Velis, on the big sea. We had proper ships there, with decks and cabins and all. But you'll see none of them up here.’
‘Because of the falls at Watermane.’
‘That's it, my lady. Of course, you've lived on the lake all your life. Which is more than I have.’
‘You are an experienced sailor, Mistress Massey?’ Phaedra had never heard of a woman following such a calling.
‘Not any more, if I can help it. I'm the harbour master here. That's a joke, isn't it? It was my poor Ralph, until he passed on ten years ago. Then we found there was nowhere to hold the meetings, except in my front room, nor anyone to read or keep the books and all. There was no one else to sort out the quarrels but me. Ralph left me every third hull in the bay, so they had to listen. Three years ago my lord wrote me a letter to say I was harbour master. Maybe he thought it was funny. But things have gone on these past three years the same as they did the seven before, so I must have been that all the time. Here we are, my lady’
They stood before the big, wood-built house on the north side of the harbour. There were two maids at the door – girls Phaedra's own age, smiling and curtsying with the urgency of inner excitement. She stepped into the coolness of the hallway, smelling the strange smells of an unknown house. There was a big room to her left through an open door, with a dining table and fireplace; a small room to her right with something that looked like a chart on a desk; stairs leading upwards …
‘Take my lady up, please,’ Mistress Massey was saying. ‘For I swear she's a right to be tired and would want a rest …’
Wooden steps were thumping under her feet. It was a steep climb. One of the girls was leading her up, the otherfollowing. There was a big room overlooking the harbour. It was all made ready for her. It would be Mistress Massey's own, of course. A girl was asking her if she would like a drink of lemon juice. The other was pointing out clothes laid ready for her when she rose from her rest, gifts –
gifts –
from Mistress Massey How would they fit? Perhaps he had been able to tell them roughly what height she was. Perhaps he had thought far enough ahead, before setting out, to realize what a woman arriving in a strange place after a night on a boat might need. He seemed to think of everything.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
She woke from a dream of running and running, and voices calling her name.
The room was quiet. The sun no longer fell on the unshuttered windows. The air had the cool flavour of a fine January afternoon, still warm enough to sit outside and yet far more pleasant than the dreary heats of summer. She was lying on a large, rich bed. She was in a village port in the March of Tarceny The bed belonged to a woman who was harbour master. One of Mistress Massey's girls, who must have been set to wait on her, was sleeping in a chair. All Derewater lay between herself and home.
She must have slept for hours. She had had no idea that she was so tired. The night's adventure seemed long ago. She could remember running by the lakeshore, and torches, and the crossbow that had hissed like a sound of hate. But her mind, still half-waking, confused these images with others from the dream out of which she had just woken. She had been running not along the lakeshore, butin a dark place among brown stones. There had been a voice calling her; calling more desperately, fading … It might have been her father.
She sat up.
The room was still. There was no sound from beyond the window. Where was everyone? Where was – Ulfin?
He had been talking with his knights on the jetty – talking urgently. Had he swept on, about his other business, leaving her in the care of Aclete, deeming his own work done?
Softly, so as not to wake the sleeping girl, she stepped to the window and craned out. The harbour was a deep blue, wrinkling with light wavelets. Across the water was the stone house, which must be his lodge.
‘Because of the falls at Watermane.’
‘That's it, my lady. Of course, you've lived on the lake all your life. Which is more than I have.’
‘You are an experienced sailor, Mistress Massey?’ Phaedra had never heard of a woman following such a calling.
‘Not any more, if I can help it. I'm the harbour master here. That's a joke, isn't it? It was my poor Ralph, until he passed on ten years ago. Then we found there was nowhere to hold the meetings, except in my front room, nor anyone to read or keep the books and all. There was no one else to sort out the quarrels but me. Ralph left me every third hull in the bay, so they had to listen. Three years ago my lord wrote me a letter to say I was harbour master. Maybe he thought it was funny. But things have gone on these past three years the same as they did the seven before, so I must have been that all the time. Here we are, my lady’
They stood before the big, wood-built house on the north side of the harbour. There were two maids at the door – girls Phaedra's own age, smiling and curtsying with the urgency of inner excitement. She stepped into the coolness of the hallway, smelling the strange smells of an unknown house. There was a big room to her left through an open door, with a dining table and fireplace; a small room to her right with something that looked like a chart on a desk; stairs leading upwards …
‘Take my lady up, please,’ Mistress Massey was saying. ‘For I swear she's a right to be tired and would want a rest …’
Wooden steps were thumping under her feet. It was a steep climb. One of the girls was leading her up, the otherfollowing. There was a big room overlooking the harbour. It was all made ready for her. It would be Mistress Massey's own, of course. A girl was asking her if she would like a drink of lemon juice. The other was pointing out clothes laid ready for her when she rose from her rest, gifts –
gifts –
from Mistress Massey How would they fit? Perhaps he had been able to tell them roughly what height she was. Perhaps he had thought far enough ahead, before setting out, to realize what a woman arriving in a strange place after a night on a boat might need. He seemed to think of everything.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
She woke from a dream of running and running, and voices calling her name.
The room was quiet. The sun no longer fell on the unshuttered windows. The air had the cool flavour of a fine January afternoon, still warm enough to sit outside and yet far more pleasant than the dreary heats of summer. She was lying on a large, rich bed. She was in a village port in the March of Tarceny The bed belonged to a woman who was harbour master. One of Mistress Massey's girls, who must have been set to wait on her, was sleeping in a chair. All Derewater lay between herself and home.
She must have slept for hours. She had had no idea that she was so tired. The night's adventure seemed long ago. She could remember running by the lakeshore, and torches, and the crossbow that had hissed like a sound of hate. But her mind, still half-waking, confused these images with others from the dream out of which she had just woken. She had been running not along the lakeshore, butin a dark place among brown stones. There had been a voice calling her; calling more desperately, fading … It might have been her father.
She sat up.
The room was still. There was no sound from beyond the window. Where was everyone? Where was – Ulfin?
He had been talking with his knights on the jetty – talking urgently. Had he swept on, about his other business, leaving her in the care of Aclete, deeming his own work done?
Softly, so as not to wake the sleeping girl, she stepped to the window and craned out. The harbour was a deep blue, wrinkling with light wavelets. Across the water was the stone house, which must be his lodge.
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