The Docks

Tempted as I was by the prospect of meeting other travellers, I felt too tired to visit the Mermaid Inn, and decided the best thing would be to get a good night’s sleep, in readiness for what might await me the next morning.

I woke in the half-light of dawn, and, being an early bird by nature, donned my clothes, packed my belongings, and went down to the breakfast room. A light meal would suffice, for my plan was to purchase some supplies at the produce market before setting off in search of a  boat to ferry me upriver.

Even at such an early hour, the market was a bustling with buyers and vendors haggling over mounds of fruits and grains, vegetables, cheeses and meats. I bought enough to fill a small sack with nourishing items that would sustain me for a day or two in an emergency. Experience had taught me that it always paid to be prepared. Other than that, I decided to trust I would find enough good water to drink, for I didn’t want to burden myself with unnecessary weight.

The docks were busy, too. Three large sea-going ships had tied up during the night and were being unloaded by droves of labourers. At the smaller quays, river boats were taking on passengers and supplies, ready to sail upriver to the many towns and islands that lay along the Kerith. I couldn’t see a boat that looked as if it might be waiting for me, though.

From the docks, I wandered along the seafront in the direction of a marina, where a flotilla of brightly painted fishing boats, yachts, and other small craft was anchored and bobbing lightly on the swell.

Enchanter had been right. I knew it as soon as I saw it. My boat was in the style of a longboat, much like those the ancient Vikings had used to sail the fjords and northern oceans, though the sides were higher. She was called “Esmerelda”. The Esmerelda  measures perhaps thirty feet from bow to stern, with a hull made of weathered, deeply polished dark wood that gleamed in the sunlight and reflected the waves beneath its keel. Midships, a mast half as tall as the boat was long rose into the sky. The canvas was furled, but I could see the sail was painted, and I was curious what it would show when hoisted and filled by a river wind.  There was no sign of anyone on board, so I sat down on the quayside to watch the gulls wheeling and screeching on the wind, while I waited for the captain.

I didn’t have long to wait until the captain came striding along the walkway, leading a donkey laden high with baskets, sacks, and a pair of barrels.  She was a tall woman, lean and muscular, with long flaxen hair braided and pinned to her head, like a crown. She was clad in leather and linen, which was clearly practical, but not at all unfeminine.

She got right to the point. “G’day, Mistress! Captain Sorensen. At your service. If you’ll be so kind as to help me unload the donkey, we can stow the goods and be on our way with the afternoon tide.”

I climbed into the boat. She untied the ropes around the saddles and panniers and passed the baskets, bags and barrels down to me. Together we stowed everything in a small hold beneath the deck planks.

“No need to advertise our wares,” she said, by way of explanation. “There’s still plenty of thieves and river pirates only too ready to relieve a trader of her cargo.”

She led me to a shelter at the ship’s stern. It was simply a sheet of painted canvas that spanned the boat from side to side to keep off sun, wind, and rain. There, she moved a bench aside to reveal a cleverly concealed hatch which covered a smaller hold space than the one we had just filled.

“Stow your things here,” she said.

The shelter was pleasant. It was light and airy and would provided sufficient respite from the elements on our short journey upstream, first to Mudjimba Island, on the other side of the bay, then on to Kerith.

River Crossing

Captain Sorensen was not the most talkative of people, though she was friendly enough when she did have something to say. I had the impression she was the kind of person who spent a lot of time in her own company and felt comfortable that way. While I explored the deck, she jumped back onto the quay and led the donkey to a pen, after which she returned to busy herself with ropes and lines and tackle. Before I fully realised what was happening, she had taken the wheel, turned the prow to face the river, and we were easing our way out of the marina.

“Got to make the most of the weather,  Mistress”, she  said. “It’s difficult to get over to  Mudjimba most of the time. The prevailing winds push water out of the bay, see, and it’s easy to run aground on the sandbanks over by the island. Gotta watch out for the whirlpools, too, when the tide is turning. Esmerelda’s a bit unwieldy. Been to Mudjimba before, Mistress?”

I almost missed the question.

“No”, I replied. “This is my first time.”

She grinned. “Well, then…, can you swim?”

“More or less, ” I said, “though not well. But why do you ask?”

Her grin widened. “Triton”, came the  brief reply.

Then she had mercy on me and explained her mirth. “It’s like this: first time visitors to Mudjimba have to pay their respects to the Tanagran Triton. To do that , you’ll have to dive into what we call “the hole”. It’s perfectly safe, as long as you can swim. It’s just a deep pool between the sandbars and the island. Actually, it’s lovely down there. Lots of corals and fish and so on. And the merfolk, a-course. Gotta make sure you stay on the right side of them. can’t get onto the island unless they give their ok.”

“Do they always give their ok?” I asked.

She thought for a moment. “No”, she said, “not always.”

Once we were clear of the marina, she hoisted the sail, which unfurled to reveal the figure of a mermaid with a turquoise, gold, and emerald green tail, with hair of fine sea grass.

“Esmerelda”, said Captain Sorensen. “Did her myself”, she added, with an evident tone of pride in her voice. “Took me a whole week, last winter.”

Esmerelda was beautiful, and I said so. I wanted to ask a question or two, but the captain suddenly whirled into a flurry of activity, adjusting ropes so the sail would catch the wind, and turning the wheel, to change direction.

It took us some time to cover the short distance across the bay, for we had to tack back and forth to pick up the wind. A hundred yards or so offshore of Mudjimba, the captain trimmed the sail and lowered the anchor.

“Time for a dip”, she said.

It occurred to me that I had no swimsuit.

As if she’d read my mind, the captain looked at me and said, “No need for swim things. Skinny suits do just fine around here.”

I looked around, unsure at first, but decided she was right. I could see no other vessels far and wide, and anyway… it had been a long time since I last swum naked in open water, and I had always wanted to do it again someday. It looked as if that day had arrived.

Suddenly, there was a flurry of activity in the water around the boat, and a group of swimmers broke water.

The captain stiffened. “Merfolk”, she whispered. “Keep your wits about you, and don’t take everything you see and hear at face value”, she added.

I tucked that item of knowledge away and turned my attention to the practical issue of whether or not to take my pouch with me. I’d been told to carry it on my person at all times, a caution that seemed perfectly reasonable to a traveller in an unknown land, but I hadn’t considered the possibility of diving. I asked the captain what I might best do.

She thought for a moment. “You can get caught without your clothes and find new ones anywhere”, she said, “but your magic is irreplaceable. Best not to be without it.”

She disappeared briefly and returned holding a small oilskin pouch and a leather belt. “Here you go”, she said, handing them to me.