The town sat at the bottom of a sixty-foot cliff, and a crazy collection of ramps, ladders, and walkways connected the town to the cliff top. Anybody who wanted to attack Fat Shallows from the cliffside would find it a harrowing proposition, since three men at the bottom with mallets could collapse the whole structure in one minute. For raising and lowering cargo along the cliff, the townsfolk had constructed a winch.
Fat Shallows was not impregnable, not by a long sight. But wiping it out would be arduous, and its activities were more annoying than destructive. Year after year, rumor said the Empire would bring Fat Shallows to justice soon, but the Empress always found better and less bothersome things to do with her ships and soldiers.
No person could bring horses or livestock down the cliff unless they were herding courageous goats. Some foresighted individual had built a large stable atop the cliff. As we rode close, an older boy with long brown hair bounded out into the yard. He examined us from behind the rail fence, smiling and rubbing horse shit off his cheek. “Hallo, you look as if you might be hurrying. I’m Sammit. You boarding or selling?”
“We should sell. We might return another way,” Halla said to me.
“Hell, we might not return at all.” I dismounted. “Let’s deal, young man, and I warn you I’ve traded horses for over twenty years. I have seen every twitch and swindle you might possibly know.”
“I’m honest, sir. Straight as a thorn. I can afford to be, sir, since you don’t see nobody else along this cliff buying horses, do you?”
“I grant that,” I said. “Make me an offer.”
“Wait,” Halla said. “You help the girl. I will do this.”
I didn’t want to start a three-hour argument with Halla over who the best trader was, so Pil and I strode a hundred paces from the stable, where I repaired her face. It was delicate work, and I took my time. Then Pil, my aching face, and I marched back to see how well Halla had served us in the trade.
We found Sammit holding back tears. Halla had bargained him to ninety-three silver coins, an amethyst ring, two good knives, an ivory carving of a horse, four bottles of wine, a new belt for Whistler, and a box of warm pies.
Halla pointed at the boy. “Remember, do not sell these horses for a month. We might want to buy them back.”
Sammit nodded, his eyes damp and glazed.
“Damn it!” I shouted at Halla. “It’s not like you’re trading with Krak to knock down a city! Don’t pauperize the boy!” I gave Sammit back half the coins, the wine, and the carving. Halla showed no contrition.
I made Whistler carry the box of pies down the cliff.
Three ships lay anchored in the harbor, smallish and handy. Although the Empire wouldn’t so much as lean over to squash Fat Shallows, it hated to lose even a scrap of customs money. Empire captains loved to run down smugglers, behead them right there at sea, and bring nice presents home to their wives, sweethearts, and favorite whores. Any smuggler who survived long would be a competent individual.
As far as nautical supplies were concerned, the lanes of Fat Shallows were tidy. The residents had stowed cordage, spars, nets, and bundles of sailcloth around town in a fine and tight fashion. Everything else lay more or less where somebody had dropped it. A couple of dogs dug through piles of trash on the street. The grimy scent of pitch mingled with the reek of rotting fish. A few men wandered with no evident tasks, and four fellows appeared to be halfway done building a long boat. I saw no women at all.
The day had turned gray and blustery, but no rain had fallen. I found a barrel standing on end against the long, weathered warehouse right in the middle of town, and I hopped up onto it. “Halla, you handle our passage since you’re so goddamn much better at trading than me.”
She watched me, as if I might say something else. Instead, I drew my sword and lay it across my legs before pulling out the gold lump to carve off some bits. I gathered two onlookers before I’d even scraped off a sliver.
Halla stared at the ground and sighed before trudging off toward the inn. Bea and Pil trotted behind her. Whistler leaned against a weathered shack not far from me.
More than a dozen toughs and sailing men had gathered by the time I finished and stowed all the gold back in my pouch. “I think I’ll take a quiet, meditative walk down the beach before supper,” I announced, as if the men were an audience I should entertain. I sheathed my sword and ambled down a scarred, wooden ramp to the black sand beach.
I strolled a quarter mile down the shore, ready to kill however many men decided to murder and rob me. But not one of those thugs and smugglers followed me onto the beach. They did watch me as earnestly as if gold might start pouring out of my ears, though.
I walked back to town and ignored those gawking men of unexpected virtue. When I stepped between two shacks, four of their friends jumped out to steal my gold and probably kill me.
They lacked any real fighting skills and must have expected to overwhelm me. I killed two, knocked down another, and bashed the fourth on the back of the skull. Then I jumped back several steps lest the temptation to kill the survivors prove too enticing. The two still alive lay motionless anyway, eyes on my sword and mouths slack.
I smiled at them. “You surely are enterprising fellows.” I scrutinized them and cocked my head. “Are you twins?”
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