CH432 · Rewrite
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Chapter 432: An Encounter

Since his trip was kept confidential, no one would be there to greet him. Otto did not plan to go straight to the castle—he would spend a day or two first, walking the territory, observing before he asked questions. A picture was worth a thousand words.

He stepped off the cabin and onto the gangway, and stopped.

This is… really a borderland wharf?

The dock was built in russet brick for several hundred paces along the riverbank. Trestles extended from it at regular intervals, each marked at the junction with a numbered sign. Otto counted roughly: twenty-six in total, displayed in neat sequence like fingers extended from a hand. Some were blanketed in snow; others showed tawny planks beneath, scraped clear. Even during the Months of Demons, someone kept them in order.

The trestles at King’s City’s dock were less than half this number, and shorter.

But it was the boats that stopped him cold.

Seven or eight of them lay at berth a short distance off—enormous grey vessels, unlike anything he had seen. Low waterlines, no sail, no mast, no visible means of propulsion for something that size. Each had a great wooden wheel on either side and a thick iron pipe rising from the middle. They looked like nothing he had words for.

He stood watching them until snow began to fall, then brushed it from his head and followed the crew toward town.

He was not the only passenger from King’s City aboard the Downwind. At the wharf, several men in black uniforms moved through the unloaded cargo, lifting bags at intervals, writing things down. Otto watched one of them set a bag aside for closer inspection.

“Who are those men? Buyers’ mercenaries?”

The captain smiled around his pipe. “Mercenaries. Those are patrollers, friend.”

“Patrollers.” Otto had encountered patrollers before. The first time he left King’s City he had been shaken down for two silver royals—standard practice, he later learned, everywhere. Patrollers were rivals of the street rats but did the same work, charging more and often charging for nothing. Here, the captain was smoking his pipe and watching them work with no sign of anxiety, no silver passing between hands, no visible negotiation.

“I thought the same my first time,” the captain said, reading him. “Patrollers here are different. Follow their rules and you don’t pay a thing to enter the market.”

“Patrollers with rules.” Otto watched them note something in their ledgers. “And they actually write things down. That alone is more than I expected.”

“Types and quantities of goods—wheat especially. The food trade here runs through the Lord only. Not through you, not through me.” The captain shrugged. “I don’t carry wheat, so it goes fast.”

The crew loaded the bags to carriages and the group moved out from the wharf. Otto stepped onto the road and felt his stride change.

Is this really the most deserted territory in the Kingdom of Graycastle?

The road was hard and smooth, surfaced with something that did not give under boots the way packed earth did. The houses along the street ran two and three stories, and not one of them showed signs of age or neglect—no sagging eaves, no blackened plaster, no crumbled corners. They looked as if they had all been built in the same season. People moved between them without hesitation, without the hunched wariness of a frontier settlement.

He had seen grand buildings before. The Spire of Dawn in the City of Glow dwarfed anything here. But the Spire stood amid tumbledown houses, swampy paths, and muddy water. Here, there was no contrast—every structure looked as though it belonged.

“You look surprised,” the captain observed, amused. “Nothing to be embarrassed about. Everyone’s the same their first time. See that three-story building over there? Wasn’t there last time I came.”

“I’d heard it used to be a mining settlement.”

“That’s what they say. Who knows.” He picked his nose. “Probably there’s a fortune in gold up in the North Slope Mine, and the king sent his boy down to manage it. They’re blood-related, after all.”

“Wait—” Otto’s eye caught something across the square. Two large balloons, brightly colored, floated above a banner stretched between poles. On one side: Welcome to Border Town. On the other: Join Now to Obtain the Citizen Welfare.

“The balloons or the banner?” The captain followed his look. “The balloons, I couldn’t tell you. The banner—there are notices posted in the east of the square. Recruiting visitors, tradesmen, refugees. Anyone who comes here.”

“Even refugees? What is citizen welfare?”

“Wages for work, food for the first two months, shelter.” He exhaled smoke. “Not easy to qualify, mind you. They want loyalty, no church affiliation, no criminal record. Most of my crew tried and failed—and sailors have all stolen something at some point, haven’t they?” He spat. “Besides, for all its bustle, the place has its drawbacks.”

“Such as?”

“No entertainment. No gambling houses. No whorehouses. Not a single street-corner girl.” He shook his head. “I’d go mad living here.”

The marketplace lay north of the square. While the captain and his crew delivered their goods, Otto walked it alone. The stalls ran in long rows, racks crowded with goods of every kind. Linger a moment at any booth, and a vendor materialized to greet him—no grabbing, no shouting, simply presence and offer. Whatever came of his meeting with the prince, Otto knew this town had already claimed his attention.

Then the crowd shifted.

He turned and saw two women making their way through the market. One in a black gown, dark hair in a long tail, features precise and fine—a straight nose, full lips, eyes that held everyone at arm’s length. The other was entirely different: soft-looking, elegant in the way of someone who had never needed to assert it, blonde hair catching what little winter light filtered through the clouds.

Otto felt the blood leave his face and flood back all at once.

He rubbed his eyes. His hands were shaking slightly. He looked again.

“Andrea Quinn!”

The name came out before he could stop it—loud enough that people turned.

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