‘The knives, sir.’
Millard shrugged, irritated, but shouted down regardless, ‘Leave your knives, and anything else you might have on you.’
Everyone complied; no one said a word. Once everyone was ashore, Captain Millard gripped his manifests in one hand and followed the lieutenant towards the wharf and the major’s office. Halfway down the pier, he had to sidestep the mangiest dog he had ever seen. Its paws were caked with dried blood and it had lost an eye and part of an ear. One of its hind legs appeared to have been broken and mended crookedly. The animal watched him pass, peering at him until he crossed the wharf and entered the customs office.
When the River Prince made her final turn into the Welstar Palace encampment, Hoyt cursed. ‘I can’t believe he’s going to dock,’ he muttered. ‘Can’t he see them? What’s he thinking?’
‘He’s thinking that there is no way to run for a great hulking barge laden full of winter vegetables with little breeze and barely a current. We’d be run down, strafed with arrows, holed and boarded in time to save the cargo before we went down.’ Alen watched past Churn’s shoulder as they were followed towards the docks that reached out into the river like so many skeletal fingers.
‘We should run,’ Hoyt insisted.
‘Captain Millard makes this stop every time he comes down the river. If he deviates from normal practice, he might as well shout out loud that we’re up to something. His only choice is to tie up and go about his business.’ Alen stood and stretched; it was clumsy and awkward, but it did enable him to get a long look at the cutter in the distance. ‘We’ll follow Millard’s orders, but we will keep our wits about us; we did not come all the way down here to get arrested because some halfwit bargee has fennaroot stashed somewhere between the potatoes and the greenroot. Keep your heads down. Speak only when one of them asks you a direct question. We don’t need any additional attention drawn to us.’
Hannah said, ‘So you think they’re after Captain Millard?’
‘Who knows?’ Alen said. ‘Maybe this is standard procedure.’
‘Look at Millard,’ she said. ‘He’s too stiff; he hasn’t looked at them, not once. This isn’t standard; he’s sweating like a guilty pig.’
‘Either way, we can’t fight our way out of this, so until we know what’s happening, we play along. Agreed?’
The others nodded, Hoyt somewhat hesitantly.
As the barge got blocked in, Hoyt whispered to Hannah, ‘This is bad.’
When the squad formed along the port rail and drew their swords, Hannah replied, ‘I think it just got worse.’
‘You’re not joking.’ Hoyt forced a half smile.
‘Look,’ she said under her breath. ‘It looks like the captain knows that one.’
‘He’s a supply officer. I’m sure they know each other.’
‘Maybe he’ll tell Millard what’s going on.’
‘And maybe he’ll have us all hanged for treason.’
Hannah shivered as a sharp wind blew off the river. She stepped closer to Churn; maybe being near the Pragan giant would help her feel more at ease. She welcomed the feel of his massive hand on her shoulder as she whispered, ‘What do you think?’
‘Not good,’ Churn signed with one hand. ‘Stay near me.’
Hoyt dropped his knife when ordered, but retained the silver scalpel; he’d been able to hide the small blade before. He hoped the search was cursory. They followed the River Prince’s crew along the pier, all careful to avoid eye contact with any of the soldiers escorting them towards a rank of stone buildings. The wharf marked the riverside entrance to the village that supported the palace and the military encampment. They were all silent, until Hannah passed by the filthy dog padding back and forth along the pier excitedly, its hind leg oddly out of rhythm with the other three.
‘My dog,’ she blurted suddenly, but quickly fell silent again.
They were herded to the customs office, then left outside under guard while Captain Millard went in to find out what was going on. None of the crew spoke; Hoyt and Churn wandered off a few paces and then turned to face the others.
Hannah, following Churn’s directive to stay close, moved to join him, until he signed, ‘wait there’.
She looked at them: to an observer, they were just crewmembers, nervous, shuffling their feet and waiting to see what was about to happen, but with a few paces separating them, they could each check the area for possible routes to freedom, should the discussion going on inside the major’s office go badly.
Hoyt nodded pleasantly to one of their guards and signed, ‘What dog?’
It took a moment for Hannah to understand, but after Hoyt repeated the gesture several times, she finally got it. ‘Sorry. My dog. Back there, the dog from my…’ She didn’t know the sign for dream, or vision, but they appeared to understand what she meant.
‘That was Alen’s dog. The dog from my…’ Hoyt gestured as if he was waving flies away from his face; Hannah guessed that was Churn’s sign for dream.
‘It’s real?’ Churn asked.
‘It is a real dog, but it isn’t mine, and it wasn’t Hannah’s.’ Alen joined the conversation.
‘Branag’s!’ Hoyt exclaimed out loud, then hid his outburst behind a feigned coughing spasm.
‘What?’ Hannah asked.
Hoyt’s hands moved quickly, but he punctuated his comments with coughing fits, hoping to cover the curious way he was standing alone waving his hands about. ‘It’s Branag’s dog, the old dog that follows him everywhere. That’s his dog.’
Churn turned to look along the dock; the dog was coming towards them. ‘You’re right!’ Churn agreed. ‘That’s Branag’s wolfhound. Remember?’
Now Hannah remembered: Southport, and the dog that padded back and forth down the short hallway between the saddlery shop and the workroom in the back. She, Hoyt and Churn had hidden in there for days after Churn killed the soldier along the road above the village. The dog had made for pleasant company. She signed, ‘Why is it here?’
‘It must be following us. That’s why we were stopped. They knew we were coming.’
‘How can that be?
‘You came through the portal. Nerak knew.’
‘So he sent a dog to follow me?’
‘Not him, no.’
‘Who?’ Hannah was confused now.
‘I think I know who.’ Alen turned towards the palace which rose above the army encampment and the village.
‘It came this far? How can that be?’ Hannah asked.
‘Look at it. The thing is a mess,’ Hoyt signed. The wolfhound limped over to Alen and nuzzled the old man’s palm; Alen patted it on the head, leaned over and whispered into the animal’s remaining ear, ‘You tell him I’m here. It’s Kantu. You tell him, wherever you are. Tell him to come out here and meet me. I’m waiting.’
The dog growled and Alen stood back up, turning away from it.
‘What did you say?’ Hannah asked.
‘I told it goodbye.’ Alen’s face was angry; he mouthed a few words, nothing anyone around him could hear. Then feigning an itch on his opposite shoulder, he gestured towards the animal as it backed away across the wharf. Almost immediately, the dog began to cough, raspy and laboured. It started panting for breath and it turned to yelp in their direction, then, dragging its crooked hind leg, Branag’s old wolfhound, emaciated and scarred, slunk behind a stack of pallets.
The door to the customs house flew open and an angry Captain Millard stepped into the street growling. ‘Gouty whoreson, no wonder his foot’s bad.’ He waved his copy of the River Prince’s manifest at the upstairs window, an act of defiance. Lieutenant Warren followed closely behind.
‘Tell them, Captain, and make sure they come peacefully. I would hate to have your crew-Well, you know.’ It was obvious that the major had just berated Lieutenant Warren for allowing the furious captain anywhere near his private office.
‘Oh, shut up Warren,’ Millard said, ignoring the fact that he was insulting a Malakasian officer with a squad of armed soldiers standing by.
‘What do we do?’ Hannah signed, her hands shaking.