aFireFist
A Life in Westeros
Chapter 17 - Part 1
A few weeks had passed since the second landing took its first regular hulls. Greywater View woke the same way it always did—kitchen smoke drifting low, boots on the raised paths, the river moving past the docks with that low, steady rush that never quite left a man's ears. The difference was that the second landing was no longer empty wood. Two boats were tied there already, lines snug, and a third sat mid-river waiting its turn at the outer posts. Men moved on the boards with room to turn. No one was shouting about space.
Adian took the boy down before the hall filled.
The child was still small enough that wet boards needed a hand on his shoulder when the morning damp made them slick. Dark hair stuck up at the back, soft and uneven from sleep. His wool tunic had a new smear of tar near the hem where he had brushed a piling the day before. He did not complain about the cold or the damp. He held Adian's hand and asked questions instead, voice small and serious.
"Which boat is that?"
"The long one with the green stripe. Harys's crew. They've been using the new posts for a week. Grain south when the water allows."
The boy studied the hull, head tipped. "And that one?"
"Local. Wool and grain. They used to wait half a day at the old pier. Now they don't. They pay the fee and they keep the time."
He pointed at a stack of sacks being moved under the near warehouse cover, one finger extended, careful. "How many?"
Adian stopped with him. "Count them."
The child went down the line with the same finger, mouth moving on each number. He lost the count once near the middle, frowned, started over without being told, and finished at nine. He looked up, waiting.
Adian nodded. "Nine. That's a decent morning if the rest of the train comes in clean."
"Will it?" The question was quiet. He shifted his weight, boot scraping the board.
"That's the work. We find out when the carts get here."
They walked the length of the second landing. The deeper piles held. Water pushed against them and broke clean, white for a moment, then gone. Men shifted sacks by hand onto the boards instead of stacking them in the shallows. A loader called to a boatman about a wet tie. The boatman answered without raising his voice. There was space now. The old pier still took traffic farther down, but it no longer took everything. One boat sat there. No line behind it.
The boy let go of Adian's hand long enough to climb onto a coil of rope. He sat with his legs dangling and watched a man hammer a wedge under a piling that had settled a finger's width in the last high water. The hammer rang. The boy's eyes followed each strike. When the man paused he looked at Adian.
"Why do some boats get the new posts?"
"Because they pay the fee and they keep the schedule," Adian said. He rested a hand on the post beside the rope. "The ones that show up late or short still wait at the old pier. That's the rule. Same rule for everyone."
The child thought about that with the same seriousness he used for counting. His mouth moved once, silent. "More posts. More boats that don't wait."
"That's the idea."
He nodded, small and certain, then went back to watching the hammer. A gull landed on the far piling. The boy pointed at it without speaking. The bird took the scrap someone had dropped and left. He tracked it until it was gone over the river.
Harys came up from the far end with a slate under his arm and mud on his boots. He nodded to the boy first. The child lifted a hand in a small wave, then put it back on the rope. Harys nodded to Adian after.
"Second landing's holding," he said. "Two boats tied, one waiting. Old pier's down to one. Dry store's got the last of the pitch barrels and the spare axles Cole finished yesterday. Pell's posts sent a clean slate at dawn. No tracks off the road. Holt's men haven't missed a report yet."
"Path work?"
"The stretch past the reed ford still floods when the water rises. We raised the middle section last week. The ends still sit low. Water stands there after a hard rain. Warehouse roof on the near building was patched twice. Hard rain finds the same seam every time. Smithy's fine. Floor under the store racks wants more stone if we're going to keep stacking barrels there through a wet month. Bare board's already showing dark in the corners."
Adian looked at the working posts again. A man on the green-stripe boat was already coiling line instead of waiting for space. The coil was neat. "Show me the path stretch."
They left the boy with a dockhand who knew to keep him off the edge. The man crouched and pointed at a passing skiff so the child had something to watch. The raised path west of the reed ford had new timber in the middle and old boards at both ends. Water stood in the low spots from last night's rain, brown and still. Harys stamped a boot in one of them. Mud welled up around the leather and settled.
"We can raise the ends in three days if we pull two men off the warehouse," he said. "Or we leave it and keep moving sacks by hand when it floods. Hand work costs more than the timber once you count the hours. Carts get stuck. Men get slow."
"Raise the ends," Adian said. "I want a man able to walk the whole stretch with a cart when the water's high. Not next season. This one. Use the timber we have. If it runs short on the roof we buy one more load."
Harys marked it on the slate. "Warehouse roof?"
"Full re-lay on the near building. The patch is wasting time and it's going to waste someone's wool if we put a locked corner under it. Strip the old boards. Use what's left from the path work. If it runs short, we buy the load and finish it before Holt's first sacks arrive."
"Aye."
They walked back. The boy had not moved from the rope. He was watching a gull fight another gull over a scrap of fish, both birds loud and clumsy on the boards. When he saw Adian he stood at once, careful on the coil, and took his hand without being asked. His fingers were cold. He did not mention it.
"Gulls," he said, small.
"Gulls," Adian agreed. "They'll be back when the next boat unloads."
Inside the main hall the air smelled of woodsmoke and ink. The fire had been fed. Barbrey had the ledgers open and a cup that had gone cold at her elbow. Her dark hair was braided back, tight against the morning's damp. The practical wool gown sat close across her chest and hips. She looked up when they came in, eyes going first to the boy, then to the tar on his hem, then to Adian.
"He counted the sacks," Adian said.
"Nine," the boy told her. He held up one hand, fingers spread, then folded the thumb and one finger down like he was still working the number. "I did it twice."
Barbrey's mouth moved, almost a smile. The look stayed on the child a moment longer than it needed to. "That's better than the last time you tried. You didn't lose it in the middle." She nodded toward the stairs. "Nurse is waiting. Go on. You can come back down after you've eaten. Wash the tar off your hand first."
The child went without a fight. He looked back once from the first step, checking that Adian was still there, then disappeared up with the nurse. When the stair door shut, Barbrey turned the ledger so Adian could see the columns. The numbers were already totaled for the morning.
"Second landing's taking the bulk of the morning traffic," she said. "Fees are up. So is the work. Three boats before midday if the third one ties clean. The near warehouse is still leaking on the west wall. If we're going to keep a locked space for anyone's goods, I want that roof finished first. I'm not putting someone else's wool under a drip and then explaining why it molded."
"Harys is raising the path ends. Roof gets the rest of the timber. If we run short we buy one load off the river trader and finish it."
"That's coin." Her finger rested on the page. "And it's coin we spend before Holt's sacks are even in the yard. If the trader's short again we pay twice."
"We pay once for boards that keep the water out. Or we pay later when a locked corner ruins a load and Holt's man wants the fee back. I'd rather spend it now."
"It's less coin than losing a load to rot because we saved on boards."
She studied him a moment, then tapped the page. "There's a man from a small Barrowlands house waiting in the yard. House Holt. Junior cousin or a steward. They've sent three trains through the new landing in the last ten days. He wants written rates and a locked corner in one of the warehouses for their factor's goods. Says they'll keep the approach road clear of minor trouble in exchange."
"Have you talked to him?"
"I told him you'd see him after you walked the posts. He didn't argue. He looks like a man who does the counting for someone else."
Adian nodded. "Bring him in. We'll do it here. I want the terms on paper before he leaves."
Barbrey closed the ledger on one finger. "And the roof?"
"Finish it. I'm not handing a locked space to anyone until the water stays out."
She stood. The gown pulled across her breasts when she moved. "I'll send for him. You can tell him the roof comes first. If he wants the space this week, he can wait until the boards are on."
The man from House Holt was lean, middle-aged, and careful with his cloak. He sat when Adian pointed at the chair and kept his hands on his knees. He gave his name as Ser Eddard Holt, a junior cousin who handled the house's river traffic. He did not waste time on titles.
"We've sent three trains through your new posts," he said. "Grain and wool. They moved faster than they did at the old pier. My lord wants that to continue. He's willing to guarantee a minimum volume each month if the fee is written and fair. He also wants a locked corner in one of the warehouses for our own factor's goods—sacks that need to sit a day or two before they go on. In exchange we'll put two men on the approach road between the reed ford and your posts. They report anything that leaves the road the same day."
Adian looked at Barbrey. She had the slate ready.
"The fee is the fee," Adian said. "You don't get a cut of the dock. You get a lower rate if the volume holds. If it drops, the rate goes back up. The locked space is one corner in the near warehouse, after the roof is finished. Not before. Your men report to Pell's post and to Harys. They don't collect coin off boats. They don't decide who waits. If they do either, the agreement ends."
Holt's mouth tightened, then eased. "That's fair. My lord won't like the roof delay. He'll like a dry space more."
"Then he can wait the three days. We'll have the boards on and the lock fitted. You can put your first sacks in after that. Written today. Harys witnesses. If your men miss a report, we note it. If they keep the road clear, we note that too."
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