Dragon-Ridden (2 page)

She savored the feel of the ship
under her boots as she followed the sailor to the boat. It was unlikely she’d
walk its decks again.

The small oar boat bucked against
the ship as waves rolled gently under it. Several crewmen had already climbed
in, eagerly anticipating shore leave, no doubt. She threw her leg over the
side. The crewman standing next to the ladder grabbed her wrist tightly. His
grip was firm and unyielding. Tate refused to let any sound of pain escape her.
Weakness was a luxury she could ill afford.

“Remember, witch,” he whispered
harshly. “This ship is no place for you. If you’re on it when we set sail we’ll
consider you fair catch. Perhaps you’ll have a little pleasure before we throw
you overboard.” His gaze darted down her body in case she missed his meaning.

She jerked away, her skin crawling.
She more or less slid the rest of the way down. The rope ladder swayed jerkily
under her weight, the hemp cutting into her hands as she raced down. Seawater
made the rungs slippery, and she almost slipped. Arms steadied her as she
stepped into the boat and sat down.

She didn’t look up, not wanting to
see the cold eyes glaring down at her in anticipation. Tate folded her arms
across the sick feeling in her stomach and hunched in on herself. He hadn’t
been part of the group that had attacked her. Anger at the unfairness of it all
churned within her.

Tate gripped the sides of the boat
as it cut through the waves, the men steadily pulling on the oars. Stray drops
of water landed on her neck, as the men withdrew the oars only to dip them into
the water again. A small puddle of water had formed in the bottom, and Tate
moved her feet to the side to prevent her leather boots from getting soaked
through. She didn’t welcome the thought of having to walk around the city with
wet socks for the rest of the day.

A steady stream of humanity moved
along on the docks helping the ships and fishing boats anchored there unload
their cargo. It was busy this time of day. People from all parts of the world
came to Aurelia to do business. Tate saw the sleek lines of an Imelgram
Schooner anchored next to the bulky hulk of a Fallat merchant ship.

A sense of exhilaration began to
thread through Tate, as the boat pulled steadily closer to shore and to what
she was beginning to hope was a new chapter in her life. No good would come of
dwelling on the past so it was best to put it behind her and focus on the
future.

She breathed deep of the
intertwined smells of the sea and the city, allowing a small smile to play across
her face. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

A shout at one of the east piers
pulled Tate’s attention from the ships. A group of people had begun to gather
at its edge. Tate could feel the fear rolling off them even from where she sat
twenty feet away. It was jarring against her previously good mood. She craned
her neck to see what drew them but could barely make out a speck of blue and
some fishing nets.

“I wonder what’s going on?” one of
the boys said. He was only about 15 or 16 and was a thin scrap of youth serving
as a cabin boy aboard the ship. In the midst of a growth spurt, his arms and
legs were longer than he knew what to do with them. Most of the time he looked
like an unsteady colt.

“Probably a body caught in one of
the fishing lines,” another man said. He was about ten years older than the
boy. He had a certain charm about him that belied the too sharp lines of his
nose and boxy jaw. “It’s a favorite dumping spot for the Night Lords.”

The boat drifted up beside one of
the smaller piers, and a crewman hopped out to tie it off. The dock partially
obscured her view of the gathering and suspected body. With a mental shrug she
put the net and it’s odd blue shape out of her mind. It was time to meet the
city where she might be residing in the near future.

She tied the moneybag to her belt
and pulled her shirt down to cover it. It wasn’t the best place to store money,
but it was better than putting it in a satchel that could easily be stolen.

She paused a moment to absorb the
sights and sounds of the city. After eight months on a small ship, the
atmosphere of the city pressed close and threatened to overwhelm her senses. It
was too much. Too loud, too noisy, too smelly, too everything. Gulls cried
overhead and the smell of fish assaulted her nose. She swayed trying to regain
her land legs as the ground beneath her mimicked the motion of a boat without
the benefit of any waves.

She took deep breaths. Steady girl.
You’ll get used to this too, she told herself sternly.

The other presence that was her
constant companion uncurled from its small corner of her mind. It used Tate’s
body to take a long sniff of the air and growled. The rumble of it, a tickle in
her head.

Crowded. Noisy. Smelly.
Its
voice echoed Tate’s previous thoughts. She determinedly forced it back to its
little corner. With a sigh, it went. 

An officious man stepped into her
path. He wore a stiff gray jacket embroidered with the Aurelian Empire coat of
arms, a dragon wrapped around a large blue stone. She hadn’t noticed him at
first amid the stream of people loading and unloading their goods. Her inner
friend had distracted her from his approach. Under different circumstances that
lack of awareness could have gotten her killed. She frowned. She’d have to be
more careful. There’d be nobody there to correct her mistakes if she messed up.

He was short and very round in his
uniform.

“All visitors to Aurelia have to
sign in and pay an entry tax before entering the city,” he said in an officious
tone.

She watched as three crewmembers of
the Marauder passed them, laughing and joking amongst themselves. They didn’t
seem inclined to help her out.

“All visitors?” she asked in a dry
tone.

“Of course. All visitors must sign
in and pay an entry fee,” he said doing his best to look down his nose at her
though they were about the same height.

She sent a pointed glance at the
men lingering on the street at the end of the dock. He spared them a brief look
before holding out a pen and paper. She sighed. Normally she would watch how
the other crewmembers acted and copy it. Since she had no frame of reference
for many things, she often preferred to see how others interacted before
committing to a course. Since the little man seemed more interested in her than
the others, she was a little unsure as to what to do.

What would Jost do? It was a
question she often asked herself in unfamiliar situations.

She grabbed the pen from him and
signed the line he was pointing at.

“How much is the fee?” she asked.

“Last name, too.”

Tate hesitated before taking the
pen again. A pair of fishermen carrying their day’s catch passed by them. She
scribbled a last name where he was pointing and shoved the parchment and pen
back into his hands.

“Fisher?” he asked incredulously.

“You got a problem with my name?”
She jutted her jaw out mulishly. Her normal fiery temper had begun to rise. The
little man presented himself as an excellent outlet for her earlier
frustration. She’d had about all she could take from him and was ready to be
about her business. “Now how much do I owe you?”

“Five taros.”

“Five,” she gasped outraged. Jost
would never pay such an outrageous amount.

Taros weren’t the most valuable of
the four coins, but neither were they the most inexpensive. Why, that was
enough for a night’s lodging and a nice place at that. Muttering under her
breath about greedy government officials, she dug two taros coins from the bag
tied at her waist.

“You’ll get two.”

“It’s five.” Spittle flew from the
man’s fat lips as he enunciated the amount with all the offended dignity of his
position he could muster.

Tate leaned forward. “You’ll be
happy with two.” Channeling the confident pirate, she stepped into his personal
space. “I know that a fine, upstanding government official such as yourself,
wouldn’t dream of extorting money from citizens in the hopes of lining your
pockets.”

Her voice remained calm as she
stepped forward with every other word. He clutched the parchment of names to
his chest as she steadily advanced.

“Would you?” for the first time her
voice changed to one of anger.

“No, no.”

She suddenly smiled. It was a smile
meant to say ‘no hard feelings; have a nice day.’ “Good.”

By this time the man had backed all
the way to the side of the pier, leaving the way clear for Tate. She turned and
strode toward her friends. They nodded a greeting as she joined them.

“How much did old stooge, there,
want?” the man from the boat, Ripley, asked.

“Five taros.”

He whistled. “Entrance has gone up.
So how much ya give him?”

“Two.”

“That’s our girl,” the young boy,
Trent, said clapping her on the back.

“Why didn’t you have to pay,
Riply?”

“Aw, Captain’s bribed the officials
to look the other way when we come into town,” Riply spat into the street.
“Wouldn’t due to have pirates’ names on the roster. The kitties might decide
they want a taste of us birdies.”

“Why’d he stop me then?”

Riply’s shrug was eloquent. “He
must not have thought you were crew.”

Tate didn’t comment. That was a
sentiment she’d often faced. No matter how much she struggled to be part of the
Marauder’s crew, she was always an outsider. Arguing it wouldn’t change the
facts.

Her group was a motley bunch. None
of them had seen a bath in over a week and Riply’s shoulder length blondish
hair was tied back by a piece of twine. Trent, the youngest of the bunch, had a
smooth baby face and clothes that were baggy on his teenage frame. He usually
stuck close to Danny, a large muscular man with shaggy black hair and a thick
beard that would disappear as soon as he had water to shave with. Danny had a
rough face under that beard that said fuck with me and live to regret it.

“What’re you guys up to?” Tate
asked.

“Captain gave us leave for the next
week,” Trent volunteered. “We’re heading over to the Crow’s Nest for lodging
and food.”

“Mind if I tag along?”

“It’ll be like old times.” Riply
slung his arm around Tate’s shoulders and steered her up the street.

She rolled her eyes and slipped out
from under his arm. Danny shared a wry glance with her and shrugged as if to
say ‘what can you do.’ Old times, usually involved Riply pissing off the locals
and the other three having to bail him out of whatever trouble he’d found.

For all his ability to antagonize
people, Riply was a good guy. A little slow and a complete ladies man but
generally had a good heart. She just hoped he’d keep out of trouble for the
next couple of nights.

The Crow’s Nest was a modest inn
and tavern about half an hour from the harbor. The well-off gentry and
wealthier merchants probably wouldn’t spend a night’s rest under its slate
roof, but normal folk wouldn’t turn their noses up at it.

The o and t were worn smooth and
almost unreadable on the weathered board tacked above the door. Muffled shouts
echoed from inside along with slightly off key singing. Someone had started
celebrating rather early since the air still held the slight cool of midmorning.
Tate chewed her lip thoughtfully. On second thought, it could be the
celebration had just carried over into morning.

A second story with slightly dirty
windows overlooked a bustling street filled with the morning’s foot traffic. A
man bumped into Tate and moved on with a shouted apology. It had gotten busy as
more and more people started their day. Tate had to stick close to the others
or risk getting lost in the crowd.

She followed Danny and the others
into the inn, which was lit by the soft light of glow lamps. Small, no bigger
than Tate’s clenched fist, they were made of a thick glass and when shook could
provide more light than a candle. Several tables had one of the glow lamps. A
crowd had gathered next to the bar to watch a man strutting along its top
holding a mug and singing as loudly as he could. The crowd heckled as his voice
rose to new heights.

Tate shook her head as he reached a
particularly high note. Men’s voices just weren’t meant to be used like that.
“Are you sure you want to stay here?” Tate asked doubtfully. “The entertainment
leaves a little to be desired.”

“Didn’t know you were such an
expert,” Riply said with a sly wink.

“Anybody with a smidgeon of sense
between their ears would know this isn’t music. What is he even saying?”

“Fair enough, but the food is good
and their mattresses are free of flees,” Danny said.

“I guess you can’t complain about
that.” Tate shook her head.

She cast a skeptical glance around,
noting all the exits and anybody who seemed to be paying too close of attention.
It had become a habit to know the best escape routs and as Jost would say, it
paid to be vigilant.

To be truthful, the place wasn’t
all that bad. Better than most, in fact.

Soon enough they had found the
proprietress and rented two rooms, the guys sharing one and Tate taking the
other.

Her room was small, with just
enough space for a bed and a desk with a pitcher and basin for her to wash her
face and hands in. She did so with an almost decadent feeling of luxury,
relishing the crisp water on her face and hands. It wasn’t often one had access
to fresh water on ship. That usually only happened after a storm and only if
you were smart enough to put your own bucket outside. The inn wasn’t high class
enough to have a full bath, just a small communal toilet and sink, but for a
few extra rostry pieces, the least valuable coin of trade, she could use the
baths down the street.

Tate leaned down and sniffed one
shoulder of her shirt and wrinkled her nose at the smell. She stank.