after mile fell away, and every mile brought nearer the gray hills of Salesh-by-the-Sea, the only interruption of the expanding steel horizon.
They spent one last night at a way station, though it was so palatial it scarcely seemed to fit the name. There was a shop there selling sweets and fruit, biscuits and wine; there were all of three stone watering huts (no waiting!); there was even a booth with a scribe who would, for a price, copy out a map of your immediate destination, guaranteed to be accurate for any city precinct. In the dark the wind shifted and brought them the strong rank salt smell of the tides. Smith felt as though he had come home.
Salesh, like most cities on the sea, had only a half circle of city wall, a high curve of white flints at its back that gleamed in the sun like a shell mound, when the dense fogs now and then parted to let any sun through. There the resemblance to anything so formless as a mound stopped, however, for the wall was neatly laid with mile-castles along its top, patrolled by watchmen whose armor was enameled in a pattern like fish scales. Within the wall the city was laid out in a fan of long streets, each terminating on the seafront.
The city gate was standing wide when they arrived, and Burnbright trumpeted their arrival with glee, pausing only to flash the license and manifest at the city guard. As soon as they were waved through she leaped into the lead cart next to Pinion and flung both her fists toward the sky.
"We made it," she shouted, dancing. "We're safe! I'm great, I'm the fastest runner in the world, and Mount Flame City rules!"
"Oh, sit down and watch your mouth," said Pinion, but he was grinning too. He steered them down the long hill in splendor, riding the brakes, and the iron wheels shot sparks like a fireworks display celebrating their arrival. Expertly he took them around the sharp turn at Capstan Street, and they rocketed into the vast echoing hall of the Salesh-by-the-Sea caravan depot.
It was crowded and very loud, for another caravan had arrived just before them. Porters were lined up along the arcades, displaying their muscles as they awaited employment. The runners had taken an entire arcade for themselves and sat or leaned there, gossiping together, a blaze of scarlet uniform in the shadows. Clerks worked their way along the line of carts with manifest checklists, recording the arrival of goods and overseeing their unloading. Smith slid hastily from the flour bags and turned to collide with the Smiths and their baby.
"Well, here we are at last," he said.
"At last," Mr. Smith agreed. "And I must say I--Children! Come back here right now! I must say I've never beheld such personal bravery in a caravan master. Both my sons have told me they want to be just like you when they grow up, isn't that right, boys?"
"No," said the smaller of the boys. "He gets hurt all the time."
"That man is stealing our trunks!" screamed the little girl.
"No, no, that's our porter! Meefa, stop kicking the nice man! I--will you excuse us? Thank you so much," said Mr. Smith, and hastened away. Just beyond him, Mr. Amook was shouldering his one bag. He slipped off into the crowd and disappeared.
"Safe haven at last, eh?" said Lord Ermenwyr, emerging from his palanquin and yawning. "Good old Salesh-by-the-Sea. What memories of innocent childhood! Burying one's brothers in the sand. Watching all the nude bathers. How I used to love toddling up to pat their bottoms! You can get away with it when you're three," he added ruefully.
"Master, the porters are here," announced Balnshik, swaying up at the head of a line of massive fellows who followed her with stunned expressions.
"Right. You! Four of you on the palanquin poles, all the same height, please, and if you can get me to the spa without making me motion sick you'll get a bonus. Mind those trunks! Now, Caravan Master," Lord Ermenwyr said, turning back to Smith. "Here's for your efforts in the line of duty." He took Smith's
They spent one last night at a way station, though it was so palatial it scarcely seemed to fit the name. There was a shop there selling sweets and fruit, biscuits and wine; there were all of three stone watering huts (no waiting!); there was even a booth with a scribe who would, for a price, copy out a map of your immediate destination, guaranteed to be accurate for any city precinct. In the dark the wind shifted and brought them the strong rank salt smell of the tides. Smith felt as though he had come home.
Salesh, like most cities on the sea, had only a half circle of city wall, a high curve of white flints at its back that gleamed in the sun like a shell mound, when the dense fogs now and then parted to let any sun through. There the resemblance to anything so formless as a mound stopped, however, for the wall was neatly laid with mile-castles along its top, patrolled by watchmen whose armor was enameled in a pattern like fish scales. Within the wall the city was laid out in a fan of long streets, each terminating on the seafront.
The city gate was standing wide when they arrived, and Burnbright trumpeted their arrival with glee, pausing only to flash the license and manifest at the city guard. As soon as they were waved through she leaped into the lead cart next to Pinion and flung both her fists toward the sky.
"We made it," she shouted, dancing. "We're safe! I'm great, I'm the fastest runner in the world, and Mount Flame City rules!"
"Oh, sit down and watch your mouth," said Pinion, but he was grinning too. He steered them down the long hill in splendor, riding the brakes, and the iron wheels shot sparks like a fireworks display celebrating their arrival. Expertly he took them around the sharp turn at Capstan Street, and they rocketed into the vast echoing hall of the Salesh-by-the-Sea caravan depot.
It was crowded and very loud, for another caravan had arrived just before them. Porters were lined up along the arcades, displaying their muscles as they awaited employment. The runners had taken an entire arcade for themselves and sat or leaned there, gossiping together, a blaze of scarlet uniform in the shadows. Clerks worked their way along the line of carts with manifest checklists, recording the arrival of goods and overseeing their unloading. Smith slid hastily from the flour bags and turned to collide with the Smiths and their baby.
"Well, here we are at last," he said.
"At last," Mr. Smith agreed. "And I must say I--Children! Come back here right now! I must say I've never beheld such personal bravery in a caravan master. Both my sons have told me they want to be just like you when they grow up, isn't that right, boys?"
"No," said the smaller of the boys. "He gets hurt all the time."
"That man is stealing our trunks!" screamed the little girl.
"No, no, that's our porter! Meefa, stop kicking the nice man! I--will you excuse us? Thank you so much," said Mr. Smith, and hastened away. Just beyond him, Mr. Amook was shouldering his one bag. He slipped off into the crowd and disappeared.
"Safe haven at last, eh?" said Lord Ermenwyr, emerging from his palanquin and yawning. "Good old Salesh-by-the-Sea. What memories of innocent childhood! Burying one's brothers in the sand. Watching all the nude bathers. How I used to love toddling up to pat their bottoms! You can get away with it when you're three," he added ruefully.
"Master, the porters are here," announced Balnshik, swaying up at the head of a line of massive fellows who followed her with stunned expressions.
"Right. You! Four of you on the palanquin poles, all the same height, please, and if you can get me to the spa without making me motion sick you'll get a bonus. Mind those trunks! Now, Caravan Master," Lord Ermenwyr said, turning back to Smith. "Here's for your efforts in the line of duty." He took Smith's
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