"Good point. There are a few. Poultry to Myl, wine to Nakros, silk, and a load of scented wax. Three large tapestries to a Lady Vera at Areus, one hundred bales of woolen yarn—"
"It would be hard to mistake any of that for a couple hundred weight of gold baps."
"Quite right, and I suspect our Leran friends were wise enough to stick their gold in where something heavy wouldn't attract any attention. Here are iron goods, tools, lumber—"
"That's not much help," said Alec. "After three years, how can we guess which one it was? It's impossible!"
"Probably." Walking to the window, Seregil gazed out over the darkening harbor, then sneezed again.
"Bilairy's Balls! No wonder we can't think straight! Pocket those papers, Alec. It's fresh air we need. We'll take a walk to clear our heads, then rinse our dusty gullets with a good deep mug of Cirna ale!"
Night fell quickly in the shadow of the cliffs, but a three-quarter moon lit their way as they meandered through the streets behind the docks. Lost in thought, Seregil was for once disinclined to talk, so they wandered on for nearly an hour in silence. At last they found themselves in an open square with a fine view of the harbor below.
The great signal fires atop the Canal pillars were blazing, and their reflections mixed glints of ruddy light with the pure sparkle of the moonlight like a giant's handful of silver and red gold cast across the dark face of the sea.
"That's the place we want," Seregil announced, steering Alec into a nearby alehouse.
The place was comfortably dim and crowded. Working their way across the smoky room, they settled in a corner with their mugs. Seregil read through the manifests again, then sat back with a frustrated sigh.
"This one has me flummoxed, Alec." Taking a long sip from his mug, he rolled it pensively between his palms. "Of course, we didn't really expect to turn up anything. But to have the damn things right in our hands and not be able to wring the truth out of them—It's worse than finding nothing at all!"
Alec leaned over the sheets. "You really think there's a clue in here, don't you?"
"I hate the thought of missing something if it is there."
Seregil took another disgruntled gulp, then sat staring into the mug's depleted depths as if waiting for some oracular answer to float to the surface. "Let's have one more look. No, better yet—you read them out to me."
"That'll take forever," Alec protested. "You know I'm terrible at it."
"That's all right, I think differently when I listen and it's better if you go slowly. Just read the «Outgoing» columns."
Tilting the parchments to catch the scant light of the nearby hearth, Alec bent dubiously to his task.
Seregil leaned back against the wall, eyes half closed. Aside from helping with a few troublesome words, he showed little sign of interest until Alec was in the midst of the fourth manifest.
Three cases parchment, ten crates tallow candles," was he read, ticking off each entry with a finger. was "Sixty-five sacks barley, forty casks cider, thirty coils two-inch rope, fifty iron chisels, two hundred wedges, three score mallets, two crates statuary marble, twenty rolls of leather—" Seregil's eyes flickered open. "That can't be right. You've wandered into the 'Goods Received" column."
"No I haven't." Alec pushed the manifest across to him. "Says right here, "Goods Out of Port" and below it "parchment, candles, barley—"
Seregil sat forward, squinting where he pointed. "Two-inch rope, chisels—" You're right, it does say marble. But this shipment is docketed for a mine on the Osiat coast." His voice sank to a low whisper. "No, a quarry! It's listed here as bound for the Ilendri pits."
"So?"
Laying a hand heavily on the boy's shoulder, Seregil raised a meaningful eyebrow. "So why would anyone pay to ship two heavy blocks of fine carving stone to a stone quarry?"
"Bilairy's Codpiece! That's it!"
"Perhaps, unless it really was marble in those crates, shipped back for some reason we have no way of determining. Still, it is suspicious."
"So where does that leave us?"
"At the moment?" Grinning, Seregil gathered up the manifests and rose to leave. "It leaves us in a cheap alehouse with six-to-a-bed accommodations upstairs. I believe we've earned a tidier hostel and a good
supper. Tomorrow we'll see what we can turn up at the docks."
"What about the quarry, that Ilendri pit? Shouldn't we go there?"
"As a last recourse, maybe, but it's a week's journey there and back, and it's certain they won't have the gold there now. I doubt they ever knew they had it. No, I suspect we can find our answers a good deal closer to home."
36 Trouble on the Highroad
They spent the next few days on the windswept quays, tracking down ships running the White Hart's old routes. Though they located several vessels, none of their inquiries resulted in much useful information. On their fourth day there, however, a stout little coaster with the unlikely name of Dragonfly wallowed into port with a load of stone.
Alec and Seregil lounged against a stack of crates as they watched the deckhands hoisting blocks of various sorts onto the quayside. Rough slabs of building stone were encased in heavy rope nets to prevent them from grinding against one another during the voyage. Finer, more fragile blocks were protected by wood and canvas framing.
"She must have stopped at several quarries on her run," murmured Seregil.
"Let's hope Ilendri was one of them," Alec whispered back.
Strolling up to the quay, they began looking over the various pieces as if considering a purchase. They were still dressed as gentlemen merchants and their respectable coats soon drew the interest of the Dragonfly's captain.
"Are you in the market for stone, sirs? I've got some lovely blocks today," he called from the rail.
"So I see," Seregil replied, smoothing his palm over a slab of glittering black granite.
"I'm looking for marble, statuary grade."
"You're in luck there, sir!" The man clumped down the gangway and led them over to a group of crates. "I've got a good selection today: pink, black, grey, and a lovely white pure as a dove's breast. Let's see now, where was that Corvinar piece? That's an especially good one."
Consulting various emblems branded into the sides of the crates, he pried up lids here and there. "Here's a fine black, sir, and some of the white. Did you have something special in mind?"
"Well," Seregil drawled, peering down into a crate, "I don't know a lot about it, to tell you the truth, but I've heard that Ilendri marble is particularly fine."
"That may have been true in your father's day, sir, but precious little comes out of there now," the captain told him with a hint of condescension. "The Ilendri's mostly played out, though they do still cut some smaller blocks. I've a few pieces back here, as it happens, but I think you'd be better pleased with this other."
"Perhaps," said Seregil, cupping his chin in one hand, "but I'd like to see the Ilendri-if it's not too much trouble."
"Suit yourself." The captain hunted through the crates until he found a small box half hidden behind several others. Opening it, he showed them a small block of greyish marble shot through with rusty streaks.
"As you can see, the grade's inferior."
"The quarry's owned by Lord Tomas, isn't it?" Seregil asked ingenuously, inspecting the stone with apparent interest.
"No, sir, an old fellow by the name of Emmer. He and his nephews make a small living out of it, cutting blocks like this. It goes mostly for road markers and such like."
It was a small crate and Alec had to step around the captain to get a look inside. Doing so, he saw for the first time the emblems burned into the side of it; one of them was very familiar—a small, curled lizard.
"What do these stand for?" he asked, trying to mask his sudden excitement.