“That I am,” he continued. “Tola’s been frettin’ your arrival, not that he’d admit it. Said he got a very terse note, an unsigned one, delivered by the Regent’s man all special. Said you’d come and talk to him, didn’t say why.”
Mion. Helpful to say the least. Though perhaps Tola was worried over complaints. Or that she had meant to come and adjust how he does his business. It was a situation that could be to her benefit if the man’s disposition was what Mion had said.
“I have indeed come to see him. I have something of an offer for work.”
Aistrím bellowed a deep, hearty laugh. “Sisters be good. He’s been near shitting himself thinking you’d come on some sinister business.” He let out an elated sigh. “Shame I won’t be there to see his face.”
A small group was milling nearby and caught Aistrím’s eye. He walked to them, motioning for Rianaire to follow. She did.
“Done?” He asked the group.
“Yessir. Empty on ten.”
“Good, good.” He began to write in his pad but before he could finish a girl came running up.
“Aistrím, we got problems on two.”
He sighed and tore the paper clear, handing it to the man at the front of the group. “There you go.” He turned to the girl, must’ve been fifty or so. Young, with silver hair tied in tight buns on the side of her head. “Now, what’s the problem on two?”
“Some captain… won’t submit to checks. Gettin’ real mouthy with Clois.”
“Where’s Tola?”
“Clois sent for him already.”
“Right.” Aistrím turned to Rianaire. “Sad to say it, this’ll be your best bet a holdin’ Tola in one place for more than a minute. Clois runs the top slips. One through four. This girl here…” He placed a hand on the girl’s head. “She’ll show you to Clois. Tola ought to be along shortly if he ain’t there already.”
“My thanks, Aistrím.”
“No need,” he said before turning to shout after some workers who were idling around.
“Then, we’re in your care.”
“Y… yes. Of… of course.” The girl was stiff, terrified. It never failed to make Rianaire’s heart sing to see young, comely girls and boys flustered by her presence.
Their earnest guide walked briskly, hopping at times and trying her best not to break into a run. It was clear she was not accustomed to moving about the docks at such a leisurely pace, though it was a fairly brisk walk just the same.
The slips were near where they had been and it was only a few moments’ walk before they could hear the voices of a pair of women arguing. The girl came to a stop and pointed to the two women.
“My thanks,” Rianaire said and smiled at the girl.
“No. No. Just my job, milady. Ma’am.” She nodded awkwardly and scurried off to join a group of dockhands who were watching the argument intensely.
The dress of the women laid the sides fairly plain between them. The taller of the two wore a dirtied roughspun shirt under a large leather apron. She was lean, muscled, and had large breasts. Her shaved head showed dark hair, and her face was angular with a strong nose. Clois, certainly. And not shy in raising her voice. The captain across from her was dressed with a thick blue velvet coat and tight black pants. The captain had a feminine face, well made up, and her hair was golden brown and came down past her shoulders. She was slim with not much for a chest.
Rianaire moved closer in hopes of Tola’s arrival and a chance to see him at his work.
“Look ‘ere, I got no time for pretty cunts playin’ at boats. You wanna drop boxes, you get ‘em inspected.”
“And why should I? Buíreatha has no such checks. If I’d have known Casúr was run entirely by slavering dogs, I wouldn’t have bothered.”
“Then drag your waif tits up to Buíreatha for all I care. We’re not so willing to let shite flood our docks as them.”
“Fires take you, daft cow. Look at the ship behind me. You think I’ve run a fluijt down this far for my health? The Bastion City’s closed, Buíreatha and Síoscuain are stuffed full of the overflow. I’ve eighty tons of good cargo, no interest in sailing through sheet ice to make my return trip, and you’ve brought ten gormless dockhands to, what? Sniff at each crate and see if they find the freshness to their liking? Ridiculous.”
“Ratty little wench, I’ll—”
“Clois!” A man had shouted the words as he pushed past.
Clois turned at the call. “Tola! About bloody fucking time.”
He was different than Rianaire had imagined. Thin, pale, and freckled with bright red hair and light eyes. His nose looked to have been broken more times than a few and his skin looked as though it was wrapped tight over the bones in his face. She could see wiry muscles through his neck and down his shoulders. Were it not for those, he’d have looked entirely out of place among the gathered workers.
“I’ve not come for your gratification, Clois. Be quick and explain the situation.”
“Another one sent down from Buíreatha. Refusing inspections.”
“I’m refusing to have my time wasted. The ice will set soon enough and I’ll not have my men freeze to death with bellies full of hardtack and salt pork.”
While the women continued their bickering Tola surveyed the ship behind the two. It was a wide boat, square, and had the name “Abhainn’s Gift” painted in silver along the bow. He looked the length of the ship. It was clean and well-kept so far as Rianaire could tell.
Tola looked to the captain. “What’s your qualm with inspections?”
“I haven’t the time to watch ten men grope at my cargo. I’m willing
