Some fishmen could anchor their ships right in front of their cotholds.
Floats that rose and fell with the tides gave access to stairs, some cut deeply into the cliffside.
As the Northern Maid slid past the breakwaters which extended the arms of the U-shaped harbour, folk waved to the sailors who were making right and tight the sheets and lines, preparatory to docking. Gostol was allowing his second to bring his ship in, and Robinton, knowing how important it was for Vesna to complete the manoeuvre satisfactorily, was holding his breath for her when Kasia joined him. She had changed from her rough-weather gear into a long skirt and a thick woolien jumper against the chilly wind; her hair was newly braided. Her eyes didn’t seem quite as shadowed.
Maybe she had sailed with them to dissipate the last vestiges of her sorrow for Merdine. She had actually mentioned his name at one point during the voyage.
“Breathe, Rob,” she said, laughing at him and lightly clasping her hands around his left arm.
The use of a short name for him made him catch his breath twice in a row. Did that mean she liked him?
“Will she make it?” he asked. Kasia had more experience with such things than he.
“The ship’s just making enough way, so that I think she’ll nudge the dock and come to a full stop. Which is exactly what she should do.”
The Northern Maid did seem to be moving but imperceptibly, the smallest hint of a wake visible on this side of the bow.
Kasia laughed, leaning into him, as he unconsciously exhaled as if his breath could give the ship just that touch more forward motion. They were nearly broadside of the fishing dock, their destination. Seamen stood fore and aft on the Maid’s deck, ready with mooring lines. They’d already put out the buffers. Men and women on the dock were edging forward, to catch the lines and snag them on the bollards, eager to proceed with unloading the perishable cargo.
Time seemed suspended as the Maid drifted more and more slowly until she just barely touched the dock and slid along it, the protective bumpers kissing the dock edge, coming to a final halt as the mooring lines were secured with deft loopings which stopped all movement with just the least little jar.
Kasia let go of Robinton’s arm and clapped, shouting a “Well done’ in the direction of Vesna at the wheel. There were other congratulatory roars, and Robinton grinned at Vesna’s pantomime of wiping sweat from her brow. She was smiling happily.
“Gostol’s a hard taskmaster, but I’d say she’s passed this test,” Kasia said. “Let’s go. They’ll be at the unloading for hours, and I’m dying for a long hot soak. My hair must reek of fish and cooking oils.”
Since she hadn’t spoken a word of complaint throughout the voyage, Robinton was surprised at the return of fastidiousness. Not that he wasn’t just as eager for a bath as she.
They’d given Gostol formal thanks and made farewells as the Maid was on her final tack into the harbour, so now they were free to disembark with carisaks of wet and dirty clothing over their shoulders.
“There’re worn spots on this wharf, Rob,” she said as they started across the wooden expanse. “Watch where you go.”
“A mere several hundred turns old, Minnarden said.”
“A mere?” She tossed her head sideways, laughing at him, her sea-green eyes sparkling.
They wove past the fish-factory workers, guiding their carts to the ship, and strode up the wide steps to the right and on to the wide road which led to the Hold.
The day was overcast, rain threatening, but the roadway was bustling with people on their everyday activities. Many greeted the harper and Kasia without interrupting their progress. Occasionally their free hands touched, and Robinton was aware of each brash.
He didn’t dare look down at Kasia to see if she noticed the contact, but he did feel that the trip had been very worthwhile in cementing a relationship. A glow of satisfaction added to his contented sense of accomplishment.
“Let’s do it again, Rob, and soon,” Kasia said, her face glowing.