It was from the cubby he had watched the crowds on shore, thousands of shouting townspeople and file on file of mirror-staffed Awakeners and gem-decked priests all shouting the Protector’s name, “Obol, Obol, Obol.”
It was from the cubby he had seen all there was to see for the four years he had been Blint’s man, and it was from the cubby he now noticed the hard lines of jetties wavering over the River surface not far ahead, where no jetty was supposed to be.
According to the section chart-of-towns, there were no piers closer than Darkel-don, a good ten-day’s tide yet, and just yesterday owner Blint had told them they could fish as they liked till then with no worries at all. Now, having seen what he’d seen, there was nothing to do but slither below and tell Blint of this, though it might put him to wondering how Thrasne had seen the piers. They wouldn’t be visible from deck level for some time yet, and it wasn’t Thrasne’s shift to work the rudder deck at the high stern of the boat.
He reported the sighting in a quiet voice, hoping his very mildness and lack of excitement would throw Blint off the scent. Which it might well have done had not Blint’s wife been standing near, overhearing him, going at once to peer over the rail.
“Jetties? There aren’t any jetties! I can’t see any jetties!”
“Well, boy?” demanded Blint.
“Yessir. Piers.”
Blint’s eyes crinkled at the comers. “He saw them from above, wife. I told him to be sure to check the owner-house roof was tight.”
“Tight? Of course it’s tight, Blint. It was rebuilt only a Conjunction ago. What do you mean, tight?”
Blint, who answered few of her questions, did not answer this one. “How close?” he murmured.
“Close enough, sir. We’d better get our nets out of the water or the fisherman caste of the place-assuming there is one, for why else have piers-they’ll be heaving stones at us.”
“We could move into deeper water.”
“There was that bunch in Zebulee with the catapult.”
“Ah. So there was. Well then, go tell the boys. Haul in and hide the evidence, tell them. No fishskins drying on the deck. No strangey bones lying about. I’ll leave it in your good hands.”
“Any chance of trade, you think?”
“Well, we’ll have to see, won’t we.” Owner Blint strolled away, no whit disturbed, leaving it in Thrasne’s good hands. If Thrasne hadn’t been available, he’d have left it in firstman Birk’s good hands, or secondman Thon’s. Thrasne scrambled into action. At least the boatmen wouldn’t argue with him. The memory of that catapult was too recent.
When they were hard at work getting the nets in, they’d have to be stowed wet, which would stink up the net locker. Thrasne went to the chart room to take another look at the North shore section chart. They were passing Wilforn now. Nothing of interest listed on the section chart for Wilforn. Next place was Baris, and the section chart didn’t say a word about Baris having jetties. Baris had pamet, art work, confections, puncon fruit when the weather was right and toys. The Baris Tower was listed as middling active, not fanatical, which meant the Awakeners weren’t likely to search the Gift for any kind of contraband, books or such. And that’s all Blint had written down six, seven years ago when he’d been by last. Thrasne made a mental note to hide his own books, if there were changes in one thing, there might be changes in others and to add a description of the piers as soon as he’d had a good look at them. Probably some fisherman moving west had come to Baris and decided piers would be a good idea. Probably sold the local Tower on the idea and got a worker crew to build them. In which case, Thrasne snorted, spitting in habitual disgust, it was sheer luck they were still standing.
He returned to the deck in time to help empty the nets. Not much in the way of fish and two or three hard, clattering things bumping on the deck with an unmistakable wooden sound.