“You realize there is such a world, a different world,” I said, “from which she was harvested.”
“I have gathered so,” he said.
I thought of men and women, of masters and slaves.
A word is spoken, a glance registered.
How mysterious are such things, I thought. There is nothing, and then there is everything. Who can understand such things?
How piteously, how zealously, I thought, the girl had begged to be purchased!
And how well, I thought, would my collar look on the neck of that slave!
“And how would you keep her?” asked the stranger.
“As she should be kept,” I said, “absolutely and totally, without the least recourse or qualification, without the least concession or compromise, as a complete slave, how else?”
“Even to the chain and whip?” he asked.
“Of course,” I said.
“Excellent,” he said.
“Noble fellows,” said the proprietor. “It is morning. The tavern must be vacated.”
We, all of us, moved toward the door.
Several of us, who had listened through the night, bade the stranger a hale farewell.
“You are a liar amongst liars,” grinned a fellow.
“Would you believe your story?” asked a fellow of the stranger.
“No,” he smiled, “not if I heard if from another.”
“And if you heard it from yourself?” laughed another.
“Probably not then, either,” said the stranger.
“I wish you well, fellow,” said more than one.
I think the fellows had been pleased enough by what they had heard, but that few, if any, would take it seriously, with its talk of the World’s End, of the great ship, of the mad Tersites, of Tarl Cabot, the tarnsman, of the much-sought fugitive, Talena of Ar.
Who could believe such things?
And from a derelict and vagrant, from a wanderer and vagabond, from a drifter, and wayfarer, worn and soiled, without a tarsk-bit in his wallet.
“Out, out!” said the proprietor, and closed the door, and bolted it, behind us.
The stranger and I were then alone, on the street, before the tavern.
“Come with me,” I said to the stranger. “I will get you some breakfast.”
“The garbage troughs are at hand,” he said.
“I work in the harbor office,” I said, “at the high piers, where the great ships dock, in the registry.”
“Few dock now,” he said, “the season is late.”
“The work is light,” I agreed.
He began to turn away.
“Come along.” I said. “You need money. I may be able to find you a day’s work, on the high piers, in a warehouse, if not on the dock.”
He looked at me, and I felt tested.
“Leave the garbage troughs for the urts,” I said.
“I am of Cos,” he said.
“You are more welcome here,” I said, “than those of Ar.”
“Ar is dangerous now?” he said.
“Marlenus is again on the throne,” I said.
We then, together, began to make our way along the waterfront, to the high piers, so called, those which might, by depth of water, levels of platforms, varieties of lading devices, and proximity to shops and warehouses, accommodate and service round ships. It is in this district that is located the harbor office, where I worked, in the registry.
“I hear the bar,” said the stranger. “Why is it sounding?”
“Do not be concerned,” I said. “It is coming from the high piers.”
“Is it an alarm?” asked the stranger.
“No,” I said, “it is the signal of a new docking, a round ship, doubtless.”
War galleys were not announced, and, shallow-drafted, commonly used the low piers. When a new round ship docks its arrival is usually announced by the bar. At such a time, those with business, or who hope for business, as well as the idle and curious, may visit the piers. One might see docksmen there, as well, looking to pick up coin. If it were later in the day, paga girls might be sent to the wharves, to solicit custom for their master’s establishment. There are often boys about the docks, too, in ragged tunics, who love to see the large ships, and hope, one day, to learn the trade of the sea.
“Is the signal commonly so vigorous?” asked the stranger.
“No,” I said. “I do not understand.”
The sound of the bar carried over the port, even to the land walls. It suggested an intensity, or agitation.
“Surely it is an alarm,” said the stranger.
“No,” I said. “The sound is different, the tone, the strokes. It is not the bar of alarm.”
“It sounds like no simple announcement to me,” said the stranger.
“Nor to me,” I said.
“It is something unusual?” he said.
“Clearly,” I said. “Let us hurry!”
“Ho!” cried men, running past, come up from the docks, hurrying toward the high city. “A strange ship! A strange ship!”
Other men were rushing toward the high piers.
A number of boys, shouting to one another, ran past.
Many citizens, from their windows, looked toward the sea. I saw several on the roofs, pointing toward the high piers.
The stranger and I were jostled.
He caught my arm, once, and kept me from falling.
Two free women joined the crowd.
I heard a fellow call out to his slave. “Go, see what is going on! Come back, and tell me!”
“Yes, Master,” she cried, and, barefoot, in her light tunic, sped toward the docks.
“I have never seen anything like it!” said a fellow, standing on a ledge, shading his eyes.
“Could it be the ship of Tersites?” I asked the stranger, though he, of course, was in no position to see better than I, from our current position.
“I cannot think so,” he said. “I do not think Tersites would risk her east of the farther islands, because of Cos and Tyros, and it would be madness to bring her as far as Brundisium. Too, if the ship is at the piers, I do not think it could be that ship, given her draft. It is no common round ship. She would lie a quarter of a pasang offshore, or seek a harbor of unusual depth.”
“What ship, then?” I asked, as we hurried on.
“Aii!” cried the stranger, as we surmounted a small rise, and then had the piers below us, and before us.
We stopped.
Men with us, too, stood in amazement.
“I have never seen such a ship,” I said.
“I have,” said the stranger.
“It is so large,” I said. “How could it be at the pier?”
“It is shallow-drafted,” he said. “It can manage rivers. It maintains stability in the high seas by the descent of a dagger board.”
Men were pointing at the ship.
Boys continued to run past us.
The ship had a high stern castle, and four masts. Most unusual to me were the large, strange sails, tall, and rectangular, and ribbed, divided into lateral sections.
“That,” I said, turning to the stranger, “is a ship from the World’s End.”
“It is,” said the stranger.
“How can it be?” I asked.
“Tersites,” he said, “showed the way. He proved that such a voyage was possible. For those at the end of the world, we are the World’s End. What can be done by sailing west, can be done, as well, by sailing east. The voyage of Tersites has made the world different. Because of him men will never again think of the world in the same way.”
“You have seen such ships,” I said.
“Yes,” he said, “many, in the Vine Sea, but few as large.”
“It is a strange, and beautiful, ship,” I said.
“I know its lines, its markings,” he said.
“You have seen it before?” I said.
“Yes,” he said, “briefly, at a wharf, at the foot of a walled-in-trail, in a sheltered cove.”
I regarded him.
“It is, or was, one of the three ships,” he said, “of the shogun, Lord Temmu.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Have you finished your work?” I asked my slave.