Don Callander - Mancer 01 by Pyromancer

Author:Pyromancer [Pyromancer]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2012-06-05T13:45:37+00:00

At dawn he awakened to sounds of men shouting, machinery rumbling, sheaves squealing, bare feet on wooden decks, sounds he hadn’t heard since Perthside’s docks and ship-ways. These and the smell of fresh Sea breezes through his window brought flooding memories of his childhood, his mother, and his father.

It was such a nostalgic moment that he lay abed for a long time, just listening and breathing the air, letting it take him back.

Then Bronze Owl arrived with a clatter at the window. Grammer Maryam knocked at the door at the same moment.

“Fleet’s in! Get up and see a sight you’ve maybe never seen before!”

He dressed quickly, finding his travel-wom and grimy clothing now freshly laundered and neatly mended. When he tried to thank Maryam she shoved him through the front door and took him to see the fishing fleet being off-loaded.

“Breakfast when work’s done,” she sang. “Here’s my son, Captain Holmes Beckett.”

“A record haul,” the burly, white-bearded individual in

Pywmancer

high boots and a red bandanna was saying to the Mayor. “Hope you’ve got the casks for ‘em.”

“When have 1 ever failed you, brother?” cried the Mayor. “Here, take a moment to greet our guests.”

After introductions, the work continued and men and boys shoveled a great cascade of silvery fish from the boats into waiting carts that had been trundled onto the cobbled hard. The Mayor’s helpers began at once packing the catch into huge wooden casks, layer upon layer—first salt, then fish, then salt again until the cooper declared each well filled. Another layer of salt was added to top them off, and the cooper and his helpers banged home the barrel tops, sealed them all with wax, into which the Mayor ceremoniously pressed the town seal, which he wore on a chain around his neck.

“Later this evening there’ll be a big party,” the Mayor said. “Dancing and singing, and the young girls have prepared an entertainment for us at the Town Hall. Tomorrow everybody’ll turn out to load the wains. We’ll draw lots to see who drives the oxen.”

“We celebrate each catch—it’s our way of saying thanks to our maker,” saidMaryam. “We believe He likes to see us working hard, happy, content, and bravely facing whatever accidents come our way. The bad weather of last week made this a particularly good catch, you see.”

“And will some of these fish go to Bryarmote’s caverns?”

“I can tell you exactly,” the Mayor said, leading them into his office, where he opened a huge, canvas-bound ledger.

“Dwelmland, Dwelmland …” He thumbed through the pages. “Yes, here it is. Fortoot, Bryarmote’s Chief Steward, has a standing order for fifteen casks a month, and so far we’ve delivered twelve. We’ll send him three and two more for good measure, as a compliment to good customers.”

Holmes laughed. “The Dwarfs are especially fond of salt fish. They don’t fish for themselves, of course, being miners and engineers. They buy everything from people like us.”

“And if I wished to go to Dwelmland? I have an errand to Prince Bryarmote, you see.

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