“Hello?”
That voice again, only distant now. Coarse and familiar but not so hollow. She pulled a breath, shut her eyes tight, and screamed number after number. It was between numbers that she heard it. A sound the vision had never once made. The sound of sand shifting under foot. It was the last sound she heard.
R
Rianaire
There was something about the cold season sun that galled Rianaire to no end. She did not hate it in general, but somehow Bais seemed to bring some mirror-like quality to every single object that the light touched. It was too early for her liking and she’d not eaten nearly as much as she would like when she was pulled from the bed by Síocháin. Her vague memory of leaving such an instruction was the only thing which saved the inn’s guests from irate screams.
Still, regret was always an option and had she known the docks would smell so differently in the morning than they had the night before she may have just opted to have Tola brought to her. It had been her understanding until this moment that cold was meant to dull such smells. Perhaps Casúr had an especially filthy way of handling such shipments. Or perhaps, more likely even, it was her own sour mood that made the smell so unbearable. If that was the case, there would simply be nothing for it. Rianaire had decided when the harsh cold of the morning brushed against her face that she would be in a terrible mood for the whole of the day. If not during her business, then at least she could take her frustrations out on Síocháin and Inney, who accompanied her dutifully. Neither had much to say, though for the moment Rianaire would forgive it.
They had barely entered the area of the boardwalk when Rianaire heard a voice she had hoped a few blocks detour would help avoid.
“Treorai!” She looked to see a fat face beaming at her as it trotted over. “Treorai, a beautiful morning is it not?”
The fishmonger trotted to a stop in front of her, his face sweaty and his apron wet from the morning’s work.
“A wonderful morning! The sun is so bright I feel I could simply burst!” Her head, if not her eyes.
“Yes. The Sisters have blessed us truly with a blue sky and a bounteous catch. How did you find them?”
The subject shift was abrupt and took Rianaire quite by surprise. “Them? Oh, the fish.”
“Yes, the finest in our shop for some time. My wife could hardly sleep.”
“Well, I am humbled, truly. And the fish were delicious. In fact, I should say I’ve never known better! The inn’s chef fried them just so in butter and the slightest hint of parsley. I dare say anything more would have spoiled them, such was their flavor.”
The man clasped his hands together, his eyes absolutely sparkling. “Oh, Treorai, I have not known such happiness in my life. That I could feed you and… and… oh. Thank you, Treorai for your kind words.” His mouth curled at the edge and his eyes welled with tears. “My wife… she will be so happy.”
“It was my pleasure, I assure you. Ah!” She pretended to remember, snapping her fingers. “I am in search of a man who oversees these docks. Tola.”
“Tola?” The man frowned and knit his brow. “That man… I hope that your business with him is more pleasant than mine, Treorai, I hope very much. He is too stern for this work! In the game of fish, there is always some room, you understand?”
“In all business, I should expect.”
“Yes, yes! I knew the Treorai would understand. He is simply not suited to such a subtle work, I think. Have you come to remove him?”
“I have only come to discuss some business with him.”
He nodded. “Yes. Business. The man there,” he pointed across to an elf with a full head of black hair and a patch over one of his eyes. There was a gathered crowd who trickled in and out as he spoke, coming and leaving in small groups. “He calls the numbers. Slip numbers, you see. Ought to know which Tola is at this time of morning.”
“My many thanks. For your knowledge and your fish.”
“No, I could not accept it. You have done us so well. So well.” He seemed to need to echo for his wife. “I will cherish these days until the Sisters take me.”
Rianaire nodded and the fishmonger went back to his work, screaming at a young boy who was carrying a crate away. She was happy to see the back of him and made her way for the elf in the eyepatch who was in the midst of delivering a speech to some gathered deck hands.
“… Tine’s Bounty is third up, slip sixteen. Don’t care who takes it, dried fruit and linens. Breaker’s Breach, on nine. She’s clear and needs movin’ down to the markets.” He spotted Rianaire as she moved to the edge of the boxes he stood on. “Treorai. I’d heard rumors. A million pardons, but I’ve to send these boys off.”
“As you were.”
“Drow ship due in afore lunch. No word on cargo, expect they’ll want seasoned hands. Fight among yourselves if ye want rights on tryin’ to polish their shiny arses for some coin. They pay well. Sturdy March on twelve’s been marked delinquent by Tola. Tryin’ to pass rotted cargo and lyin’ about two barrels of porter. Ever who scraps rot, gets half the porter. Now begone and get your coin.”
There was a clamor as the gathered dockmen shuffled off to find their work. The black-haired man hopped down from his boxes, slapping some papers against his hand as he turned to Rianaire.
“Aistrím. I…”
“You call the numbers, I’d heard.”
She
