The red-coat smiled grimly. “Very well. I shall require your marks on this paper, and you must report to a council officer before sundown tomorrow. Failure to do so shall be taken as admission that your stated identities are false, and the Blackboots shall be alerted.”
“Thank you, Errollyn,” Alythia said graciously as they walked down the pier. “If we’d left it to Sasha, I’m sure we’d have all spent the night in a Tracato dungeon, at best.”
Sasha let them talk, stalking angrily ahead. The decking felt as though it were still heaving beneath her, and it was a curious sensation indeed to take long strides and be certain that the boards were, in fact, not moving. The pier was wide: two horse-and-carts could easily have passed, making it possible to unload two large vessels simultaneously.
Fronting the docks were mostly warehouses, grim and silent, and guarded by militia men who Sasha guessed might be hired swords. There was little of the life and bustle of the Petrodor Dockside, and the water smelt foul as it lapped against the retaining wall. A sheltered harbour, Sasha realised, with no ocean currents to disperse the city’s wastes.
Tracato Dockside was far more orderly than Petrodor’s. The stone facades of taverns and dwellings presented a friendly face to the sea, alive with the light of lanterns.
Ahead, Councilman Dhael had walked to the forecourt of a tavern, where men waited with horses tethered to carriages to take folk up the incline. Sasha was in half a mood to walk, to stretch her legs and to see Tracato up close. But Alythia would assuredly dislike the notion, to say nothing of Kessligh’s leg, so Sasha headed toward the carriages.
There were four of them, their drivers standing around a forecourt fountain, sharing drinks and laughing. And now, stepping about the carriages, were men in wide hats, matching dark tunic and pants, and tall black boots. Those men were looking at her. And now, they were coming toward her, swords swinging at their hips.
Sasha kept walking, counting ten Blackboots in all. They were spreading out now, across her path. Heart thumping in anticipation of trouble, Sasha found herself paying more attention to the dockfront windows behind the men than the men themselves. A Petrodor reflex that was, searching for archers-always her greatest concern. Swordsmen she could handle. Perhaps not ten, but maybe.
“Sashandra Lenayin!” announced the leader.
“Aye,” said Sasha, with as much unconcern as she could muster. “Who blocks my way?”
“We are the Blackboots of Tracato!” he said in Torovan.
“I can see that.” She stopped. A city militia, by the coin of the Council of Rhodaan, the Blackboots kept the peace, it was said. And given that the Council was largely under the control of the feudalists these days, it was also said the Blackboots were bought and paid for by the noble families of Tracato.
“We have orders that you are to be detained.”
She was not particularly surprised. There had been enough Tracatans in Petrodor of late, many of whom she’d talked to. It was common knowledge that she and Kessligh were headed this way. No surprise that someone here found the fact disquieting. But she did not like how it developed on this quiet, nighttime dock, with only a few witnesses who could be arrested, paid off or murdered.
She drew her sword. “By whose authority?”
Swords came out in reply. “The Council of Rhodaan,” said the lieutenant, stony faced. Sasha looked beyond him to Councilman Dhael, now boarding his carriage. Dhael looked her way. He saw, but did nothing. He was an elected member of the Council of Rhodaan. Had he known?
Dhael’s carriage rattled off.
“Now lads,” came Kessligh’s voice from Sasha’s back, “your seniors have done you a grave disservice in sending only ten of you.” He came closer, yet Sasha could not hear his staff tapping on the paving. That meant he’d drawn his blade, as no doubt had Errollyn. “I am Kessligh Cronenverdt, and this is Errollyn. If you know our identities, then you’ll know that ten to three are odds greatly in our favour.”
“You have no authority to defy the order of the Council of Rhodaan,” said the lieutenant. “Besides which, you may wish to reconsider the odds.”
More Blackboots were emerging from the tavern. Some were putting their hats on, others adjusting their sword belts. They’d been drinking, clearly, and caught off guard.
“Twenty to three?” Errollyn said in Lenay at Sasha’s side, testing the weight of his blade.
“You can have the seven on the left,” said Sasha.
“Oh, generous.”
“Oh look, you pack of imbeciles,” said Alythia, striding to stand between the groups. “Seriously, why must everyone always draw swords at the slightest provocation?” She drew herself up to her full height before the lieutenant, chin up and chest out. The lieutenant’s eyes dropped, predictably. Sasha nearly laughed.
“Fear not, my friends,” she said in Lenay, “my sister’s breasts may save us yet.”
Alythia threw Sasha a nasty look. “Lieutenant,” she said, “I am Princess Alythia Lenayin.”
“Princess,” said the lieutenant.
“Yes, Princess! Wedded to Gregan Halmady, and widowed in the War of the King. I have come to Tracato to meet with the Lady Renine, and her son, the young Lord Alfriedo. They shall be expecting me.”
The lieutenant looked wary. Not a bad ploy at all, Sasha reconsidered. The Renines were the highest rank of nobility in Tracato, direct descendants of the last Rhodaani king. Some Rhodaani feudalists, pursuing the distant dream of a restoration of royal power, called Alfriedo “The Young King.” And now, come treating upon their doorstep, was a princess.
“One of these days,” said Errollyn in Lenay, “you shall stop underestimating your sister.” Alythia might have heard him, for she seemed to stand a little taller.
The lieutenant conferred with his men. There was hand waving, and some agitation. Alythia threw Sasha a superior look.
“Don’t get smug yet,” Sasha told her in Lenay, “there’s still twenty of them.”
“And vastly less dangerous, without a blade being swung,” Alythia said. “When will you learn?”
Yells from across the dock interrupted the lieutenant’s arguments. Everyone looked as down a nearby road came running young men with no apparent uniform, save the swords across their backs. But not serrin. Nasi-Keth then. The lieutenant rolled his eyes in exasperation.
The Nasi-Keth came on with no small amount of hollering and whooping, like boys on their way to a mud fight. As they came closer, Sasha saw that many of them were just that-boys, or teenagers at least, sprinting now with the enthusiasm of those who feared they’d nearly missed an excitement.
“Kessligh Cronenverdt!” exclaimed the first to arrive. This was a man, not a boy, bald with a red goatee. His blue eyes shone with lively welcome. “I am Reynold Hein of the Tol’rhen, welcome to Tracato!”
He grasped Kessligh’s hand and shook, ignoring the drawn blade. Other young men skidded in, out of breath and happy.
“I’m sorry we didn’t get here sooner,” Reynold continued. “Our Ulenshaal predicted the winds and thought it a good chance your boat would arrive this evening, so we waited at the tavern up the road. Its owner is a good friend to Nasi-Keth; there’s not the same unsavoury characters that frequent some other taverns…” He threw a glance at the Blackboots. “But our Dockwatcher strolled off to talk to a pretty girl who works along the way…”
Catcalls and jeers came from the Nasi-Keth at an unfortunate young man who blushed red and looked at his feet.
“…and we nearly missed your arrival!”
“Step away from them!” barked the lieutenant, brandishing his sword. “They are to be detained by order of the Council of Rhodaan!”
The Nasi-Keth laughed, not even bothering to draw their own weapons. Several danced daringly close to the Blackboots, bare handed, making faces. The Blackboots seemed concerned all the same, weapons ready.
“Oh, don’t mind them,” said Reynold, “they can barely use those toys they’re holding. I daresay you three could take them all without a sweat, but it’s really better if we don’t have to kill any Blackboots tonight…”
An infuriated Blackboot lunged at one young man who came too close. The Nasi-Keth backed up, laughing and hooting. The Blackboot’s hat fell off in his lunge. In a flash a Nasi-Keth grabbed it and ran off with his prize, waving it in the air. Several others pursued, wanting to try it on.
“But I haven’t introduced myself to everyone,” said Reynold, moving on to Sasha. “You must be Sashandra Lenayin! An honour…and Princess Alythia!”
