The line moved. When their turn came, a young soldier in mail asked their names, looked into the carriage, and checked that the entry tax had been paid. Then he waved them through.
So much for bayonets in the luggage. Either Oliver had misunderstood what Cerran meant by rough, or their standards were very different.
They followed broad cobbled streets to a district of warehouses near the outer harbor. Visiting caravans left goods there while merchants settled prices and contracts, ready to transfer the purchases to ships. It was still before noon. Laborers waiting by the walls came forward when the caravan's men called for them and began unloading.
Oliver's carriage was among the wagons being emptied. He and Kellan stood aside with their belongings while Cerran's younger assistants directed the work.
The caravan master came over and offered his hand.
“We owe you this arrival, ser. Without you, we'd never have seen those walls.”
“It was the job. How long are you staying?”
“Three days. The buyers were arranged before we left. Deliver, finish the accounts, and go.” Cerran hesitated. “You won't come back with us?”
“We'll look for a ship to King's Landing. Sounds as though there are opportunities there.”
He had expected the answer. “Old Oller and Jannik will watch the goods. The rest of us stay at Harbor Dusk, just nearby. You'd be welcome, if you don't find something that suits you better.” His expression became knowing. “Unless you'd rather sample what White Harbor has to offer.”
Oliver gave an awkward smile. “Perhaps I'll look in.”
He knew what Cerran meant. Sailors and caravaneers risked their lives for their money, dealing with lords, thieves, and men who changed between the two when it suited them. Once they reached somewhere safe, they wanted pleasure. A city receiving travelers from across the world had plenty of reason to supply it.
Oliver wanted none of that particular trade. He knew too little about what precautions anyone here could take, and had no wish to discover which infections a stranded Sunwalker could survive.
His agreement covered the journey to White Harbor. Guarding the goods while Cerran sold them wasn't part of it, and Cerran didn't insist.
“Safe travels, then. May you do well.”
Oliver clasped his hand again. “Good trading. And a thriving family to enjoy it with.”
He and Kellan left the warehouse district.
* * *
The inner harbor served the Manderlys' warships and noble visitors. The outer harbor was for commerce: merchant vessels, ordinary travelers, busy streets, and inns for every purse.
Kellan knew one near Fishfoot Yard. He and Tamlin had stayed there before taking ship. Its sign showed a fish, and the name beneath it was Silver Salmon.
Oliver found that promising. The proprietor did not.
“Salmon? It's a name. For luck.” He was a broad-bellied man with a large beard and a receding forehead. He looked at Oliver as though the question had cost him patience. “A place like this doesn't serve fish for high lords. Try the inner city, where they shop.”
Oliver had been hoping for salmon, perhaps even something to satisfy his longing for sashimi. Apparently the fish on the sign was the nearest he would get.
“Never mind. A room, then. Two beds.”
“Two silver deer a night. Breakfast and supper.” The man took a copper key from a drawer. “How long?”
“Two deer?” Kellan repeated.
His uncle had paid before. He remembered a comfortable place, not the price of it.
“This is White Harbor, lad. Not a village. Clean, safe, good food. What else do you want?”
Oliver touched Kellan's shoulder before he could answer.
“If it's worth the money, that's fine. We'll take ten days to start. Pay by the day?”
“A day ahead. Pay, and it's yours. Don't, and I put your bags out and let somebody else have it.”
Kellan reluctantly produced the coins. They took the key upstairs to a room on the third floor.
Oliver examined the beds and the room's condition. Gray linen sheets, wool felt beneath them, woven wool blankets. It was considerably better than their room in Grayfold. Two deer bought something after all.
He set down his bags, opened the window, and looked out at the sea. Damp salt air entered with a faint smell of fish.
“Fancy a look around?”
“Aren't we going to King's Landing, Master?”
“We are. We can still have a look around first.”
“Shouldn't we find a ship? Once we know when it leaves, we can look at whatever we like.”
Oliver considered that. There were no passenger services here with a timetable and a ticket counter. They would need room aboard a cargo vessel, unless they meant to hire an entire ship. Leave it too late, and they might find themselves waiting indefinitely.
“Good point. Ship first.”
They locked the room and went out with their money and short swords. The outer harbor was about half an hour away on foot. Shops crowded the route: clothes, pastries, goods whose local or foreign origins Oliver couldn't yet distinguish. The variety alone told him how much of Westeros passed through this part of the city.
At the docks, seven or eight merchantmen lay at their berths, their wooden sides warm gold in the sun. Gulls circled overhead. A ship as high as a three-story building approached the last open space behind a pilot boat. Men ashore took its thick ropes, wound them around the posts, and secured it.
Names were painted along the hulls. Oliver could read none of them. After all the books he had known on Earth, he was illiterate here.
Kellan knew enough letters to help. He went along the quay asking questions and returned with news.
“Several are going to King's Landing. The soonest leaves the day after tomorrow. The captain's at Mermaid's Cup. That sailor will take us for twenty copper pennies.”
A man in an open-fronted shirt leaned nearby, rubbing two fingers together. Oliver agreed, and they followed him back toward the market.
The tavern's sign showed a female mermaid, close enough to the Manderly merman to make Oliver suspect that someone in the family profited from the place.
Their guide brought them to a thin, amiable-looking man drinking alone in a dim corner. A few whispered words, and the man turned toward them as the captain of the Lady Thessa.
“King's Landing?”
“Two people,” Oliver said. “Three horses.”
The man frowned. “I'm full of cargo. I can fit two men. Not horses.”
Old Bones had carried Oliver all this way without complaint. He had no intention of selling him merely because finding space was inconvenient.
“Is there a way to do it?”
The man tapped a knuckle against the table and thought.
“Three times the fare. They take space. I'd have to leave cargo behind.”
“Total?”
Three fingers rose.
“One dragon for you two. Two for the horses.”
“I crossed to the Free Cities for a dragon a person,” Kellan objected.
“With three horses?” The captain studied them. “I'll take a fifth off. Half in advance. I make room and rearrange the cargo, then you don't arrive? That's my loss.”
Oliver looked into his eyes. The man held the gaze for several breaths before conceding again.
“Three-tenths ahead, then. I can't do less.”
Oliver smiled and offered his hand.
“Agreed.”
“Lady Thessa has a good name. You'll have no trouble.”
Kellan reached for the purse. Oliver touched his foot with his own. The boy stopped, turning the movement toward his money into a casual scratch.
“It is more than we meant to spend,” Oliver said. “We haven't brought enough with us. Will you be here a little longer? We'll fetch it.”
“How much have you got? Give me that, and I can start making room. There isn't much time.”
Oliver looked around the tavern. Nothing appeared wrong. Nobody was watching the door to stop them leaving.
“We've agreed a price. You'll get it. Wait here, and we'll come back.”
He stood before the man could prolong the discussion and led Kellan out.
In the street, the boy asked, “Was something wrong?”
“Several things. No name, just a ship. Ready to make room for the horses once there's a large payment in it, but no arrangement for where or when we meet again. And he says he'll abandon cargo for a little extra passage money.” Oliver shook his head. “Trade depends on keeping agreements. If he'll do that to the people whose goods he carries, why would I trust him with our money?”
“Was he really a cheat?”
“Yes. And he's not getting a silver piece out of me.”
Kellan looked back. The sailor who had supposedly left after introducing them was slipping into the tavern again.
“Our twenty pennies. I'll get them back.”
Oliver caught him. “Leave it. We've bought a lesson.”
This wasn't the forest. A quarrel that ended with a body would be much harder to walk away from here. Twenty pennies weren't worth making trouble over.
Back at the docks, Kellan took greater care to find people in charge aboard the vessels themselves. But every conversation stumbled over the horses. Captains refused them, suggested selling the animals, or offered to find buyers for a tenth of the price.
Oliver refused to leave them behind. They spent the afternoon asking, until the light on the sea turned gold and dinner became a more pressing concern.
“Seafood tonight?” he asked.
“The inn feeds us.”
“We can eat there too. It's been ages since we had fresh fish. Surely you've room.”
On the coast, after days of seafood, he'd wanted steaks and rich meat dishes. Two months inland had reversed the longing. Now boiled shrimp sounded excellent.
“There's a fish market in the outer harbor,” Kellan said, looking more interested. “I've never been. Might take a while to find.”
“We wanted a walk, didn't we?”