The Exile and the Sorcerer (9 page)

“Good evening.” The man’s voice was a bass rumble.

“Good evening.”

“I’ve heard that you reckon you’re the strongest person in town.”

“I make no claims.”

“Then others do it for you.”

“I can’t help what people say.”

“That’s true.” He watched Tevi from under bushy eyebrows. “Well, there’s this game we play. It’s called arm wrestling—”

His sentence was cut off as Derag whooped and slammed his palms on the table. “You’ll slaughter him, Tevi.”

One of the man’s friends shouted back, “Three tin halves says she doesn’t.”

“You’re on.”

Tevi interrupted the betting. “I’m not going to fight you.”

“It’s just arm wrestling.”

“And that isn’t fighting?”

“Oh, no. It’s just a test of strength.”

Over the background commotion, it took the stranger and Joran some minutes to explain the rules. At last, Tevi understood what was involved. She studied the man. His arm would have served most people as a leg. She could not have joined the fingers of both hands around his biceps. In an assured manner, he rested his elbow on the table. Around the room, people stood on benches to get a better view.

“Are you on?” he asked.

She frowned. “It’s no contest.”

“You concede defeat?”

Joran nudged her. “Go on, Tevi.”

Tevi sighed. “All right.” She positioned her elbow on the table, stretching to grasp his hand. “Now I just push?”

The stranger nodded and started to apply pressure. Tevi considered her opponent thoughtfully. He really was very strong for a man; his bulk was evidently muscle rather than fat. Veins stood like rope on his arms and forehead. His breath came in raw, hissing gasps. Apart from this, the room was silent.

It was possibly the absence of sound from Tevi that finally alerted her opponent. His gaze shifted to her face. The man’s expression fell in disbelief as he realised she was not even exerting herself. Tevi shook her head slowly, and a smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. In a jerk, she cracked his hand down on the table and released her grip. The audience exploded in uproar.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Tevi asked, suddenly contrite that she had overdone the force.

The man held out his hand to examine his knuckles. The skin was unbroken but showing red. His expression was one of utter bewilderment. His friends muttered among themselves. For a moment, Tevi wondered if he would make trouble, but then he threw back his head and roared with laughter.

With a beaming smile, he pointed at her tankard and asked, “What do you want to drink?”

By the time she left the Silver Mermaid, it was far later than Tevi had intended, and as her feet stumbled on uneven cobbles, she realised she had drunk slightly more than was wise.

Night had fallen, and doors were locked and shuttered, but the narrow, rubbish-filled streets were not deserted. Surly individuals posed aggressively at intersections, faces lost in shadow. Drunken gangs of youths jostled in the torchlight, their voices erupting in shouts as they spotted friends or rivals. One fight broke out as Tevi passed, but no one attempted to waylay her.

Derag was right to say she was acquiring a name in Torhafn. She had been pleased about it—trouble left her alone. However, as that night’s challenge had shown, notoriety could also attract attention. So far, her reputation had not gone beyond the circle of quay and market, but if the gang bosses heard, there might well be attempts at recruitment or elimination. Worrying though it was, that danger could be dealt with when it happened. Right now, Tevi had to get safely back to her boat. She straightened her shoulders and walked purposefully through the darkened town.

The east wharf, with its houseboats, was one of the more depressing parts of a generally depressing town. The poverty, both material and spiritual, was sharply visible. Few of the boats were seaworthy. Many were little more than lashed-together rafts with flimsy shacks tacked precariously on top. The area swarmed with rats and other vermin, some of it two-legged. Rubbish floated in what little scum-covered water could be seen between the jostling boats. Everywhere were wide-eyed children, ragged and hungry.

The inhabitants formed a tightly knit community, spending the whole day in and out of one another’s boats. Tevi had given up trying to make sense of their family structure, deciding that it was either nonexistent or so complex as to be incomprehensible to the outsider.

Throughout the day, the air was filled with shouting. People seemed to need to conduct their lives at high volume to compensate for the other deficiencies. At night, Tevi would lie in her boat, listening to the sounds of cold water slopping against the hull, creaking timber and the dull knock of wood on wood as boats rolled together. The only human sounds would be a baby crying or the distant shrieking of domestic strife. She desperately wished she were somewhere else, but in Torhafn, she had a mooring and an income, for the summer at least. Perhaps autumn would be a good time to move on.

Tevi paused and looked back along the squalid, filthy street. There was little she would miss about the town. Eventually, she emerged from the smothering crush of houses onto the open dockside. The usual assortment of people was visible in the pools of light from oil-soaked torches. Guards patrolled the warehouses; vagrants curled in corners; and a few drunk sailors staggered by the whores trying to attract their attention. Farther down the quay, dockers were loading a ship, working into the night so the vessel could depart on the dawn tide.

Tevi passed a lamp that smoked and guttered in the offshore wind. She stood on the pockmarked flagstones and breathed in deeply. The rising moon reflected off bands of luminous surf. The sound of the waves was gentle, calming, and somehow honest.

Tevi resumed her march along the dock. She jumped over a coiled rope and rounded the last warehouse. Her boat was moored less than twenty yards along the quay, although it was hidden between the larger houseboats. For once, the east wharf was peaceful—enough for her to hear the desperate sobbing from the depths of a rubbish pile. The sound of crying was not uncommon. Tevi intended to give only the briefest glance in passing. She had no wish to be drawn into the petty feuds between the inhabitants of the houseboats.

The source of the noise was a child of ten or so, huddled between two broken crates, head sunk on knees. The image of pitiful misery brought Tevi to a halt. All Aigur’s advice told her to keep on walking, but her sense of caution was dulled by the beer.

She went over and knelt. “It’s not that bad, surely?”

A tear-streaked face was raised to hers. The first thing Tevi realised was that the boy was not from the boats. He was too clean and well dressed. He gulped for air, but “Lost” was all he said.

“And how did you get lost?” Tevi asked gently.

“Don’t know.” The downturn of his eyes suggested that this was not the entire truth.

Tevi sat back on her heels and considered the boy. The townsfolk were always ready to leap to the worst conclusions. Tevi could expect few thanks and even a charge of kidnapping if she were found with the child, yet her thoughts drew her back to the islands, where everyone was known and recognised. A stray boy would be quickly taken back to his family hall. Tears came to Tevi’s eyes as she wished she could be a child again—that somebody would come and take her home.

Tevi stared at the dark, menacing bulk of the town spread before her, full of locked doors and strangers. She took a deep breath and held out her hand, saying, “Come on. Let’s go and find your parents.”

*

All along the wharf, decayed jetties projected over the polluted waterway. These were joined by lashed-together catwalks that formed a web of pathways between the decrepit assortment of boats. The rough-cut planks were covered with a slippery film of algae that made them treacherous to walk on—doubly so by night.

After instructing the boy to wait on the dockside, Tevi sidled out along the rotten timbers. Her small boat was moored on the seaward side of the swaying mass, between two derelict river barges that each housed several families of dock workers. The jetty swayed beneath her feet as the larger boats were pulled by the surge of the waves, drawing tortured groans from the piles driven into the seabed. Tevi reached the point where her boat was tethered. The tide was ebbing, and her boat was rocking gently several feet below the level of the jetty. She gripped hold of the mooring rope in one hand, then swung over the edge and dropped into the open end of the hull.

The boat was now her home. The mast had been lowered, and a waterproof tarpaulin sheet was draped over it as a roof, protecting the rear two-thirds from the elements. There was just enough space to crawl under the canvas, but it was adequate for her needs, particularly when judged by the standards of her neighbours.

At the rear was a heap of blankets and spare clothes, under which Tevi hid her weapons. Her hand closed around the scabbard of her sword, but she hesitated. Aigur had given lurid warnings of the dangers one could find roaming Torhafn by night. Tempting though it was to take the sword, it would be better to avoid confrontation. A visible weapon might attract more attention than it deterred. The best defence lay in her coarse-spun clothes, soiled by work in the market. She hardly presented the appearance to attract the attention of the professional thief and should not need a weapon to deal with any amateur opportunist.

Other considerations came to mind. Tevi peered from under the tarpaulin. Through the piles of the jetty, she could see silhouettes moving against the night sky. In what little honour they showed, the residents of the wharf did not steal from one another, but Tevi placed no trust in this honesty. She suspected it was only because the boat people owned nothing worth stealing. Since she could not guard her boat by day, she avoided displaying the few valuables she possessed. Tevi returned the sword to its hiding place and took instead a long knife, which she slipped inside her jerkin, out of sight.

She rejoined the boy, and the pair of them walked back along the quay, leaving tightly packed houseboats behind. To their left, the black ocean stretched out into the night. The cold wind carried the sound of unseen waves crashing against the crumbling harbour wall. They passed two figures arguing in a doorway and another staring bleakly out to sea.

On the western wharf, there was a scrum of activity beside the berth of a seagoing merchant vessel. Relays of dockers were manhandling bales and crates into the ship’s hold. Another group stood nearby, awaiting fresh instructions while warming themselves around a fire and shouting humorous but impractical advice to their fellows. The flames snapped, sending a stream of sparks into the night sky. Hunched at one side, an old woman was stirring a large pot of stew. She was filthy, wrapped in layers of rags, but the smell of the food was tempting. Before going any farther, Tevi thought it might be wise to soak up the beer she had drunk.

Tevi stopped at the woman’s side. “Is the stew for sale?”

“It’s for the loaders...counts as part of their pay.” The old woman glanced at Tevi. Her voice dropped. “Why? Did you want to buy some?”

“That would be nice.”

“Well, as a favour, I can let you have a couple of portions for a tin half.”

“I don’t want you to get into trouble.”

“I made the stew. I can sell it, but don’t let everyone see. I don’t want the whole dockside bothering me.”

Tevi passed over the coin without comment. With the two bowls in her hands, she nonchalantly strolled to a spot behind a mound of cargo, obscured from the view of anyone aboard ship. Of course, the woman was planning on pocketing the money, and the term ‘whole dockside’ referred specifically to the work overseers, who would be angry if they knew—not because the woman was selling what was, technically, their employer’s property, but because they did not get their cut of the profit. It was the way things worked in Torhafn.

Tevi and the boy sat on an empty crate and sipped the hot stew, using crusts of stale bread as scoops. The stew was highly spiced—probably to disguise its contents. Despite this, the food was welcome, and its warmth offset the night’s chill. The boy’s spirits had improved, bolstered by the upturn in his fortune. His eyes fixed on Tevi.

“I know you. You’re the strong porter from the market who unloaded our wagons. My name’s Derrion, but everyone calls me Derry,” he said happily.

“And everyone calls me Tevi.”

“Is that your full name?”

“More or less.” Her birth name was something Tevi was happy to have left behind on Storenseg.

In the light of the fire, Tevi also recognised the boy, despite the dirt and the streaked lines of tears that now adorned his face. His parents had been wealthy foreign traders and, to judge from the extra payment, more generous than the local townsfolk. They might even be grateful for the return of their son.

“Do you have any idea where your mother and father might be?” Tevi asked.

“Probably at the inn.”

“Which inn? Can you remember its name?”

The boy considered the question gravely. “No.” After a moment’s thought, he added brightly, “There was a sign hanging outside, though.”

“What was on the sign?”

“It was a barrel.”