Then began the task of carrying the crates of squirming, crawling, snapping seafood across the neighbouring boats to the pier's ladder. Sasha carried the bait box across, her balance nimble on the shifting decks beneath her feet. Valenti made to take it from her, but she put it on her shoulder and climbed the ladder one-handed.
On the pier, Mari talked with a fisherman Sasha did not recognise, the two men peering over the catch, their manner coarse and businesslike. Sasha took the opportunity to swing her aching arms and look about.
This was the South Pier, where the fishermen and small-time merchants reserved a portion of dock for themselves. The pier planks were grimy and rotten in places, and littered with a refuse of fish scales and old rope. Facing the pier upon the stone dock was the chaos of docklife, crowds and stalls, folk selling everything that could be imagined, and some that could never have been until you'd seen it. Men and women moved aside for horse or bullock carts loaded with crates or barrels, some carrying armoured guards in colourful house livery. The shouts of the touts and hawkers competed with the cries of various animals, and the squawks and squabbles of the ever-present white gulls searching for scraps with a beady eye, and the air smelled of a chaotic melange of cooking, strange spices, old wood, rotting fish and salt.
Rising above the fray, the brick and stone facades of buildings, their plaster crumbling, their many small windows framed with worn shutters. Beyond, the Petrodor Incline began its steady climb, a pile of crumbling brick and standstone that looked far less impressive from close range. Only the scale of it still impressed.
To the north, the docks broadened, and larger, well-maintained piers hosted the looming masts of great ships. Sasha could see perhaps a dozen currently at berth, arranged so that the hulls could overlap bows with sterns and save space. Men pushed handcarts, or loaded bags or crates directly onto waiting carts. Great piles of cargo were stacked upon the dock, watched by men with weapons. Horse and bullock carts crowded the remaining space, with people somehow flowing through the gaps between, pursued by the ever-present hawkers, beggars and the occasional stray dog. All in all, it was a scene of the greatest, most spectacular human confusion Sasha had ever beheld. She'd been living with it for nearly a month now, and still it baffled her.
“It's a long way from Lenayin,” he said at her shoulder. She nearly jumped, not having heard his approach. But somehow, with Errollyn, the alarm never quite registered. She gave him a smile.
“And a long way from Saalshen,” she replied.
“Las re'han as'e baen,” said Errollyn with a shrug. “The world is a place,” in Saalsi. Although frequently very blunt for a serrin, Errollyn could also be as vague and obtuse as the best of them. He leaned close, a hand on her shoulder, and added against her ear in Lenay, “The place is where you are.”
And he moved to help Mari with the crates, leaving Sasha to consider that. And to consider further that if a Lenay or Torovan man had touched her so intimately, she'd have wanted to rattle his skull. With serrin, it was different, and with Errollyn in particular. Amongst human men, she'd learned by long experience to guard her personal space. Errollyn simply didn't mean it that way…or rather he did, as all relations between serrin men and women meant something in that way…but somehow, it was still different. Not disrespectful. Not…
“Oh hells,” she muttered, and went to grab the remaining crate of their catch, trying to shake free of her confusion. Valenti interposed himself with a look of cold hostility, and grabbed the crate himself. “Hey!” He ignored her. “Oh come on, you're not upset with me?”
Valenti stalked off, carrying his crate. Sasha took up the bait box and walked at Errollyn's side. “You're such a diplomat,” Errollyn remarked, watching the lad depart.
“Oh bugger,” Sasha muttered. And more loudly, “Valenti! Look, you don't tell me I'm no damn good at something I know damn well I'd be good at! Valenti!”
“Leave the boy alone,” said Mari, carrying his own crate. “You upset a man's pride, but he'll get over it.”
“What about a woman's pride?” Sasha exclaimed. Mari shook his head and sighed.
“You don't think that maybe a princess could afford to forgo a little pride once in a while?” Errollyn suggested.
Sasha scowled. “Meaning?”
“Even your sister Alythia wouldn't choose to wear all her jewellery to attend a court filled with poor dockfront girls in sackcloth.”
“Why do you always talk in riddles?” Sasha snapped. “And besides, I'm not like Alythia! I'm nothing like Alythia!”
“If you say so, I'm sure it must be true.”
Sadisi cleared the docks of merchants and their stalls, and replaced them with revellers. Many fires burned along the waterfront, lighting the buildings and sparkling off the dark, heaving waters. There were some chairs and upturned crates for the old folk, but mostly people stood-eating, drinking, talking, singing and dancing. Thousands of them. Sasha could barely believe her eyes, ears and nostrils.
Her own fireplace was near the Velo house, one of many cramped, crumbling buildings near a side alley off the docks the locals called Fishnet Alley. Gathered about the main fire were members of all the neighbouring families, hardy men and women in rough clothes, and largely in the fishing trade. There were maybe a hundred about the central fire, and hundreds more about the smaller fires. Crasada dosa steamed upon great, round pans. A jumble of mixed seafood in a vast tomato sauce, garnished with just about everything.
Sasha stood with her tin plate, eating steaming bits of crab with her fingers and wiping excess sauce with a chunk of bread. Nearby, little blonde Aisha fussed about a fireplace where she was preparing mussels in a vast, steaming pan. A young man Sasha did not recognise came to offer Aisha a sip of his wine as she cooked. Mari's wife, Mariesa, shooed him away with a scowl, but Aisha only laughed, while around the fires Mari and his friends burst into passionate song.
Out on the water, moored ships made a mass of lights, long, gleaming streaks reflected on the dark water, above a spidery tangle of rigging. From the serrin ships, there came the occasional coloured streak of a firework, drawing awed shouts from the children scampering along the jetties. To the far north of the bay, the white spires of Porsada Temple gleamed ghostly bright from fires atop Besendi Promontory. There, the priests held service for Saint Sadis. Below, Petrodor celebrated.
A new arrival stepped through the crowd, with several others close behind. Men stared, for her beauty was spectacular. Lean and as tall as some men, she moved gracefully through the press, smiling to those who greeted her. Firelight lit her white hair to a brilliant gleam, as crisp as mountain snow, and tied into a single braid that fell down her back. Her eyes shone a sharp, emerald green, flicking from person to person with that piercing, almost animal intensity that was peculiar to serrin.
Rhillian.
She greeted Aisha with a hug, and her eyes found Sasha's.
“Good evening,” Rhillian greeted Sasha with a smile. “Or Happy Sadisi, whatever the proper term.” They exchanged a hug.
“Isn't this amazing?” Sasha exclaimed, gesturing to the firelit commotion.
“You think this is amazing?” Rhillian's enthusiasm only made her all the more stunning to behold-burning green eyes, flashing white hair and perfect white teeth. “I've just come from the Endurance, it's reached the Slipway now. Crazier a sight I have never seen.”