Nancy Berberick - Prisoner of Haven

The wind fluttered a blue pennon hung from the top of a tall mast. Gray gulls skipped in the sky around the bellying curve of the topmost sail of one of Haven’s merchant ships. Usha looked along the line of what she imagined must be the river’s course and saw other ships, most known by small pennons or the tips of wooden masts. Each one, she knew, was occupied by a crew of Sir Radulf’s men. Haven’s famed merchant fleet tethered until the dark knight freed them again.

It would have to be soon, as Dez had said, or else the knight was wasting men and time and resources. His mistress was a greedy green dragon who would not wait patiently for this occupation of Abanasinia’s wealthy trading port to bear fruit. Sir Radulf would have to free the fleet from the wharfs and send them out with a closely guarded crew. Usha’s heart lifted at the thought of the proud ships flying, their white sails bellying with wind. They would sail past the stone bridge that spanned the White-rage River between Haven’s Vale and that part of Darken Wood that was sometimes thought of as Haven’s and sometimes not. Freed, the ships would fly with the prevailing winds and currents all the way to the Newsea.

Shading her eyes against the sun, Usha looked over the high wall of Haven to the sky and imagined all the ports the ships would visit. Her heart ached, for in imagination, the voice of the river became the sound of the sea and the wind in the sky. These were the sounds of her childhood. Sometimes they were still the sounds of home.

Standing there, she wondered which of the tall-masted ships were Loren Halgard’s.

Morning sun streamed into the common room of the Ivy, flooding past the open doors and shutters thrown wide in hope of a breeze. The clop of horses’ hoofs on cobbles mingled with the chatter of the enterprising urchins in the dooryard. Someone yelled, “Yaahhh!” in a high childish voice, mocking. A horse snorted, a harsh voice cursed.

Usha looked out the window and saw two knights riding by, armed and lightly armored. Heads high, they ignored the children. The disdain of Sir Radulf’s patrols played out this way each morning, noon time, and from time to time during the day until curfew.

Usha sat alone, for early risers had eaten and gone out to find cooler precincts to do what they could to relieve boredom and frustration. Dez still hadn’t come down to breakfast. Passing by her closed door, Usha had heard the soft sound of a sleeper’s breathing.

You’re becoming an owl, sister, and I wonder where it is you go.

Dez hadn’t come in before curfew last night. She had not done so lately anyway. She hated the rule and counted it a mark of pride to flout it whenever she could. Usha’s best guess was that she went to a lover. Dez was an intensely private person, one who’d spent a good deal of time in Haven over the years, and the fact that no one knew the name of any man Dez was attached to didn’t mean such a man didn’t exist.

Usha didn’t remember hearing Dezra come in at all, before curfew or after, and she herself had been long awake, as she had been each of the three nights since her conversation with Loren Halgard. Each night she lay thinking about the hope of passes out of Haven. Her contentment to work and be able to pay for their keep until Sir Radulf’s grip on the city loosened had evaporated like mist in the morning sun. Memories of lovely Tamara Halgard troubled Usha, as did the cold-eyed dark knight who plainly believed that for the fee of a few days or weeks courtesy the girl would tumble into his hand if he wanted her. She couldn’t help remembering the girl’s father, whose voice had betrayed his anguish while his words had spoken of a bow to bitter necessity.

She wanted nothing more than to get out of Haven. She didn’t know where she would go-home to the empty house in Solace with memories of bitterness and anger lurking in the shadows, or somewhere else. But she could think of that later. Now, she simply wanted to go.

Boot heels clattered on the stairs then across the wooden floor. Usha looked around to see Dezra striding toward the bar.

“Rusty!” Dez called into the kitchen. “Breakfast, eh? But not much.”

When the innkeeper stuck his head out the door to acknowledge the order, Dez sat opposite Usha and yawned mightily.

“What are you doing here?” Dez asked over the sudden clatter of pots and crockery from the kitchen. “I’d’ve thought you’d be working on the portrait of the Gance boys. You’ve been nothing but hot about that job since you got it.” Dez eyed her keenly. “What? Not so happy about it anymore?”

Usha shrugged. “Happy enough. But not so happy to be quite this transparent.”

Dezra’s laugh rang through the room. “Usha, your expression is as transparent as the modesty veil of a Palanthian eldest daughter a year past marriageable age.”

Usha couldn’t help her smile. “I’ll be at the easel this afternoon. But this morning I want to go walking by the river.”

Dez snorted. “You’re not going to get very close to it.”

“Close enough to smell it.”

And to see the tops of masts and the occasional tip of a sail. Close enough to remember what it was like to move freely.

“Want company?”

She did not, though she didn’t quite know why, or perhaps wouldn’t admit the reason. And so Usha accepted her sister-in-law’s offer.

The river gate where Usha had earlier gone to be near the water and think of home opened-when it did open-to a stretch of river where housewives and servants used to take their washing. It had a broad grassy bank, tall reeds growing in waving clumps with plenty of stones for rubbing out stains. It was a place where girls flirted with handsome young men, dockworkers, sailors, and sometimes the chandler’s lad bringing candles to sell. Older women sat on the bank, watching the clothing stretched out on the rocks to dry in the sun, keeping an eye on the children and making sure none tumbled into the water. From there, the bank wandered upstream to a series of willow-shaded walks from which led paths back into the city through small gardens held in common by the people of the district, and swathes of grass where sheep could be folded or horses pastured. Above these stood the houses of the wealthy-some the expanded towers and four-square stone fastnesses of Haven’s earliest days, built in the years before Old Keep became an armory and ceremonial meeting hall. From these, the city had grown and the wall had receded, putting the wealthiest folk of Haven on stony hills above the river and the business districts of the city.

Usha wanted to go out to the river and walk along the shady waterside until the call of fragrant, cool gardens became too strong to resist and called her back to the city. That was no longer allowed.

“We can walk to the gardens from inside the wall,” Dezra said, “and still get a whiff of the river.”

After a short walk through Haven’s streets still bustling and humming, Usha noticed that the streets and byways closer to the river were quieter. Fewer people walked along the streets than had the first time she’d come there. The businesses that depended on the merchant fleet-the rope-maker, the chandler, the cooper and carpenters-had no work to do. No captain had been allowed near his ship, and no crew had been aboard since the start of the occupation. Goods and materials sat stacked in warehouses. Watchmen and restless owners prowled the aisles and brooded on their stores, but the district was quiet, nearly deserted.

Usha and Dez passed by a rope-maker’s deserted yard, crossed the way, and caught sight of a white froth of blooming bushes up the hill. They made for it and soon were among the crowds again.

“I heard Rusty telling someone yesterday that the plan is to get the fleet manned to Sir Radulf’s standard,” Dez said.