And Daddy had been furious about that, not because Captain Senallon was dead and his widow and children bereft, but because the cargo was lost and Doran of Shiphaven was out goods valued at some seventeen pounds of gold.
Sailing anywhere didn’t sound very appealing after all, Dumery decided as he swallowed the last stale mouthful of bread.
Maybe he should just wait and join the city guard, then.
One had to be sixteen to join the guard, of course, and Dumery’s family was sufficiently well-known that lying about his age probably wouldn’t work, at least not for long, so that would mean a four-year wait. And after that four years, it would mean living in the barracks under the city wall or over in Camptown, spending his time marching back and forth or standing guard at a gate somewhere or going up and down the streets collecting taxes for Lord Azrad. That was not really a very exciting life, when one actually sat down and thought about what was involved; it was no wonder that the guard got most of its recruits from failed apprentices, boys who had been kicked out by their masters for stealing or disobedience or incompetence, or whose masters had died before the apprenticeship was completed.
Of course, life in the guard could be exciting if there were a war or something, but Ethshar hadn’t been in a war for over two hundred years-not a real war, anyway. The Great War had ended back in 4996, or maybe 4998, or something-Dumery wasn’t really very good at history, particularly not remembering dates-and he wasn’t sure if there had been any little wars since then.
A war would be exciting but dangerous, too. And while Dumery didn’t think he was really all that bothered by danger-hecertainly didn’t consider himself a coward-he didn’t care to depend on the chance of something as dangerous as a war to make his life interesting.
No, not the guard, then.
What did that leave?
Well, there were ship chandlers, and ropemakers, and coopers, and sailmakers, and shipwrights, and shopkeepers of every sort, and none of them looked very appealing. Most of them involved a lot of standing around haggling with customers, and hauling dirty, heavy objects around, and they didn’t pay all that well, either.
The brothels in Shiphaven made plenty of money, and the gamblers and gamers, but Dumery didn’t think one got into those trades through apprenticeship. He really wasn’t very sure.
Being a gambler might be interesting-but it had its risks. What if you lost?
The gods of luck could be fickle, everyone knew that. And losing opponents could be hostile; Dumery had seen a sailor knifed over a stupid little game of three-bone once. The stake had only been about four silver pieces-Dumery had spent more than twice that in testing fees today.
The sailor had lived, and in fact his wound really wasn’t very serious at all, but any occupation where one ran a significant risk of being stabbed wasn’t quite what Dumery had in mind.
As for running a brothel-well, just now, at age twelve, he was embarrassed just thinking about it. And surely, one didn’t get into it through an apprenticeship.
He sighed, and gulped the last of his water.
He’d have to findsomething, but right now he couldn’t think of a single possibility.
Maybe he would do better in the morning.
He left the goblet by his bed for his mother to pick up, and went to sleep.
Chapter Five
When the sunlight poured through his window the next morning, thick as honey and warm as a purring cat, Dumery still hadn’t thought of any non-magical occupation he cared to pursue.
He told his mother that at breakfast. He couldn’t tell his father, because Doran had left early to make sure an outgoing ship caught the morning tide without leaving any of its cargo behind on the docks.
“You can do anything you like,” Faléa the Slender told her son as she poured herself tea.
Dumery started to contradict her. “Except wizardry,” she added hastily, cutting him off.
He glowered silently for a moment, then said, “But I don’t know what I like.”
Dessa snickered; Dumery glared at her, and she turned away, smirking.
“Look around, then,” Faléa said as she picked up her cup. “See what you can find.”
“Look where?” Dumery asked.
She lowered the cup and looked at him in mild exasperation.
“I’velooked all over Shiphaven,” he explained.
“Then look elsewhere,” she suggested. “It’s a big city. Why not go to the markets and look around?”
“The markets?” Dumery thought that over.
So did Faléa. She remembered, perhaps a little later than she should have, that Shiphaven Market was the recruiting center for all the crackpot adventurers and axe-grinding lunatics in Ethshar, and that the New Canal Street Market was the center of the local slave trade.
She didn’t particularly want her youngest son to run off on some foolhardy attempt to unseat a usurper in the Small Kingdoms, nor to sign up as an apprentice slaver. There was something distinctly unsavory about slavers-she had always had her suspicions of how they acquired and handled their merchandise, despite the official claims that the whole business was closely regulated by the city. As a merchant’s wife she knew how easy it was to bribe the overlord’s harbor watch, and she didn’t doubt it was just as easy to bribe other officials.
There was a certain romance to undertaking desperate adventures, and even to buying and selling slaves-just the sort of romance, unfortunately, that might well appeal to a twelve-year-old boy. Particularly to a twelve-year-old boy who had been interested in magic, rather than any safer and more sensible occupation. Faléa decided that it would probably be a good idea to distract Dumery before he investigated either of the markets in Shiphaven. If he once got it into his head to sign up for some half-witted expedition-well, Dumery could be incredibly stubborn.
“Why don’t you go down to Westgate Market,” she said, “and take a look at the people there, both the city folk and the customers who come in from beyond the gate. Maybe you’ll see something of interest.”
Dumery, who was familiar with the recruiters in Shiphaven Market and had been wondering whether that could really be what his mother had in mind, considered her suggestion.
There was a certain charm to the idea, certainly. He hadn’t been in Westgate in months, maybe years. He remembered it as being full of farmers smelling of manure, but surely there was more to it than that; he’d been a little kid when he went there before, not yet old enough to apprentice. He’d be looking at it with new eyes now.
“All right,” he said. “I will.” He served himself an immense portion of fried egg and stuffed it in his mouth.
His mother smiled at him, glad that she had successfully diverted her son from New Canal Street and Shiphaven Market, and not particularly concerned about what he would find in Westgate. She rarely went there herself, and then only to buy fresh produce when the courtyard garden wasn’t doing well, but it seemed like a wholesome enough place, where the boy wouldn’t get into any serious trouble. There were no slavers or recruiters there.
Dumery finished his breakfast, then went up to his room and pulled on his boots. He took a look out back, where his mother was feeding the chickens and chatting with one of their neighbors from the other side of the courtyard.
If he ever got as rich as his parents, Dumery thought, he’d hire servants or buy slaves and letthem feed the chickens. His mother seemed to enjoy little chores like that, but Dumery was quite sure thathe never would.