Chapter 68 - The Farm in Irttat
Chapter 68: The Ship of Exile 02
The whistle cut through the thin morning mist.
Around the cobblestone docks of Pharos, scattered vessels drifted in and out of the mist.
The mist had not yet cleared. The city was only just beginning to stir. Pedestrians on the streets were still sparse, but the docks had already grown busy early. Cargo workers came and went, making the most of the morning hours to earn one more meal for their families.
Not far from the docks, rows of bakeries and taverns had awnings, small wooden tables, and tidy wooden porches, all with doors still shut and glass cases in the windows displaying fragrant, soft loaves.
Though the cargo workers passed these shops every day, most doors did not open for them, only for respectable travelers arriving by boat.
On one side of the door and the other, two different worlds.
Countless tributaries converged here, just as countless people's clearly separated lives briefly crossed and overlapped in this one place, giving it the appearance of great vitality.
The small vessel "Ginger-Flower" docked at the Pharos waterside.
A sailor standing on deck in the still somewhat biting morning breeze called out to the cargo team leader at the dock: "Hey, Lida!"
The cargo team leader turned her head a moment later, wiping sweat, and broke into a grin at the sight of the familiar Ginger-Flower: "Meg! It's been ages."
The Ginger-Flower had been running between Pharos and Tirol for years, and the crew who were on board year-round had made a few familiar friends at the Pharos docks.
They would unload the cargo, meet up with sisters they hadn't seen in a long while, and share a drink at a tavern. On a good day, a few discounted tickets or loading deals might fall from the sky.
When most of the passengers had disembarked, a flock of sheep came baa-ing down the gangway in a line.
One cargo worker's bag hit the ground with a thump.
She turned aside slightly, in a somewhat dazed manner, to make way for the sheep — even in her astonishment, some remnant of professional instinct reminded her to clear a path for those disembarking.
After all, in this day and age, if you could afford to travel by boat, you were generally someone not to be trifled with.
And so the lambs made their leisurely, unhindered circuit of the docks.
The docks were a mixed crowd, but the group still drew their share of curious glances.
The oddly dressed travelers herding sheep looked as though they were from a foreign country. Not like rural farmers or shepherds, yet clearly traveling with livestock. Perhaps raising sheep was some peculiar custom from wherever they came from. That was the best the cargo workers, most of whom had rarely left the city and had limited literacy, could piece together.
The merchants, more widely traveled, still couldn't make heads or tails of them: to say they were nobles, yet they had no servants; to say they were from middle-class, yet they had sheep; to say they were poor farmers, yet they had the manner as if the whole world was their own.
They bought their transfer ticket at the counter, then sat under the awning outside a bakery by the waterside waiting until noon — the bakery did not permit sheep inside.
When the midday sun was at its strongest, the cargo workers took their brief break.
Able at last to set down the loads on their shoulders, they sat in twos and threes in any shaded spot they could find.
Youth selling black bread and coarse salt pies came to the docks with bamboo baskets on their backs, to meet the day's largest trading opportunity.
These children’s bread and fermented flatbreads were made at home, brick-hard when knocked, not particularly pleasant to eat, but made with honest ingredients, and slightly cheaper even than the modest bakeries near the docks.
A fair number of the poorer cargo workers chose their food for the small saving in price, though more ended up at the taverns specifically catering to dock workers, where the food was more satisfying.
The cargo workers surged forward, and the bread baskets were swept clean in short order.
The young sellers collected their meager copper coins; the workers received cheap but filling food. Both sides had what they needed.
People came and went. Then, all at once, someone shouted: "Inspector's coming!"
The call dropped into the noisy crowd like oil into a fire, spattering in every direction.
The children scattered instantly, abandoning uncollected coppers as they grabbed their baskets and ran.
For a moment it was chaos. A few bright coppers fell onto the dry dock earth, raising little puffs of dust, only to be picked up casually by passing cargo workers.
One girl, rather skinny, hadn't gotten very far before she was cornered by the inspector who had come running at the alarm.
A frightened look crossed her face. She didn’t dare wipe her sweat. Trembling, she fumbled in her pocket for a few copper coins and a crumpled wad of paper notes, holding them out: “Officer… this is everything I earned today.”
These paper notes were a currency issued not long after the new ruler took the throne, with denominations down to the sou: ten sou to one copper coin.
This had brought convenience to small transactions between the poor where copper was too large a unit, and the unofficial trading methods people had improvised were quickly brought into a unified standard using these notes.
Unfortunately, their adoption among the middle classes and above had been far from smooth.
Royal authority had waned, and the new currency's reach was not enough to win over the great nobility with any conviction. Using old metal coinage was still considered the mark of respectability.
The inspector took the notes and counted them, put on an expression of barely-concealed displeasure, and was just about to say something when her face went oddly still.
A pause. She waved her hand and said in a flat voice: "You can go."
The girl looked up, not understanding. But her reflexes were quick enough. She gave a hurried bow and bolted.
Only when the girl had run completely out of sight did the inspector rub her neck and look faintly puzzled.
In an unobserved corner of the street, the girl stopped to catch her breath, reached into her pocket, and counted out three remaining copper coins.
Strange. The officer today hadn’t pushed it. Hadn’t searched her at all.
She closed her fingers around the coins. A smile spread across her face before she could stop it, and she quickened her pace.
Lucita withdrew her gaze and leaned back slightly against the chair beneath the awning.
She had intended to return the confiscated coins directly, but that would have startled the child. So she had simply let her go.
Linnea, who had been about to leap to her feet in indignation, settled back down, blinked at Lucita, and gave a look that said “I understand everything”.
Lucita touched her hair and smiled gently.
She watched Linnea pick up her roasted beet from the table again. Then she turned to an elderly lady sitting at the next table: "Excuse me. Do you know what an inspector is?"
The woman had hair that was already half-white, wearing a neatly buttoned overcoat, round reading spectacles, a silver-handled cane leaning against her chair, the silver pieces catching the filtered sunlight in a soft sheen.
She was slowly cutting a portion of cooked meat on her plate.
At the question, she looked up: "An inspector? Ah."
Unhurriedly, she glanced over at the busy dock, then returned to cutting her meat. "Which kind of 'inspector' do you mean? The sort hired by cheap bakeries, the sort working under dock management, or the self-appointed sort who wander around making up their own authority?"
Lucita had no answer to that.
The old woman gave them all a measured look and raised an eyebrow: "First time away from home?"
Lucita nodded. "Yes."
"Young people always find the world full of questions." The old woman said. "When I was sixteen, I too left home out of curiosity, and spent ten years traveling the continent."
She seemed to warm to the subject: "You must be wondering, with steam trains and steamboats, you can get from one end of the continent to the other in half a month. Why would it take me ten whole years?"
Linnea leaned out from behind Lucita: "Yes, why?"
Delphine's spirit form was cross-legged on the tabletop. Violet was also looking over with interest.
Despite the elf queen's age being many times this woman's, there was still much she didn't know about a world she had not been part of.
"Because in those days there were no steam trains."
She gave an answer no one had expected, and laughed at the slightly blank expressions on their faces: "I'm teasing you."
"Because I also had too many questions all the time. They kept making me stop."
"What is an inspector?" She took a sip of her lukewarm tea. "What is the Crimson Briar? What are elf gemstones? Where does the Fool's Ship sail? And where is the Tower of Ravens?"
“This world is like the famous Frocat Castle in the heart of Viktori. Built of wood a hundred years ago. Magnificent and grand from a distance, but walk close and you find it riddled with wormholes. Touch it, and it falls over.”
At the mention of elf gemstones, a cold light flickered through Violet’s eyes, then vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
"Though... in the end you find you can't change any of it. Young people always overestimate the influence they have on the world. Like me. In the end, I'm only sitting here drinking afternoon tea, amusing myself by teasing young people like you who are just setting out."
The old woman set down her teacup. The stirring spoon tapped against the rim, one clear, clean note.
When she turned to meet Lucita’s eyes, her cobalt-blue gaze, like deep-set gemstones, carried a dense, settled mist, like frost on a windowpane before dawn on the coldest winter morning.
"You look very disappointed in this world," Lucita observed.
“And you still hold quite considerable expectations of it. For young people like you, that goes without saying.”
"Not particularly." Lucita thought about it. "We're just going out to travel."
"And anything beyond that?"
"Being a good audience will do."
"I really don't know whether to call you clear-headed or numb."
"Perhaps I'm just simple-minded."
"Oh, child." The old woman gave a helpless laugh. "All right. Perhaps I truly am old, and I’ve lost the ability to follow the thinking of this generation."
"Thank you for the advice, anyway." Lucita bowed slightly.
"Every adult has that obligation to the young."
The old woman said nothing more. She rose, paid her bill, took up her cane, and walked slowly away.
Pharos's local specialties were baked milk skin and sugar-glazed kavessa.
Baked milk skin was an affordable treat that even dock workers and box-factory workers could indulge in occasionally, available at any bakery near the docks. The fermented and baked milk skin had a faint cream-yellow color, a wrinkled surface, and a rich dairy fragrance.
Sugar-glazed kavessa was a cooked meat patty made from minced lamb and beef, mixed with chopped onion and dill, then drenched in freshly made, precious maple syrup. Best eaten hot, unsuitable for takeaway or the next day, it was a frequent guest at the tables of respectable merchants and council families.
Linnea fell in love with the kavessa immediately, so Violet told her to go and pack up a few servings of the specialty food from what looked like the cleanest restaurant at the dockside, quietly storing them in the space — with a storage space, there was no need to worry about the maple syrup going cold.
Linnea came trotting out of the restaurant with a bag packed full, and at the same moment the "White Stork" they had been waiting for arrived.
"White Stork" plied the Gloire River.
The Gloire was the longest river in Kenting, rising in the south, with half of Viktori situated along its banks. It was the most common waterway from every direction into the capital.
Steamboat arrival times in this era were not very precise. When buying a ticket, the most you could know was that "White Stork" would be arriving some time this afternoon, not the exact hour.
Fortunately, they didn't have to wait too long.
By now the sunlight had softened, and the people walking on the docks cast clear shadows behind them.
Many years later, cargo team leader Lida found it difficult to forget that day. In a world turned gold with afternoon light, that group came walking toward the river, into the light, and boarded the vessel bound for the Gloire.
And, of course, that distinctive flock of sheep.
It was the beginning of a new era.
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