Arc 4: Chapter 15: Catrin of Ergoth
We left the drains and the slums behind, returning to the higher sections of the city. It had gotten very late, near midnight, and the crowds had grown sparser without vanishing altogether.
“Anywhere in mind?” I asked Catrin as we ascended to a market square. A troubadour band were playing for the remnants of a tired crowd, but they’d gotten too drunk and too finger sore to make much of a show. Luckily, their listeners seemed too drunk to mind.
“Hm…” She seemed suddenly uncertain, glancing about as though searching for something she’d lost. “Well, I…”
I’d rarely seen her so nervous. Whatever she had to tell me, she wanted to stall as long as she could.
“Follow me,” I said, having a sudden idea.
She looked at me, surprised, and nodded. I led her from the square into a winding series of overlapping streets, mostly narrow lips hugging the canals with bridges crossing overhead in a complex sprawl the builders had managed to make look artful.
Garihelm was a beautiful city. I struggled to see it sometimes, but I think that was less the city’s fault and more mine.
We found a stair leading down to the edge of the water. I helped Catrin down, letting her hand rest lightly on my own. She shuffled at my side when we reached the bottom of the stair, which was little more than a stone platform set in the water.
I waited about ten minutes, unsure if I’d see any this late. It did appear, just when I thought I might have to look elsewhere. A gondola, elegant and sleek, made to ply the narrow waters of Garihelm’s canals. A man with a long oar stood at its stern.
The ferry stopped when I signaled him, and we had a brief conversation. He was tired and ready to turn in for the night, but after some talk he ended up taking some coin and handing me the oar, telling me to have it back by morning. I thanked him, and he gave Catrin a gentlemanly bow, even taking her hand to kiss. She seemed unusually furtive, murmuring her thanks and avoiding eye contact with the boatman.
I helped her onto the gondola and took the oar, pushing us out into the black water. For a time I rowed in silence, listening to the quiet ambience of the dying festival around us, the occasional ghost of music, the drunken laughter, friendly guards wishing people good night.