AMBERHILL’S VOYAGE BEGINS
It was a fine morning, this first day of spring, with
an offshore breeze stroking the waters of Corsa Harbor and the sun
glancing off the waves. The tide was in and Captain Irvine oversaw
the loading of cargo into the bowels of his vessel, Ullem Queen, bound for Coutre Province. Amberhill
watched as some of his own possessions were loaded, but Yap
supervised more closely, chivvying the porters not to drop
anything.
Amberhill stood on
the wharf, striking an aristocratic pose and wearing a mask of
boredom amid the noise and confusion of four vessels loading and
unloading at once. He did not deign to step out of the way for
bustling longshoremen, sailors, merchants, fishermen, or anyone.
They all had to go around him.
As he watched he
absorbed details—cormorants bobbing alongside ships at anchor,
harried porters bearing everything from squawking chickens to bales
of tobacco to the various vessels tied to the wharf or tossing
items down to sailors waiting in longboats below. A sailor without
an ounce of horse sense tried to pull a balky stallion across a
gangway to one of the ships. The stallion bellowed his dismay and
with a toss of his head unbalanced the sailor at the other end of
his lead rope who fell off the gangway and splashed into the harbor
waters.
Coins exchanged
hands, and purses were lifted by grubby waifs from oblivious
passengers milling on the wharf. He caught a young pickpocket by
the wrist as the boy reached for his own purse. The waif gazed up
at him with large, frightened eyes. Amberhill gave him a curt shake
of his head, then he released the boy, who scampered off in search
of easier pickings.
Overstuffed merchant
carts jammed the wharf, bearing crates and sacks and barrels and
hogsheads of goods. Amberhill was less fascinated by the cargoes
than by the merchants themselves. Most were finely dressed,
soft-looking, and did not lower themselves to assist with
transferring cargo to or from ships, but rather left the dirty work
to subordinates and made notations in ledgers. All except
one.
That merchant tossed
aside his well-tailored longcoat and rolled up his sleeves to help
unload a schooner to fill a wagon with spices, sugarcane, and what
appeared to be exotic fruits. The sailors on board the ship were
tanned. Amberhill guessed that this vessel had been trading in the
Cloud Islands.
The merchant himself
was not tanned, so likely had not gone on the venture himself, but
it did not stop him from taking a heavy hogshead and hoisting it up
to another man atop the wagon. This was no soft merchant, but he
was no common laborer either, for he exuded an aura of command as
he ordered his people about and joked with them. They deferred to
him in all ways and showed him no insolence. And there was
something more about the man, something . . .
familiar.
Amberhill caught the
bulky shoulder of a passing longshoreman. “Who is that man?” he
asked, pointing out the merchant.
“Not from around
here, eh? That’d be Stevic G’ladheon, biggest merchant
around.”
Amberhill let the
longshoreman go and grinned, thinking this an opportunity he could
not pass up. He of course had been well aware of who Karigan
G’ladheon’s successful father was. Those who dealt in the business
world of the realm could not help but know of him. What made him
even more noteworthy to Amberhill’s mind was that Stevic G’ladheon
was a self-made man. Very admirable.
Amberhill casually
strolled down the wharf, carving effortlessly through the throngs.
As he approached, he observed Stevic G’ladheon was square of
shoulder and contained the energy of a young man, but a slight
silvering at his temples revealed his age.
Amberhill wondered
how he should introduce himself, and was lost momentarily in an
imagined conversation: “How do you know my
daughter?” the merchant asked, and Amberhill was so tickled
by all the possible clever responses that he almost laughed aloud.
He was not under the impression, however, that Stevic G’ladheon was
the sort of man to be trifled with.
He readied himself
to greet the merchant, but a ship’s bell clanged and Yap was at his
elbow.
“Sorry, sir,” Yap
said, “but Cap’n Irvine is ready to get underway and says ya must
board, or he’s leaving without ya.”
“Wait a moment, I
want to—”
“Passenger Amberhill!”
Amberhill glanced
over his shoulder, the mate glowering over the heads of the crowd
at him. Then he returned his gaze to Stevic G’ladheon, who looked
right back at him.
“You Amberhill?” the
merchant asked.
Amberhill, startled,
nodded.
“Then you’d better
get yourself on that ship. Captain Irvine maintains a rigorous
schedule, especially with the tide turning, and he won’t wait for
lingerers.”
“Um—” Amberhill
began. A glance back at the ship revealed the crew readying to haul
in the gangway.
“Sir?” Yap said
urgently, tugging at his sleeve.
Amberhill wanted to
say something, anything, to Stevic G’ladheon, but he’d
vanished—just like his daughter was wont to do. Then he spotted the
merchant aboard the vessel he’d been helping to unload, talking to
a customs official.
Of all the damnable
things! Amberhill thought. To be denied the opportunity to initiate
a conversation with one of Sacoridia’s most respected merchants and
the father of an enigma. Amberhill wondered how much he knew of his
daughter’s powers or about mystical black stallions, but the bell
clanged more insistently.
Ah, well, he thought. Opportunity missed.
He pivoted and
hastened across the wharf to the Ullem
Queen. The gangway had been retracted and the ship was
separating from the wharf. He and Yap leaped the gap to the ship.
Amberhill managed easily, but poor Yap less so. He dangled from the
railing, feet scrabbling against the hull. Crew grabbed his arms
and hauled him on deck. The captain scowled at them both from his
position up by the wheel.
Amberhill put Stevic
G’ladheon and everything else about his former life to the back of
his mind as he took in the harbor and ocean beyond. He was
answering a calling, a calling to sail the ocean, to seek mysteries
beyond the horizon, and there was no way of knowing if he’d ever
return.
By the second day of the voyage, Amberhill just
wanted to return to dry land. No, he reflected, he just wanted to
die. He hung limply over the rail, arms swinging with the motion of
the ship. He did best with his eyes closed. Yap had urged him to
watch the horizon, but it did not help. Nor did the candied ginger,
hard biscuits, or tea Yap brought him. All of that and more ended
up in the sea, leaving behind a vile taste in his mouth. There
should not be anything left in his stomach, but the wooziness
threatened a fresh surge over the rail.
Amberhill was born
and raised an inlander, but he’d boarded Ullem
Queen confidently and enjoyed the breeze and scenery of
Corsa Harbor. He’d sighted a pod of harbor porpoise, and gulls
wheeling at the sterns of fishing boats, looking for offal and
castoffs. He admired the lines of a naval vessel slicing through
harbor waters like a rapier and guessed at what was stored in the
kettle-bottomed hulls of merchant ships. The Ullem Queen specialized in tobacco from the Under
Kingdoms. Normally he found the fragrance of the leaf pleasant, but
in his current state, just the mere thought of certain scents sent
him reeling to the rail.
Yes, he’d been fine
till they passed beneath the shadowy remains of a keep perched on
an island headland overlooking the entrance to the harbor. Once out
of the protected harbor and on the open bay, the swells grew and
almost in an instant Amberhill went from composed aristocratic
gentleman to a retching, sickly commoner. He’d supposed himself
immune to seasickness. After all, he was Lord Amberhill and had
been the Raven Mask, scaler of high walls and master thief. The
gods were showing him what they thought of that, by literally
bringing him to his knees.
The only thing that
appeared to help was following Yap’s advice to stay on deck in the
fresh air, away from the fragrant cargo and the stench of other ill
passengers.
Amberhill moaned.
He’d asked Yap if the sickness would soon pass. All Yap could tell
him was that for some it did. For others? Some never acclimated.
Amberhill feared he was among the latter.
As for Yap himself,
he was right at home among the crew and had, Amberhill noticed,
taken to padding about the decks in his bare feet. His remedies had
not worked, but he kept checking on his employer.
Amberhill cracked
open crusty, salt-rimmed eyes and the turmoil of waves almost sent
him into a vortex of nausea again, but he noticed how the ruby of
his dragon ring shone in the sunlight, brighter than he’d ever seen
it before. Each facet had its own hue of red—the richness of
velvet, the gleam of deep wine, the brightness of fresh
blood.
As he gazed at the
ruby, everything came into sharp focus in his mind. There was no
longer the roiling drop and heave of the ocean, but a solid deck
beneath him and a steady horizon. His stomach ceased its torment.
His mind began to work with the motion of the waves, or at least
that was the way he thought of it.
Some strength began
to flow into flaccid limbs. He rose unsteadily at first but then
gained confidence, as if he’d always instinctively known how to
maintain his footing on board a ship.
“Sir? Are ya all
right?” Yap asked, practically leaping across the deck to
him.
Amberhill grinned.
“Much better. In fact, I’m actually hungry.”
“Very good, sir.
I’ll see what cook has on.”
Yap padded off, and
Amberhill clasped his hands behind his back, and took in the clear
sky and blue-green water anew. The world was looking like a much
better place now. Something about his ring had righted him, given
him his sea legs—and his sea stomach.
He felt freshly born
and like he could conquer the world. He liked the idea, and
smiled.