The Jongurian Mission (28 page)

“It’ll give as plenty of time to think about how we present our proposal to the Jongurians,” Halam said.

“Do we even know if an imperial representative still resides in Weiling?” Pader asked.

“That I’m not sure of,” Edgyn replied.
“We know from the Jongurian fishing vessels which we trade news with from time to time that Weiling is still heavily populated and provides the southern Ximen and Pudong provinces with most of their seafood. It’s not as bustling as it was before the war, when it was the center of commerce between the two nations, but I expect that some of the old imperial representatives still reside there, if not in an official capacity, than with enough authority still to put us in touch with the those who are.”

“From what Tullin and the king said last night,” Millen
added, “it doesn’t seem like we’ll have to spend much time there. Just make it clear that we want to trade again is all.”

“I don’t think it
’ll prove much more difficult than that,” Pader agreed. “There may be some negotiation of terms, but with us so uncertain as to their representation, and with them not even expecting us, the meeting will probably be short. No, Millen, in all likelihood we’ll be heading back to Adjuria shortly after we sail into Weiling. I’d give the trip two weeks, tops,” he finished, looking to Edgyn for confirmation.

“Sounds about right, if the meeting
is
only one day,” Edgyn replied.

“How can we be so certain that the Jongurians want to trade with us again?” Bryn asked.

“That’s a good question Bryn. We can’t,” Orin said, looking around at the other delegates. “It’s been more than twenty years since we’ve traded with one another, and in that time the Jongurians could have grown accustomed to relying on their own markets for goods. I think it’d be wise not to expect too much from this initial foray.”

“He’s right,” Rodden
agreed. “We’ve no real idea of how the Jongurians feel about renewing trade relations, and they’ve given no indication over the years that they even
want
to trade again. Remember, we’re coming to them, not the other way around.”

“When the peace was made following the war,” Pader explained, “it was stipulated that any future business between the two countries would be carried out either in Weiling or across the
Isthmus in Waigo. That leads me to believe that the Jongurians were leaving the door open for future relations.”

“It
’s been too long without a dialogue between the two countries already,” Iago said. “We should have had this conference right after the war and begun trading then, not waited nearly twenty years to do so.”
“Well, you can blame the Regidians for that,” Pader said. “With all the tumult of them taking over the crown and then the war that ensued, not much time was left to think about trade.”

“I know, I know,” Iago said, “it just seems like the country could
’ve been much better off these past years with trade between the two nations in place.”

They all nodded their heads in agreement.
It was no secret that the nation had been in hard economic times following the war with Jonguria, and things were not made any easier when the Regidians made claim to the throne. Their policies of raising taxes on the provinces while curtailing trade between them had driven the country further into the ground, and the resulting war, while lasting only three days, had done little to help matters. While the royal council had done much in the past few years to undue those ruinous policies, the country had been slow to respond, and many remained worse off than they had been twenty years before.

“Well, men,” Halam said after a few minutes, “I’ve about had my fill of the royal kitchens.
Are we ready to get underway?”

“I think so,” Pader replied, looking around the table at the men’s faces.

They rose from the table and headed toward the double doors that led to the hallway. The guards informed them that their possessions were already being loaded onto the boat that would take them to Dockside so there would be no need to return to their rooms. Happy to not make the twisting walk through the palace hallways yet again, the men smiled and motioned for the guards to take them to the palace entrance. Bryn stared up at the paintings and tapestries on the high walls as they passed by, certain this would be his last chance to see them. He didn’t feel sad at the prospect; walking the palace halls was more than most people in the country ever had a chance to do. For the rest of his life he could say that he had dined with the king. In the span of just a few days he now had enough stories to tell for a lifetime back home in Eston, and the coming two weeks would provide even more.

* * * * *

By the time they made it to the large doors that marked the main entrance to the palace, Connor Morn was there to meet them.

“Good morning, sirs,” he said with a smile as the men approached, “good to see you made it through the conference unscathed.”
He still wore the same fancy white leather jerkin as when they’d arrived, the Culdovian seal displayed prominently on it. The longsword strapped to his belt swayed as he walked up to them and offered his hand to each. He smiled and looked Bryn in the eyes when his turn came, the shake firm and strong.

“Good to see you again, Connor,” Willem replied.
“I trust we weren’t too much for you over the past few days?”

“You weren’t, but some of the men who accompanied the other delegates got a little out of hand at times.
I’ve told them before many times that stopping the flow of wine at a reasonable hour would do much to ensure the security of the palace.”

They all laughed at that, and Connor turned to lead them out the doors and into the bright sun of the palace courtyard.

“I’ll see that you make it without incident to the docks and the boat that’ll take you south,” Connor said in a more serious tone as they headed down the high steps and away from the palace.

Instead of taking the same way that Bryn, Halam, and Rodden had three days earlier when they entered the palace grounds, Connor took them on what appeared to be a tour of the royal gardens. They passed well-tended rows of flowers evenly spaced along the stone walkways. Deep shades of purple, red, and orange were interspersed with lighter shades of white, pink, and yellow as they walked. Many varieties of small trees grew from square plots of soil while fountains bubbled nearby. Larger trees overhead cast shadows downward, and it seemed at times they were walking through a peaceful forest and not the home of the king.

“This route is much shorter than taking the city streets,” Connor said over his shoulder as they made their way through the foliage, “and much better to look at as well.”

After a time the walls that marked the boundary between the palace grounds and the rest of the government district appeared before them, and they walked through a small gate tended by a single guard who straightened as they passed through. Outside they found themselves on a quiet tree-lined street amid two- and three-storey buildings. They wound between several of them, changing directions frequently as Connor led them further to the south and east. Eventually the quiet gave way to the bustle of people and the sound of voices. Soon they could glimpse sails between the buildings and even the light of the sun reflecting off patches of water in the distance. After a final turn the group found themselves on a wide avenue which led down to a busy series of docks set next to a massive body of water.

Sparkling blue waters stretched along the horizon for as far as Bryn could see.
Countless boats dotted the lake’s surface. Many had fishing nets trailing behind them from large wooden scaffolds erected on their sterns, while others had long poles attached to their railings with lines stretching down into the water. Most of the boats had sails of all shapes and sizes; some were small and triangular while others were large and square. The smaller boats only had one sail while the larger crafts sported tall masts with sails unfurled along their lengths. Most of the sails were a drab, sun-faded tan color, almost white. Some were more bluish, while one boat sported a bright red sail. Many had patches sewn into them so that it was uncommon to see a boat with a completely solid colored set of sails. One small boat he saw contained so many patches of different colors that it looked like some wild checkerboard dreamed up by a crazed artisan.

The boats that did
n’t have sails instead sported oars. These were few and found only on the smallest of boats. Most were two-oared row boats, which contained just a single man and a pole and sometimes a net. A few were longer and had several oars stretching out into the water on each side. Bryn saw one longboat with eight oars on each side and thought that the men must take the boat to the edge of the horizon and back each day, their arms were so muscled.

As the lake neared the land it ran into the docks:
a large wharf with a series of wooden piers and landings stretching out into the water. The piers stood high above the water and were erected with large wooden pilings which extended out into the lake. The larger one-and-two mast boats were tied up to these, men busy on their decks checking nets and sails or unloading barrels and crates of fish. The smaller landings were simply logs or thick boards fastened together which stretched out into the lake and bobbed on its surface. The smaller boats were tied to these with men hustling about preparing them for work on the lake.

The docks ran as far as Bryn could see on either side of him, interrupted only by buildings which came down right to the waters
edge where the two battled for space. Countless vendors were set up along the avenue leading down to the water and their shouts filled the air as they yelled out the names of fish and prices.

“Deep lake bass, three coppers; southern pike, one silver; lake sturgeon, two silvers; rock fish, three bits; river eels, a copper apiece,” their voices rang out.

Their small stands were crowded with buckets and large bowls containing their wares.
Bryn saw large black pike and small mackerel as he walked by. There were buckets containing small guppies by the dozens and buckets devoted solely to one large fish. Small bowls contained mussels, oysters, and clams while larger bowls held shrimp, prawns, and eels. Larger wooden troughs contained many varieties of crab and lobster; some had large protruding eyes and massive claws while others were smaller and seemed to draw into their shells as he passed by.

Storefronts all along the wide avenue leading down to the docks displayed items for use on the lake or goods taken from it.
Nets and fishing poles were the main items, with stores selling those exclusively. Bryn hadn’t thought it possible for so many varieties of fishing hooks to exist, but he soon found he was wrong. All manner of shapes an sizes were on display in the small shops, from hooks no larger than Bryn’s little fingernail to great massive hooks which would have little trouble hoisting two men up together at the same time. Others contained everything a man on a boat could want in all kinds of weather, from thick hooded cloaks to keep the rain off to round straw hats to block out the sun. Coveralls with suspenders seemed to be the most common item in the shops and on the men who worked around them, with short-sleeved cotton shirts worn underneath. Thick leather boots seemed to be preferred among the men, their shafts stretching up to the knee and sometimes beyond. Quite a few stores specialized in boot and coverall combinations, the two sewn together to ensure that all water would be kept out of the wearers clothes except if it came from above.

Connor led them through the masses of people going about their business, most giving way willingly when they spotted the white tunic and royal insignia he wore.
They threaded their way around the vendors’ stands and in front of the storefronts down to the larger piers. The buildings became less crowded together as the avenue led downhill and became wider as it neared the water. Soon the buildings receded entirely and the stone cobbles gave way to wooden planks as they approached the water, the thump of their boots echoing as they stepped onto the boards. They climbed a set of rickety wooden stairs and were atop the wharf, a massive wooden structure stretching hundreds of feet in either direction and a dozen more into the lake. From the wharf the large piers stretched outward like fingers from a massive hand, except this hand had twice the normal amount of fingers.

Bryn hurried his pace so that he was walking close behind Connor.

“How many boats does the King’s Lake contain?” he asked as they headed down the giant wharf.

“Well, lad, let’s see,”
Connor said, thinking for a moment. “It changes all the time. Boats are taken off the lake for repairs or are scrapped altogether. Many sail right out of the lake and into the river, bound for Dockside, while others fight against the river’s strong current to come into the lake. Much depends on the season as well; violent winter storms and raging thundershowers can quickly capsize both smaller and larger boats, sending both to a watery grave.” He smiled down at Bryn as he said the last before continuing. “If I had to put a number on it, I’d say that there’re no less than five hundred different boats on the lake at any given time.”

“Five hundred!” Rodden
gasped. “I didn’t think there were that many in all the oceans surrounding Adjuria!”

“We’ve more than twice that number year-round on the Duldovian Sea,” Willem pointed out.
“But then we’re more than twice the size of the King’s Lake.”