Spit and Polish Part 4
The Arch of Aroden bridged the expanse of blue water that divided Avistan from Garund. The colossal structure also stood as the gateway from the Arcadian Ocean into the Inner Sea. Though navies often clashed on the disputed waters of the Inner Sea, mariners still expressed feelings of comfort and security once they passed under the Arch, returning from the vast, unknown expanse of the Arcadian Ocean. In that regard, it served as both a bridge for two continents and a border between the known and the unknown.
It was the wonder of the massive monument and the sight of the vast ocean that lay beyond that caused the deck hand to cease polishing the rail and stare out at the wondrous vista. Sailors in Oppara’s taverns often spoke of this marvel, but seeing its beauty for himself nearly brought tears to his eyes.
“The sight never dulls,” Renia said. Her sudden appearance and words startled him. “You’ve seen it, now get back to that rail. The East Wind doesn’t enter port looking like a third generation shrimp boat.”
Captain Renia “Wavesplitter” Cunnigan took great pride in her ship—a three-masted sloop of her own design. It was widely regarded amongst mariners as the fastest vessel on the Inner Sea, and her captain as one of the most able. She had learned the way of the sea as a pirate, but changed her vocation before the reputation could cling to her. She still used the ship and talented crew for less legitimate work, but no one who employed her, or chased her, named her a pirate.
“Once you finish with that rail, Caison,” she continued, “get to the bell. I want her shining like the starstone when we dock.”
Caison bowed to the captain as she patted him on the shoulder. Both returned to their duties as the ship swung around and headed into Corentyn. After a few deft swipes along the rail, Caison turned to the bell, gathering a jug of polish and a cloth made of rare Tian silk. Many would cringe at the thought of dirtying the expensive cloth with brass polish, but since their departure from Diobel, Caison had demonstrated time and again the benefits of using quality tools to get quality results. Now Captain Wavesplitter would trust the task to no other.
Caison’s duties ended with the polishing of the bell, so he went below to gather his few personal belongings and stood on deck amidst the whirlwind of sailors preparing to dock the ship. Captain Wavesplitter maneuvered the East Wind alongside a wharf filled with merchant vessels. Surveying the city, Caison wondered at how much Corentyn differed from both Oppara and Absalom. The architectural styles and fortifications hinted at the common ancestry between this city and the others, but the differences were significant enough to make it feel foreign. Fortifications from battles long ago lay in disrepair, and newer, harder defenses adorned with spikes, severe edges, and obtuse angles in the Chelaxian style stood in their place. Looking at the cityscape one could almost see through the ages and watch the passage of generations. Caison realized that he was one small man in a very large world—and he was far from home.
“Well boy, you’ve made it,” said Second Mate Redspar, a gray-haired dwarf. Caison did his best to ignore the Second’s addressing him as ‘boy.’ “I’d say you’ve earned your passage. We’d love to keep you on, but you seem driven toward your purpose. Remember what I said about this place and don’t break the law. You’ll end up regretting it for years to come.” The dwarf exposed the nasty brand on his forearm as he had the first time he regaled Caison with the tale of his run-in with the Hellknights. “Oh, and don’t forget, if you go to the Iron Anchor tavern in the Mercanto, drop my name. Eck is likely to give you the better of his drink.”
Once the gangplank had been secured, Caison wasted no time. He waved goodbye to the Captain and crew and hurried down to the dock. It was the first motionless floor he’d stood upon since leaving Diobel eight days prior. Though he rarely gave thought to the gods, he knelt and thanked Cayden for his arrival. Then he hurriedly walked down the pier, at the end of which stood a group of merchants and visitors who had similarly just arrived. They gathered in a semi-circle around a large board inscribed with an extensive list of regulations. A tall soldier, made taller by the crate upon which he stood, read the regulations at length in a droning monotone. It was obvious the soldier had read them hundreds of times, as his words oozed out of his mouth, and his sentences ran together nearly incomprehensibly.
“Weapons are to remain sheathed when within 15 feet of a town official or town guard. When entering the Noble Quarter one must submit to a search of his person unless bearing a writ from the Archheathen himself. Any persons transporting cargo to and from the docks must . . .” Caison did not even break stride as he passed beyond earshot.
Caison had no idea where to start his search. He didn’t even know how much time he had or exactly who he was looking for. Pak Threestone and Nadilia were both strong possibilities, but he had no idea if they were even in Corentyn. It was only on the slimmest of evidence and gut feeling that he was here himself.
He spent a good part of the day scrambling about the waterfront, exploring shops and inquiring about both Nadilia and Threestone. None of his searches turned up anything. Finally, with his stomach growling, Caison resigned himself to finding the Iron Anchor. Once in the Mercanto, he had no problem locating the tavern. The place bustled now that it was late afternoon. Many of the patrons were soldiers from the day watch, recently released for the day. Unlike so many of the taverns Caison had frequented in his life, the Anchor was well-kept and well-lit. Easily slipping through the crowd, he made directly for the richly fashioned and well-stocked bar.
“Keer Redspar of the East Wind recommended I come in for red wine and Ergosian cheese.”
The barkeep, who Caison assumed was Eck, smiled at the mention of the dwarf’s name. He spoke no words, but nodded his acknowledgement and disappeared into the back. When he returned he carried with him tray of bread and cheese and a large goblet full of red wine. Caison paid for the food and drink with the last of his coins. He doubted he’d find a table at which to sit, so he leaned on the bar and ate. The fare tasted every bit as wonderful as Redspar had told him.
The food, drink and warm atmosphere took his mind elsewhere. He thought about Amed and Jun whom he had left sleeping by the fire. Looking back, his actions had been foolish. His first mistake had been dropping his guard, allowing Nadilia to make off with their only clues. He’d compounded that by running off without the paladin and druid. Once Nadilia’s spell faded and released him from his paralysis, he’d charged off into the early morning darkness. His damaged pride had propelled him to rush out of the camp alone. That same pride had prevented him from returning to Absalom and admitting failure. Instead he’d run to Diobel and found a ship that would take him to Corentyn. He felt his choices dwindling with every turn he took. Now alone, hundreds of miles from the Absalom, he had no other choice but to press forward.
Caison finished the last of his wine. “Like Redspar, I will sing your praises far and wide.” Again, the barkeep only smiled and nodded in appreciation of the compliment. After a moment passed, Caison bluntly said, “I’m looking for a rare artifact.” The barkeep didn’t look up from his task of cleaning steins. He shook his head. Caison couldn’t determine if the gesture indicated that the man did not deal in such information, if he didn’t know about such things, or if he simply wasn’t talking until Caison handed over more coin.
“Listen I’ve traveled very far to get here in search of this item . . .” the barkeep interrupted his plea by pointing over to two men, each with thick whiskers and tanned, leathery skin. Sitting at a table crowded with dirty crockery and empty bottles, they contrasted sharply with the watchmen milling about the rest of the tavern. Amidst the crockery they played Five Finger Filet and, judging from their posture, had been drinking for quite some time. If they continued their game much longer, one of them would probably walk away short a finger. Caison noted that the watchmen were well aware of the two men and gave them a wide berth.
Caison nodded his thanks to Eck and made his way over to the table. He circled around the men, keeping his eyes on the game. Annoyed by the new arrival, they paused. One leaned back in his chair and considered Caison with bleary eyes. The other stuck the knife in the table and evenly divvied up the last dark liquor from a lone bottle into two glasses.
“I’m looking for a rare artifact,” Caison said bluntly. “I’ve been told you might know about such things.”
“He’s mistaken,” the reclining man said. “We’re just sailors ashore for the night.” He grabbed his glass and took a long drink. The second man’s body shuddered with a chuckle, then pulled the knife and restarted their game. Caison watched for a minute and considered his options.
The sudden, sharp sound of shattering glass grabbed his attention as well as the two men sitting in front of him. One off-duty soldier had slammed a large bottle over the head of another and a tussle ensued. After a good deal of shouting and a couple of broken tables, the other soldiers managed to end the fight and haul the two outside.
“I guess that’s a good reason to share a tavern with soldiers,” Caison said off-handedly. The two men pretended not to hear him. “Listen,” he started again. “It’s vitally important that I find this artifact. I’d be willing to buy a fresh bottle for the man who points me in the correct direction.”
That got their attention.
“Bottle first,” the first man said. His yellow-toothed grin pressed his round cheeks up into his eyes.
Caison turned without another word and made for the bar. When he returned, he dangled the bottle, refusing to set it down until they held up their end of the bargain.
“Samson’s Salvage,” said the second man, who had thus far remained silent.
“I’m not looking for junk,” Caison replied.
“There ain’t a single piece o’ junk at Samson’s,” the first man said.
“Where might I find Samson’s?”
Both men grinned even wider at the question, as if they shared some secret. For a moment, Caison thought it might cost him another bottle.
“East Drenches,” the second one relented.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” Caison nodded politely, set down the reward, and took his leave. On his way out, he stopped to speak to the tavern master. “Mr. Eck, would you be so kinds as to return this to those men after I leave?” In light of the fact that he was broke, Caison questioned the wisdom of relinquishing the coin purse he’d used to pay for the bottle, but he did it anyway.
About The Author
Open for editing
dibs for #1
Dibs for #2
I am down for #3