“Agreed,” he said, “but not right now.” The giff gave a wan smile, proving he was mollified in some small way.
Teldin finished with his preparations and left the room, pausing outside long enough to be certain that Gomja did not try to follow. Satisfied that the giff was following his instructions, Teldin left the inn and headed for the waterfront. He warily watched along the way for any sign of Vandoorm or his men.
Walking along the quays, Teldiri was amazed by the number and variety of ships. He could hardly tell that Palanthas had suffered through two wars in recent memory. Perversely, those wars, the War of the Lance and the Siege of Palanthas, which had threatened to destroy the city, only managed to bring greater prosperity. During the War of the Lance, the threat of blockade had forced the ruling lord to spend vast sums improving the harbor and its facilities. The second war, marked by Kitiara’s invasion, reinforced the need to maintain the port, and the Lord of Palanthas had paid greater attention to his harbor ever since.
Palanthas had been a large port before, but now it was even larger and busier. Coasters, fat, round-bottomed ships from Kalaman, Caergoth, and Eastport, were tied next to the tall and graceful elven caravels. The shimmering silken banners of the Silvamori ships were, in turn, a contrast to the gaudily decked little cogs from Hylo. That the kender ships, with their crazy patchwork of “borrowed” parts and endless streams of multicolored sails, could float at all seemed like something of a miracle to Teldin.
“How do I know where they sail?” the farmer asked himself. “Or when they sail?” There were so many ships bobbing against the wooden piers that Teldin did not have a notion of how or where to start. He leaned on a piling, elbows resting on top, chin cradled in his hands. During the war it seemed there had never been enough ships coming to Palanthas. The threat of siege had hung over the city. Now there were too many. The port was alive with strange vessels and stranger crews.
“Well, my boy, find a gnomish ship,” Teldin finally resolved. He began walking up and down the quay. He had no idea what kind of ship gnomes would use, but he guessed it would be little. They were not a tall people, so it stood to reason that they would not have a big ship.
Teldin walked the length of the marina without any luck. There were small ships, particularly kender vessels, but they looked distinctly unseaworthy. Teldin didn’t care if those ships were going to Sancrist. He wasn’t about to sail on one of them. Finally he gave up and called to one of the porters hauling a bundle aboard a salt-stained galley. “Where can I find a ship to Sancrist?” Teldin shouted over the noise of the laborers.
The sweating worker stopped and let his load crash onto the dock. “The Hall of Merchants, where else, ye big lubber!” the man said, pointing toward a large, white marble hall at the far end of the waterfront. “All ships in port register there.” Before Teldin could thank him, the man heaved the bale onto his shoulder and turned away. The farmer ignored the man’s attitude, picked his way through the wagons waiting to be laden, and headed to where the man had indicated.
The Hall of Merchants was a guildhall, the headquarters of the masters who controlled trade in and out of the city. Teldin’s greeting at the hail was barely more courteous than the porter’s. The yeoman felt distinctly out of place and spent the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon being passed from one apprentice clerk to another. Finally, just before Teldin’s patience gave out, a thin-nosed scribe looked over the top of his dog-eared register and said in answer to Teldin’s inquiry, “I think there is one going for Sancrist tomorrow. Let me see- the Silver Spray, it is.”
“That’s just fine,” Teidin exclaimed with a sigh of relief. “Where can I find it?”
The clerk peered from under his visor to look skeptically at Teldin. “The Silver Spray is an elven ship. I don’t think they will take passengers-at least not you. You are- human.”
“Tell me where to find it,” Teldin demanded. He was in no mood for lectures by an apprentice money-counter.
“Her, not it,” the clerk corrected, tsking under his breath. “The big pier at the end of the main avenue.” He consulted the register before him. “She flies a banner of a silver wave on a field of green.” The apprentice held his hand out, expecting payment for his minor service.
Teldin ignored the man’s greed. Even if he could afford to leave the clerk a gift, he was in no mood to be generous. Without a thanks, he turned and left. Behind him the clerk slammed the register shut, punctuating it with a loud huff that echoed through the marbled hall.
Out on the wharf, the day’s activity was slowly winding down. The tide was out, revealing slimy, green muck on the pilings. Porters, sweating miserably in the hot weather, stowed the last of their cargoes while a few seamen finished odd jobs on board, such as patching sails, splicing hawsers, or tightening rigging. Here and there small dories bobbed alongside larger vessels as men inspected and scraped hulls. Most of the ships were lightly manned, the crews ashore for one last night of revelry.
The clerk’s directions were good and Teldin had little trouble finding the Silver Spray’s pier. He walked down the dock slowly, studying the flags that hung limply from the masts. About halfway down he found the vessel he sought. The green banner fluttered weakly in a passing breeze, showing the arching silver wave that was its owner’s coat of arms.
The Silver Spray seemed aptly named. The ship was a caravel of carefully balanced proportions. Although broad of beam, the ship’s width was offset by the length of her keel. The arching prow and the intricately carved sterncastIe lent an image of grace. More surprising was the hull’s color. The vessels around the Silver Spray with their brown and black hulls, looked dour and sluggish compared with the gleaming bright, silvery ash wood used for the Silver Spray’s planking. The ship’s fittings were polished to red-gold, brass, and silver highlights. The figurehead, a cresting wave, was freshly painted blue and white. The three masts’ sheets were ready for tomorrow’s sailing.
Even Teldin, a landlubber, felt a sense of awe rising in him as he looked upon the ship. He wondered if he really could get passage aboard such a fine vessel. Biting back his feeling of intimidation, the human strode up the gangplank. A lone sailor’s figure sat on the deck, its back to Teldin.
“Excuse me. I have heard your ship is sailing to Sancrist,” Teldin hailed in his best manner. He stood on the gangplank, uncertain whether to go any farther.
The sailor casually turned about, until she could see Teldin over her shoulder. He tried not to gape but hardly had expected a woman to respond to his call, much less an elven maiden. Long, fine, ashen hair fell over one eye. The other, finely shaped and pale gold, scrutinized Teldin. “You’re a human,” she finally commented in the Common tongue. Then, in a burst of nimble grace, the elf leaped about and to her feet, as if to show that she could do it. She moved lightly, barely making a noise while strolling across the deck to where Teldin stood.
The elf was small and thin, her legs long, her waist narrow in a delicate balance of height and slimness, much like the few other elves Teldin had seen. The elf s straight silvery hair hung loosely over her shoulders, covering the distinctive sharp-tipped ears of her kind. If she was a sailor, her skin was bizarrely pale, almost translucent. The lips, nose, chin-all her features except her eyes-were thin. The simple leather and linen clothes she wore barely disguised her femininity. That in itself was a major contrast to the other sailors Teldin had seen.