"Yea, you, sir," he said, ducking between the taller bodies in his way. "Help with the luggage? Best porters on the piers, right here." The boy's tapered, dirty face was as serious as that of any journeyman hawking his services.
Magiere let out a deep sigh as Leesil cast her a sidelong glance, something between a frown and a snicker. She scowled at him with a slight shake of her head.
Leesil rolled his eyes and looked down at the lad. "And what do you charge, sir, for your services?"
"We'll take you anywhere in the city," the boy answered, folding his arms firmly across his narrow chest, "for two copper pennies."
"What?" Magiere took a threatening step toward the boy, but he didn't budge. "That's a day's wage for the strongest dockworkers, not some runt. Leesil, no!"
Chap shoved his head between Magiere and Leesil to peer at the young newcomer. The boy remained standing firm, chin up. His attention passed briefly to the hound in casual appraisal before returning to his prospective customers.
"Nice mutt," he said.
A low growl rumbled from Chap. Leesil raised one eyebrow at the dog, shook his head, and turned back to the boy.
"Who's this we you keep mentioning?" he asked.
The dour little pier boy put two fingers to his pursed lips, and Leesil visibly cringed at the shrill whistle that followed.
Weaving varied paths from out of the crowd came four more boys in equal disarray. Two carried wooden poles and worn straps over their shoulders. They ganged themselves up around the first, and a fifth appeared directly from behind their leader.
This last member was barely half the spokesman's size, with cropped blond hair and a fat-cheeked face of freckles above his spindly little body. He gave Magiere a smile that scrunched his eyes almost closed. His two front teeth were missing.
"Leesil, I said no," Magiere repeated.
In answer, Leesil simply dropped his pack on the chest. "Give me the purse."
"I already gave you coins back on the ship."
"I… I don't have any copper. Just give me the purse."
Magiere hesitated. After everything she'd put up with in the last day and night, she had an insatiable urge to clout him upside the head, hangover or not. She pulled the coin pouch out and handed it over.
"What's your name?" Leesil asked of the leader as he fished in the purse.
"Vatz," the boy answered, and he hooked a thumb toward the freckled companion peering around his side. "This is Pint. And that'll be payment in advance."
Leesil pulled his fingers from the pouch and reached out to the boy. One copper penny fell into Vatz's open palm.
"That'll be a down payment," Leesil said, and with thumb and forefinger, he fanned out three more copper pennies like tiny cards. "The rest when services are complete. And I need guidance to a weaponsmith of a particular kind."
Vatz eyed Leesil, but his attention kept slipping to the three coins.
"Done," he said, tucking away his one penny, and he waved his crew forward.
They descended upon the luggage with many an "Excuse me" and "Step aside, ma'am," and Magiere found herself caught between backing out of their way and swatting them aside like pestering flies. Before she could decide, two boys lowered their poles to either trunk side while their counterparts slipped leather straps through the trunk's end handles, synching the trunk between the poles. All four boys positioned themselves at the poles' ends, ready to lift and haul the moment the word was given.
"So where to?" asked Vatz.
"Wait-Leesil…" Magiere grabbed her companion by the arm, pulling him aside. "What are you doing? Why do you need a smith?"
Leesil licked his lips and looked her straight in the eyes.
"I can't help you with a couple of stilettos, or…"-he took a breath and lowered his voice-"any of the other gear I'm accustomed to."
"Yes… your other gear," Magiere repeated quietly, but it wasn't the time or place for what she imagined would be a long tale best told in private. "Then we'll get you a sword, a short saber, or anything manageable."
Leesil shook his head. "I don't have time to learn a sword, and it doesn't fit my ways. I've something planned I think will work, but I need a weapon maker who's skilled and fast. Hopefully one with apprentices or journeymen to work on it all at once."
"We don't have that kind of money," Magiere insisted.
"I don't need money." He handed her back the pouch, minus the copper to pay their porters.
"Leesil-" Magiere began.
"I've some things I can barter with," he rebuked. "It'll all be perfectly aboveboard."
Magiere already imagined ways he might procure funding for the purchase, but she was too eager to get away from the throngs of people.
"Get it done and catch up to me before… Where are we going?"
Leesil turned about. "Vatz, we need an inn that's clean, cheap, out of the way, but fairly close to the castle grounds."
The boy didn't hesitate. "Easy enough. The Burdock. My boys know the way."
"And you're coming with me," Leesil added, then looked to Magiere. "I'll meet you in time, before we go to the council-promise." With that, he waved Vatz to follow and hurried off.
Alone amid the milling dock crowds, Magiere felt exposed. Whatever Leesil needed to arm himself for the coming days wasn't anything she could try to deny him. Hopefully it wouldn't end with some outraged smith pounding on their door with the city guard in tow. There was little left to do but get to the inn and wait for him.
The pier boys were ready but stood suppressing snickering laughter for some reason. She looked about for her own pack.
Out ahead was Pint, or what she could see of him, her pack hoisted up like a bearer. As he teetered blindly back and forth under its bulk, his head had disappeared in the sagging mass that dropped down to his shoulders.
"Give me that!" She snatched the pack off of him. "And get moving."
Pint wobbled as his burden suddenly vanished, and spun completely around before his short legs righted themselves. He grinned, all fat cheeks and scrunching eyes, and scurried off to lead the way.
"Four copper pennies," Magiere muttered, as she followed, "to be a nursemaid."
Leesil harbored doubts whether what he had planned could be accomplished in an absurdly short time. As he stood in the smith's outer timber stall, with Vatz leaning impatiently against the entry, he peered through the archways to the work area of the smithy. What he saw gave him hope.
Rear doors at the room's back were opened for light, but most illumination came from the glowing forges, casting the interior and its occupants in a sweltering glow. The place was big enough to house Miiska's own smithy in the forge room alone. A half dozen men and women worked forges and fire pits. Benches and tools and materials were spread everywhere, and the air was baked with the smell of metal and coal.
Leesil turned toward the back stalls. Through a door, he saw several more people at a table polishing, sharpening, and finishing spear-and arrowheads, swords, and other armaments. Vatz had more than adequately filled his request for a particular kind of weapon maker. Leesil fished in his shirt and withdrew a folded parchment and an old scarf wrapped around an object the length of his forearm.
Out of the workroom came a man who barely fit through the archway, a solid column of flesh with legs and arms like ship beams. Between smears of soot, sweat glistened across his skin. Even his long leather apron seemed to perspire.
"Master Balgavi at your service," the man pronounced with a heavy, rolling voice as he wiped his hands on an over-smudged rag. "What can I do you for today?"