"Get dressed," said the man in the leather coat, pointing to a pile of clothing on a small table. Locke and Jean were soon outfitted in their own matching grey cloaks and hats. "New summer fashion for Tal Verrar?" said Locke.
"A little game for anyone trying to follow you," said the man. He snapped his fingers and one set of grey-clad strangers moved to stand right behind the door. "I'll go out first. "Vbu stand behind these two, follow them out, then enter the third carriage. Understood?"
"What carri—" Locke started to say, but he cut himself off as he heard the clatter of hoofs and wheels in the street immediately outside. Shadows passed before the window and after a few seconds the man in the brown coat unbolted the door. "Third carriage. Move fast," he said without turning around, and then he threw the door open and was out into the street.
At the kerb just outside the disused shop three identical carriages were lined up. Each was black lacquered wood with no identifying crests or banners, each had heavy drapes drawn over its windows and each was pulled by two black horses. Even their drivers all looked vaguely similar and wore the same reddish uniforms under leather overcoats.
The first pair of grey strangers stepped out through the door and hurried to the first carriage in line. Locke and Jean left the disused shop a second later, hurrying to the rear carriage. Locke caught a glimpse of the last team of grey strangers all but running to the door of the. middle carriage behind them. Jean worked the latch on the rear carriage's door, held it open for Locke and flung himself inside afterward.
"Welcome aboard, gentlemen." Merrain lounged in the right forward corner of the compartment, her waitress's clothing discarded. She was now dressed as though for a ride in an open saddle, in field boots, black breeches, a red silk shirt and a leather vest. Locke and Jean settled beside one another in the seat across from her. Jean's slamming of the door threw them into semi-darkness, and the carriage lurched into motion.
"Where the hell are we going?" Locke began to shrug off his grey cloak as he spoke.
"Leave that on, Master Kosta. You'll need it when we get out again. First we'll all tour the Savrola for a bit. Then we'll split — one carriage to the Golden Steps, one to the northern edge of the Great Gallery and us to the docks to catch a boat." "A boat to where?" "Don't be impatient. Sit back and enjoy the ride."
That was difficult, to say the least, in the hot and stuffy compartment. Locke felt sweat running down his brow and he grumpily removed his hat and held it in his lap. He and Jean attempted to pelt Merrain with questions, but she answered with nothing but non-committal "hmmms" until they gave up. Tedious minutes passed. Locke felt the carriage rattling around several corners, then down a series of inclines that had to be the ramp from the upper heights of the Savrola to the sea-level docks. "We're almost there," said Merrain after another few minutes had passed in uncomfortable, jouncing silence. "Hats back on. When the carriage stops, go straight to the boat. Take your seat at the rear and for the gods" sakes, if you see anything dangerous, duck."
True to her word, the carriage rattled to a halt just a few heartbeats later. Locke planted his hat over his hair once again, fumbled for the door mechanism and squinted as it opened into bright morning light. "Out," said Merrain. "Don't waste time."
They were down on the interior docks at the very north-eastern tip of the Savrola, with a sheer wall of black Elderglass behind them and several dozen anchored ships on the gleaming, choppy water before them. One boat was lashed to the nearest pier, a sleek gig about forty feet long with a raised and enclosed gallery at the stern. Two lines of rowers, five to a side, filled most of the rest of its space.
Locke hopped down from the carriage and led the way toward the boat, past a pair of alert men wearing cloaks as heavy as his own, quite inappropriate for the weather. They were standing at near-attention, not lounging, and Locke caught a glimpse of a sword-hilt barely hidden beneath one cloak.
He all but scampered up the flimsy ramp to the boat, hopped down into it and threw himself onto the bench at the rear of the passenger gallery. The gallery, fortunately, was only enclosed on three sides; a decent forward view of their next little voyage would be vastly preferable to another trip inside a dark box. Jean was close behind him, but Merrain turned right, climbed through the mass of rowers and seated herself in the coxswain's position at the bow.
The soldiers on the dock rapidly pulled back the ramp, unlashed the boat and gave it a good push away from the dock with their legs. "Pull," said Merrain, and the rowers exploded into action. Soon the boat was creaking to their steady rhythm and knifing across the little waves of Tal Verrar's harbour.
Locke took the opportunity to study the men and women at the oars — they were all leanly muscled, all with hair neatly trimmed short, most with fairly visible scars. Not one of them looked to be younger than their mid-thirties. Veteran soldiers, then. Possibly even Eyes without their masks and cloaks.
"I have to say, Stragos's people put on a good production," said Jean. He then raised his voice: "Hey! Merrain! Can we take these ridiculous clothes off yet?" She turned only long enough to nod and then returned her attention to the waters of the harbour. Locke and Jean eagerly removed their hats and cloaks and piled the clothing on the deck at their feet.
The ride across the water took about a third of an hour, as near as Locke could tell. He would have preferred to be free to study the harbour in all directions, but what he could see out through the open front of the gallery revealed enough. First they headed south-west, following the curve of the inner docks, past the Great Gallery and the Golden Steps. Then they turned south, putting the open sea on their right, and sped toward a huge crescent island of a like size with the one on which the Sinspire sat.
Tal Verrar's south-western crescent wasn't tiered. It was more like a naturally irregular hillside, studded with a number of stone towers and battlements. The huge stone quays and long wooden docks at its northwestern tip comprised the Silver Marina, where commercial vessels could put in for repairs or refitting. But past that, past the bobbing shapes of old galleons waiting for new masts or sails, lay a series of tall, grey walls that formed enclosed bays. The tops of these walls supported round towers, where the dark shapes of catapults and patrolling soldiers could be seen. The bow of their boat was soon pointed at the nearest of these huge stone enclosures.
Til be damned," said Jean. "I think they're taking us into the Sword Marina."
2
The vast stone walls of the artificial bay were gated with wood. As the boat approached, shouts rang out from the battlements above and the clanking of heavy chains echoed off stone and water. A crack appeared in the middle of the gate, and then the two doors slowly swung inward, sweeping a small wave before them. As the boat passed through the gate Locke tried to estimate the size of everything he was seeing; the opening itself had to be seventy or eighty feet wide, and the timbers of the doors looked to be as thick as an average man's torso.
Merrain called instructions to the rowers and they brought the boat in carefully, coasting gently up to a small wooden dock where a single man waited to receive them. The rowers had placed the boat at an angle, so that the end of the dock barely scraped the hull of the boat between the rowers and the passenger gallery.
"Your stop, gentlemen," called Merrain. "No time to tie up, I'm afraid. Be nimble or get wet."
"You're the soul of kindness, madam," said Locke. "I" ve shed any lingering regret about failing to leave a tip for you." He moved out of the gallery and to the gunwale on his right hand. There the stranger waited with one arm held out to assist him. Locke sprang up to the dock easily enough with the man's help, and the two of them in turn yanked Jean to safety.