“Gun turret. They can point in any direction and fire. The Hamorians like guns, and lots of warships.”
“Are they all iron-hulled?”
“Just the warships.”
“Where do they get all the iron?” Rahl knew that there was an ironworks in the mountains north of Feyn in Recluce, but no one had ever told him about the Hamorian iron warships.
“Don’t know where they mine the iron, but the Hamorians have a whole city that smelts and forges iron. Some claim that they produce more iron and steel there in Luba than in the rest of the world combined. Don’t know as I believe it, but all that iron has to come from somewhere, and it’s not from Candar or Recluce. They’ve got small mines and works in Lydiar, but that’s barely enough for the east of Candar, not that Fairhaven likes to see much iron produced.”
Cold iron was hard on chaos-mages. That, Rahl did know.
After a time, the captain spoke again. “Look hard just off the starboard bow, on the peninsula, inshore of the reef.”
Rahl looked. In the distance was a stone tower with a shimmering dome.
“The northwest light tower. At night, a beam of light that swings from east to west.” After a moment, the captain added, “You’d better find Galsyn before long. See what he needs from you. You won’t be leaving until we’re off-loaded. You can take the last wagon to the Association. Oh…” Liedra coughed gently. “I’d suggest you be very polite to folks in Swartheld. Ever since the days of the Founders, the Hamorians haven’t taken that kindly to those of us from Recluce.”
“That…that was hundreds of years ago.”
“A little more than five hundred,” Liedra said. “They didn’t like the fact that Creslin destroyed one of their fleets and forced them to trade with Recluce.”
“Five hundred years ago, and they’re still mad?”
“I wouldn’t call it mad, but the Hamorians hang on to grudges like no one else. They can cheat you and think nothing of it, but you cheat them, and you’re likely never to be welcome in Swartheld again. They don’t forget anything,” the captain replied. “Now…on your way.”
“Yes, ser.” At the top of the ladder down to the main deck, Rahl looked toward the stone lighthouse and the white cliffs beneath it. Five hundred years. He still had a hard time believing that. How could they hold a grudge that long? That was truly holding to the past, and not in the best way.
XXXVIII
The Diev entered the harbor at Swartheld with canvas furled and under steam power in late afternoon. The port dwarfed Nylan, with ships anchored in deeper waters offshore, others tied at the long and wide piers so closely that there looked to be almost no vacant spaces.
As Liedra guided the Diev after the pilot boat and toward the third pier south from the northeasternmost wharf, Rahl stood by the railing, taking in everything that he could. On the western side of the bay, barely visible across the stretch of open water beyond the offshore moorings, was another set of piers, holding black-hulled warships of various sizes, with iron hulls and white superstructures and white gun turrets. Rahl tried to count them, but lost track after ten.
He turned his attention to the Diev and the pier.
“Full astern!” came from the bridge above.
“Full astern, ser!”
Rahl listened as the captain walked the ship into the pier, neatly between two bollards.
“Lines out!” ordered the boatswain’s mate.
The handlers on the pier secured the twin lines to the bollards fore and aft.
“Double up!”
“Gangway!”
Rahl stepped back as the deck crew hurried in his direction, setting himself aft of the quarterdeck and against the bulkhead outboard of the ladder to the bridge deck.
As he waited for Galsyn to summon him to work, Rahl turned and studied the pier where the Diev was tied. It was not only more than six hundred cubits long, but a good hundred cubits wide, and there were wagons and carts everywhere. Already, several wagons were headed toward the Diev, and two vendors with handcarts were rolling them toward the gangway.
“Silks, silks…the finest silks from Atla…”
“…the finest wools from Recluce and Brysta…”
“Spices…brinn from Candar, brinn and astra…”
“Tools…iron tools, Hamor’s finest from the works at Luba…”
Rahl glanced toward the foot of the pier, where two vessels larger than the Diev-not the smallest of ships from what Rahl could tell-were tied up. So many street and cart vendors pushed around the wagons that he wondered if the teamsters driving the wagons would have to push through the crowds to force them away from the ships. While Nylan had peddlers and vendors, the numbers and variety were nothing compared to those on just the one pier where the Diev was tied.
“Clear the forward hatch,” ordered Gresyrd. “Power takeoff for the crane.”
Before that long, the first wagon-bearing lettering on the side that proclaimed “Nylan Merchant Association”-rolled to a halt forward of the gangway, directly opposite the forward hatch.
At that moment, Galsyn appeared on deck, carrying a large leather folder and the portable writing board. He walked over to Rahl and handed him the writing board. “Stand by. It will be a little while.”
The captain made her way down the ladder, then glanced at the purser. “Everything ready?”
“Yes, Captain. Declarations and current manifest.”
Liedra nodded and walked to the section of railing that had been swung back for the gangway. Mienfryd joined the captain there, wearing his black blade.
“The manifest?” asked Rahl quietly.
“Sometimes, the tariff enumerators ask what else you have on board. They’re not supposed to, but…” Galsyn shrugged. “That’s another reason why Mienfryd stands by the captain. It’s a symbol, but it helps. Most of the time.”
Rahl didn’t ask about what happened when it didn’t work.
“Here come the enumerators,” murmured Galsyn. “Just stand here.” He stepped forward so that he was just slightly back of Captain Liedra’s shoulder on the opposite side from the ship’s champion.
Rahl watched. The two officials who walked up the gangway wore short-sleeved khaki shirts and long, matching trousers over black boots. Their belts were black, but the insignia on their collars and shirts were crimson.
“Captain Liedra.”
“Inspector Salyx,” returned the captain.
“You have your declaration ready.” The inspector spoke in Temple rather than Hamorian.
Galsyn handed the tariff declaration to the unnamed inspector who had not spoken. The inspector studied it, then handed it to Salyx.
“The tariff looks to be ninety golds, subject to verification, Captain.”
Even though he had seen the tariff calculation, and checked it for Galsyn, Rahl still found himself amazed at the amount. Ninety golds-and that was just an assessment of roughly one part in a hundred, although for some goods the tariff was one in a thousand, and for some, it ran as high as five parts in a hundred. Rahl doubted that his father had netted ninety golds in the last ten years, and the Diev probably made more than ten trips a year, if not more.
The captain handed an envelope to the inspector. “A letter of credit against the ship’s account, held in the Exchange through the Nylan Merchant Association.”
“A pleasure, Captain Liedra.” The inspector signed the bottom of the declaration, then handed it to his silent assistant.
The assistant produced a circular device that fitted over a portion of the signature on both sides of the paper. He squeezed the handles, then removed the device. Rahl could see an embossed pattern across the signature as the assistant gave the declaration back to Salyx, who in turn handed it to Liedra, who passed it to Galsyn.