I was accustomed to a certain notoriety in the better-educated corners of the empire, but it was usually confined to politely spoken compliments or requests for attendance at various learned functions. So the sight of the pale-faced bureaucrat stumbling backwards along the gangplank before turning and running along the wharf was somewhat unnerving, his return a short time later even more so, since he was accompanied by a squad of soldiers. They proceeded towards the ship at a run, the young official trotting in their wake and gesticulating wildly as he called to the surrounding stevedores. “The traitor! The traitor returns!”
“I think, Captain,” I said, hefting my bag of books and making for the gangplank. “You had best be on your way.”
“Ship Lords told me to keep you safe,” he said, though his shrewd eyes betrayed a deep concern at the commotion unfolding on the wharf.
“And I am grateful for your efforts.” I extended a hand, expecting him to ignore it. Instead he gripped it tight, grimacing in regret.
“Luck to you, honoured sir,” he said in surprisingly good Alpiran.
“And you, honoured sir.” I glanced at Fornella, seeing how fearfully she eyed the approaching soldiers. “I should be grateful if you would take her back to the Realm.”
“No.” Fornella took a deep breath and moved to my side, forcing a smile. “We have a mission, after all.”
We waited on the wharf, watching the captain hound his crew into frantic motion as they hauled oars to push them back from the quay. The sailors soon set to work rowing themselves towards open water in accordance with the bosun’s urgent drumbeat.
“What was its name?” Fornella asked. “The ship.”
“I never thought to ask.” I turned as the soldiers came to a halt a short distance away. They were conscript infantry judging by their armour, half a dozen youths under the command of a less-than-youthful sergeant.
“Your name?” he demanded, striding forward, hard eyes intent on my face.
“Lord Verniers Alishe Someren,” I replied. “Imperial Chronicler . . .”
“No,” he growled, moving closer with his hand on his sword. “Not now you aren’t.”
• • •
They took us to the harbour-master’s station, a sturdy building equipped with a few cells for sundry smugglers or excessively boisterous sailors. Thanks to the excitable port official a crowd had begun to form on the wharf by the time the soldiers closed in around us. “If I am liable to arrest,” I said to the sergeant, “I have a right to hear the charge.”
