Book 7: Chapter 42: Slices
In the morning, they met Marcus by the harbour, bringing only light luggage, as they would return to the city in a few days. The Asterian greeted them from aboard a merchant vessel similar to the ship that had brought them to the Isles. “Welcome!” Marcus called out, gesturing for them to embark. Around them, the crew made preparations, casting a few curious looks at the newcomers. “I’ve explained it to the captain, who’s honoured to transport guests of the Consortium. Not much trouble, considering the short journey, and the ship is going there anyway!”
The travellers found room for themselves on the deck, out of the crew’s way, and soon after the ship unmoored and began its journey. Marcus joined them, having brought provisions. Martel grabbed the first sip of his remedy against nausea before accepting a piece of freshly baked bread.
“This is pleasant,” Eleanor remarked, which was true; the sun shone, the weather was calm, and the craft made good speed. “What is the cargo we carry?”
“Mostly tools, some ore, and various comforts for the plantation workers. We’ll be bringing lumber back,” Marcus explained. “Including a staff for you.” He winked at Martel.
The medicine had yet to take effect, so Martel simply picked at his bread and let Eleanor make conversation.
“There is a question on my mind,” she admitted. “Why does the Consortium hire Asterians to be their guards?”
“Ah, that takes a bit of explaining. Fortunately, we got time.” Marcus grinned. “It involves the history of the Consortium, as I remember it.” He scratched his head before stuffing bread into his mouth. “But I’ll do my best,” he mumbled while chewing.
“It is appreciated.”
Marcus swallowed and continued, “The Consortium got started when the first islanders reached our continent, centuries ago. Bloody good mariners, these islanders! Nowhere beyond the reach of their ships.” He knocked on the wood of the deck. “Situated between Aster and Cathai, they realised they could dominate trade, and they set up the Consortium. It handles all such affairs of commerce and foreign relations, so you can imagine how powerful it is.”
Martel nodded, daring to begin eating. “Some say they’re more powerful than the king and his cabinet, but it’s more complicated than that. The Consortium is ruled by the biggest noble families on the Isles, so often, it’s controlled by the same people serving as ministers.”
“How do you and the other Asterians play into this?” Eleanor asked.
“Right. Not everyone’s happy with the Consortium. Some nobles don’t share in the power or wealth. Some commoners feel they’ve changed too much, endangering traditions. I wouldn’t know.” Marcus shrugged. “So all the magisters are islanders, as is the crew on their ships, the workers in their warehouses, on the plantations, and everything. But they don’t trust their own people to guard the riches. From the start, they’ve always hired Asterians for that.”
“Like the Night Knives,” Martel interjected.
“Exactly.” Marcus nodded. “That’s how the company started and got its name. The leaders had knives made of black fireglass, something the islanders can make.”
“We saw that at the market. A strange kind of gemstone,” Eleanor added.
“Anyway, eventually the Consortium felt wary about their wealth being guarded by a company outside their control. They told the Night Knives to kindly go home and set up their own guards instead – but still Asterian.” Marcus grinned. “As someone with experience as a mercenary, yet unaffiliated, I’m the kind they want. So now I wear Consortium colours.” He tapped the tusks on his surcoat with his thumb.
“You seem to have done well, rising up the ranks.”
“My experience gave me a leg up. Honestly, it’s the best decision I ever made. You did me a favour, giving me reason to leave the Knives.” The mercenary beamed a smile before looking away as if bashful. “I’m married now, to an islander. Got a daughter, small enough to fit in my hands.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Martel declared, and he meant it. Meeting Marcus had been strange, but Martel bore him no ill will. If the man had found his happiness in the Western Isles, like Martel had found his, it seemed a hopeful portent for the future and a sign that the past, full of war and hurt, had been sealed. He chewed on his bread. “This is good.”
Marcus gave a proud smile. “Made by my wife.”
They spent one night aboard the vessel. By morning, not long after dawn, their destination came into sight. An island, much smaller than the one they had left but similar in appearance from a distance. A great mountain sat in the middle with rolling slopes of green descending toward the surrounding coast.
The difference lay in the absence of people. Where Port Verde spread across the horizon, this island looked untouched with forest stretching all the way to the shore. They had to sail around a promontory before seeing the first signs of habitation. Even then, it was a limited change, being a small town.
Only on approach did greater evidence of human presence become obvious; on the far side of the island, a swathe of logged territory came in view. Martel guessed that the forest plantation was the cause for the town’s existence as well; while small, it had a big pier, allowing for a merchant vessel to moor. Beyond their own craft, the harbour contained only a few fishing boats that looked tiny in comparison.
As for the town, it was dominated by a large warehouse and otherwise contained simple homes, with the exception of one house that rose two floors tall; Martel guessed that to be the home of the plantation overseer. Already, dockworkers moved toward the pier in anticipation of their arrival, and the crew prepared to manoeuvre into the docks. Trying to stay out of their way, the three Asterians gathered their belongings and stayed in a corner of the deck. As the ship reached its destination and became moored, Marcus looked at the other two with a smile. “Welcome to a small slice of paradise.”