodor Dockside, and the water smelt foul as it lapped against the retaining wall. A sheltered harbour, Sasha realised, with no ocean currents to disperse the city’s wastes.

Tracato Dockside was far more orderly than Petrodor’s. The stone facades of taverns and dwellings presented a friendly face to the sea, alive with the light of lanterns.

Ahead, Councilman Dhael had walked to the forecourt of a tavern, where men waited with horses tethered to carriages to take folk up the incline. Sasha was in half a mood to walk, to stretch her legs and to see Tracato up close. But Alythia would assuredly dislike the notion, to say nothing of Kessligh’s leg, so Sasha headed toward the carriages.

There were four of them, their drivers standing around a forecourt fountain, sharing drinks and laughing. And now, stepping about the carriages, were men in wide hats, matching dark tunic and pants, and tall black boots. Those men were looking at her. And now, they were coming toward her, swords swinging at their hips.

Sasha kept walking, counting ten Blackboots in all. They were spreading out now, across her path. Heart thumping in anticipation of trouble, Sasha found herself paying more attention to the dockfront windows behind the men than the men themselves. A Petrodor reflex that was, searching for archers-always her greatest concern. Swordsmen she could handle. Perhaps not ten, but maybe.

“Sashandra Lenayin!” announced the leader.

“Aye,” said Sasha, with as much unconcern as she could muster. “Who blocks my way?”

“We are the Blackboots of Tracato!” he said in Torovan.

“I can see that.” She stopped. A city militia, by the coin of the Council of Rhodaan, the Blackboots kept the peace, it was said. And given that the Council was largely under the control of the feudalists these days, it was also said the Blackboots were bought and paid for by the noble families of Tracato.

“We have orders that you are to be detained.”

She was not particularly surprised. There had been enough Tracatans in Petrodor of late, many of whom she’d talked to. It was common knowledge that she and Kessligh were headed this way. No surprise that someone here found the fact disquieting. But she did not like how it developed on this quiet, nighttime dock, with only a few witnesses who could be arrested, paid off or murdered.