He didn’t fool her. He had been watching, but as she settled in her hammock and closed her eyes, a question came to her. How did she know he watched? Was it instinct or some mage power she knew nothing about?
But that was the root of her problems. She didn’t know what she should know, and what she didn’t. As a young girl, she should be aware certain things, but as a sorceress, there were other lessons she needed. And then there were the things that only a mage should know. She didn’t know one from the other, and that would certainly bring her problems one day. Threatening Jam with a throwing knife would too.
The bos’n woke them earlier than normal. Instead of the usual breakfast and division of chores, they were handed a flat, fried cake stuffed with cheese and pointed to the door to the deck. She stepped outside and nearly stumbled in surprise. The ship had entered a long, narrow harbor, one side the shoreline and the other barren rocks that formed a barrier protecting it from the sea.
Ships were tied to piers, and the Merry Princess was dropping her sails. Two longboats with four men apiece, all with long oars, were already pulling on ropes tied to the ship, one at the bow and the other the stern. The longboats pulled the ship to a pier with practiced ease.
The crew of the Merry Princess leaped to tie her to the bollards with the largest ropes Prin had ever seen, and soon the ship was secure. The bos’n ordered the boom for the sail rigged as a crane, and in no time the first crates with green splotches of paint were lifted to the pier.
Prin watched for any place she could help, but the crew of the ship was trained, as well as that on shore, and she felt she was getting in the way more than helping. Longshoremen and wagons lined up to haul away the cargo to a warehouse where it would be sorted and turned over the rightful owners. Anything with a green splash of paint was lifted by the crane and set on the pier.
Because she was inexperienced and had been ordered out of the way several times, Prin climbed into the hold and began inspecting the crates she and the bos’n had marked. All had been lifted out of the hold and placed on the pier or the top deck waiting to be transferred.
“Checking up on me?” She spun, thinking she was alone. Jam stood in a corner, hands on hips.
“No, I was just making sure we got all the green marked crates unloaded.”
“It’s my job to put the slings on, and yours is to scrub the deck when I make it dirty.”
“Jam, I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I was just trying to help.”
“Sure, like you always are when my dad can see you so he can come back and tell me how much better you are. Well, I never wanted to swab decks for a living. I belong on the bridge. Get out of here.”
She saw no way to reconcile so she turned and almost ran to the ladder. But on the way, a spot of green drew her attention. It was a splash of green, and she remembered making it. The edge where the paint was sat in shadow.
“Jam,” she called.
A block of wood sailed past her head. He screamed, “Out. And don’t come back!”
It was either dodge another block of wood he was reaching for, or leave. She climbed the ladder. This is the way you want to do it, Jam?
There were only a few crates on the pier waiting to be unloaded, so she helped as best she could, thinking about the other crate still in the hold the entire time. Not telling was as bad as making the error in the first place. No, it was worse. She would have to tell the bos’n, but then all hell would break loose again. Jam would never work with her, and they had a long voyage together.
The new crates were loaded aboard, and a quick meal was served. She tried to get Jam’s attention, but he ignored her. After the meal, they were paid a few copper coins by the bos’n and given the afternoon and evening to enjoy themselves in town. All, but Jam. She managed to ease up to the bos’n and whispered, “Jam missed a crate in the forward hold.”
“I’ll handle it. Say no more.”
In the crew quarters, Sara grabbed their pointed hats clean dresses, and they pulled the brims of the hats low to protect from the intense sunlight. They bounced down the gangplank to the pier and their first foreign port. As they stood at the foot of the pier, they looked up to the city together. The walls were clay, all painted a dull brown, or the clay dried that color. The roofs were red, also baked clay, the tiles and the roofs almost touched each other as they overhung above the narrow, twisting streets.
Beyond the red roofs were the mountains, appearing so close they could walk there in half a day, but both agreed that might be an illusion. Inside the city were none of the usual farm animals. A few dogs barked, but they saw no goats, sheep, cows, or chickens. The streets were cobblestone, the same tan color as the walls.
In contrast, colorful banners hung from windows, on poles, and stretched across the streets. Behind the small windows were cheerfully colored curtains, but the people wore simple clothing similar to that she and Sara wore. But to decorate the drab clothing, the men wore brightly colored shirts or scarfs, and often conflicting colored hats, while the women tried to out-color each other with stripes, solids, and hats of all shapes and sizes.
The brilliant sun accounted for much of their dress. The hats were almost a necessity, and as Prin neared the first buildings, she noticed the thickness of the walls, the tiny windows, and small doorways. All windows and doors were closed. She felt her underarms grow damp, and the reflected sunlight from the walls made the street feel hotter.
Sara navigated them through the narrow streets where the overhanging roofs provided shade. The soft breeze off the water cooled them slightly. She noticed many, if not most of the two-story buildings had gaily painted doors with small signs attached to the wall beside them. At first, she believed the signs to be names or numbers, but as she moved closer and saw them up close, she found they were pictures. The images were stylized drawings, very simple and indicated the businesses within.
The streets were twisting and narrow, and as they walked side by side, whenever a pedestrian came the other way, one of them had to give way by standing sideways because only two could pass at a time. However, each time she or Sara moved aside to allow the passage of another, a comment of thanks followed, and the men touched their hats in appreciation.
A man came into view, his shirt violet, and his hat red, a combination that somehow complimented each other. He was younger, his beard trimmed so short as to be almost invisible, but his dark hair hung to his collar. He also wore a friendly smile directed at Sara.
“Excuse me,” Prin said. “We’re new to Donella, and I was wondering what the small signs beside the doors are for.
“Welcome,” he said, pulling to a stop and adjusting to standing on the same side of the road as them so others could pass. “They tell you what’s inside. See this one? A table and chair. It is a place to sit and eat.”
“I’d have thought it a place where they sell tables and chairs,” Prin quipped, drawing a disapproving look from Sara.
But, the man laughed. “You’re right, I never thought of that.”
“So, if we’re hungry, we knock?”
“No, no. The sign is an invitation to enter, but you do it quickly, so the heat does not flood inside, especially during the midday. If they are not open for business, the door will not open.”
Prin beamed. “Tell me what other signs are?”
“A sort of oval with a flat bottom and lines above is bread baking. A needle with thread through the eye is a seamstress. A hammer, a carpenter.”
“Or, a seller of hammers?”