"Modesitt, L E - Recluse 12 - The Wellspring of Chaos" - читать интересную книгу автора (Modesitt L E)

After a moment, the teamster vaulted into his seat and released the wagon brake.
“We’ll be going.” He flicked the leads to his team. The wagon rolled forward,
slowly.
After Morat had the wagon and team clear of the alley behind the cooperage and
onto Fifth Cross, he kept the team on the crossing street until they reached
Cargo Road. There he turned westward toward the harbor. “First ocean pier, you
said.”
“The Seastag—Austran deep water.”
Once the wagon passed the square at Third Cross, Kharl could see the piers,
because Cargo Road sloped downward just enough so that the harbor of Brysta
could be seen spread out to the west. All the piers were to the north of the
River Westlich, except for the stubby ferry pier. The ferry served those who
wanted to cross to the peninsula road that ran south-southeast along the western
side of the river. There, the marshes farther north and west, bordered by rock
escarpments, had prevented much settlement on the southern part of the harbor.
To the north of the piers was the flatland for the lower market and the
slateyard.
Kharl checked the fair weather banner on the pole on the outer breakwater—a
green oval against a white background. There were no clouds in the western sky,
but Lord West’s wizards used their glasses to scree well beyond mere sight to
determine which banner flew.
There were only eight vessels spread across the three oceangoing piers and the
two coastal wharfs, illustrating that late summer was the slowest time in the
fair weather months. Closer to harvest and all through the fall, almost every
berth on every pier would be taken, and in good times, merchanters would even
anchor out beyond the breakwaters.
Lord West had but a handful of warships, iron-hulled steamers with but two
single-gun turrets. Brysta’s real defenses were the two forts facing each other
at the entrance to the harbor—the south fort at the end of
one breakwater, and the north fort at the end of the other. Twin chains lay on
the stones of the channel between them. Each chain was attached to a modified
capstan so that the chains could be raised to deny access to
the harbor.
Once every four eightdays, the chains were raised briefly and inspected, and one
of Lord West’s wizards renewed the order-spell on them. Kharl knew that well.
For a year he had served as an assistant to the cooper at the south fort, and
had been pressed into the work gang that turned the capstan.
The first ocean pier was empty—except for the Seastag, two-masted, like a brig,
but with side paddle wheels. The Austran ensign drooped from the jackstaff in
the heavy still air that blanketed the harbor. Several wagons were lined up and
unloading barrels and crates, and the work gang was using a crane to swing
lengths of timbers from a stack on the pier to the midships hold.
The teamster eased the wagon past the timber pallets and brought it to a stop a
rod or so past the gangway. “This is the best I can do.”
“That’s fine.” Kharl handed three coppers to the teamster. “It will only be a
moment.”
Hagen was halfway down the gangway before Kharl finished unlashing the hogshead.
The Austran captain had three sailors with him. “Cooper, your timing could not
have been better.”
“I said today,” Kharl replied.